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Lester gently kisses the angry bruise left by a friend’s desperate punch on Lyle’s face. He doesn’t really care how very unlike him this softness is, not now.
“He’s blaming me.” Lyle’s voice breaks the suffocating silence.
“He’s mourning. He’ll come round.”
Lyle shrugs, his hazel eyes betray his doubts and Lester can’t find the words to
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