When Tarrant looks up, Ilosovic is standing over him, laughing.
“What are you doing, Tarrant?”
“Watching the clouds, Ilosovic. Join me?”
Even though they both know he’ll have grass and flowers and bugs and twigs in his hair, Ilosovic lies down and stares up at the sky. Threading their fingers together, he asks, “Any good ones today?”
Tarrant grins,
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