“You’ve w-waited for me this whole time?” I whispered. I could see the grief, the misery—the loneliness—still tightening his features, making him look brittle and even more fragile than normal. His long, elegant fingers were thinner and bonier than before. Even his hair looked flatter and messier, like he’d stopped bothering with it. Like he’d stopped bothering with much of anything. “I would wait my whole life for you,” he said quietly, trying to steady his voice even as tears continued to stream freely down his cheeks. He pressed his lips to my hand again. “I would wait forever for you,
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