“Our nights would be spent on balconies under the stars talking or on sofas before fires watching a Chaosphere game. Our nights would be more than fucking fruit, cheese, and crackers. Our nights would be soft words instead of barbed ones to deflect and protect. Our nights would be intimate touches rather than frantic ones of uncertainty. Our nights would be my hands in your hair instead of your fingers pulling on the strands. Our nights would be anything but whatever the fuck this is. Our nights wouldn’t involve mental shields blocking each other out, and if you tried, I’d call you out on that
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