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ㅤ... ﹙ adjusting himself wordlessly, he draws back from hotaru—not enough to be considered rejection, but just enough to instil a dull, distant ache in his mangled heart. ﹚ i ... look forward to seeing you. the cherry blossoms—you, and the ...
﹙ gods. ﹚
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ㅤit's no matter. i manage. ﹙ there's more he wants to say—more he would have liked to ask—but when hotaru's touch finds him, he freezes up, the remainder of his words dying in the back of his throat. ﹚
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ㅤ﹙ his lips part, just barely, his perfect mask of neutrality slipping through his fingers, and for a moment, tanngrisnir looks exactly the soft-hearted fool he is, gaze impossibly tender, nearly leaning into that touch—yearning for it.
but he pulls himself together. ﹚
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ㅤ﹙ there's no hesitation in the way tanngrisnir moves—he is called, and so he comes forth, blinking owlishly at hotaru. doesn't he seem to be up to something? ah ... ﹚ i'm terribly sorry for my distractability; yes, what is it?
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