“You show up, no matter what,” I say. “No matter how you feel. You’re always there, and you don’t hide a damn thing about you.” His eyes are slightly red, and I don’t think it’s from the smoke as they bounce between mine. “Except when I try to run from it all.” “I said hide, not run,” I tell him with an eye roll. “There is a difference.” He swallows hard, blindly reaching for the little ashtray on my nightstand to stub out what remains of the cigarette. “You run because…because you can’t hide,” I go on quietly. “It’s just not who you are. Everything you feel is right fucking there, on full
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