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It was getting under his skin like a splinter.
“You’re a splinter, you know,” he murmured, late at night when they were finally pressed together, almost senseless, half-asleep. “Mm?” “You got under my skin. And you won’t let go.”
Only when he made it to the bathroom to take his own turn showering and then gather the few things he’d brought did Nico let himself cry.
You’re the smoke on my mountains, the North Star in my sky, and if you feel like me, boy, there’s no more goodbyes.
