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His warm-brown leather chaps, with darkened spots from wear, match his eyes. They’re the color of the tiger’s-eye stones I liked as a child. Bright and shiny, perfectly polished.
and I should hate that goddamn nickname, borne of mocking me for being who I am, but suddenly it feels like a shot straight to my core. Like praise. Like worship.
He lights me up. He burns me down.
