He was caught, suddenly, in a fierce hug from Matthew. Matthew’s hands were tight on the back of his shirt, Matthew’s cold cheek against his. “You went shadowy,” Matthew said, his voice low, “as if you were going to disappear, as if I’d wished you gone and you were vanishing—” James drew back enough to smooth Matthew’s hair away from his forehead. “Have you wished me gone?” he said teasingly. “No. Only I wish myself gone, sometimes,” Matthew said in a whisper, and it was that rarest of things where Matthew was concerned, an entirely true statement with no mockery or teasing or humor to be had.
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