“Do you remember what I wrote in your journal?” he asks. “The part in Italian.” A Christmas or two ago, he wrote inside a journal I’d given him, all in different foreign languages, and he wrapped it and gifted it back to me. The parts I understand, I’ve read maybe a dozen times. I lick my lips and say, “Ti rispetto e ti ammiro così tanto, amico mio. Mi hai aiutato ad essere altruista.” I respect and admire so much about you, my friend. You helped me be selfless. I always come back to those words because they surprise me—that Connor Cobalt could admire a part of me. That he saw something else
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