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Post by William Beckett on Apr 27, 2011 1:53:45 GMT -5
I felt the tears drip onto me. I turned my face towards his and slowly slid one hand off of his back, pressing my thumb against his skin and pressing lightly, my touch as delicate as I could make it as I wiped the tears away.
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Post by Gabe Saporta on Apr 28, 2011 4:39:15 GMT -5
I mumbled a quiet, "Thank you." Not entirely sure why. Wiping away tears doesn't help, but thre's something, and as crazy as I am I knew things were going to be alright. "They have to be."
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Post by William Beckett on Apr 28, 2011 5:19:11 GMT -5
I could feel my eyes glinting with pride, with hope, because it had been so long since I had heard those words. Not even the doctors said them anymore.
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Post by Gabe Saporta on Apr 29, 2011 4:27:04 GMT -5
I was starting to feel an awkward tension set it even as things settled, and I couldn't help to mumble, "You're extremely beautiful, you know that?"
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Post by William Beckett on Apr 29, 2011 4:55:52 GMT -5
I thought about breaking the hug. About leading him away. I wanted to, I even stepped back a little, I even took his hand. I just couldn't do it, I couldn't, I was far too shy. All I wanted to do was find a way to tell him, let him see that he's beautiful... he's beautiful too. Too. Yes. Because I knew he wouldn't lie to me. That's not how angels work.
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Post by Gabe Saporta on Apr 29, 2011 5:43:50 GMT -5
I smiled at him, I could feel the tears drying on my cheek and how heavy my eyes felt. I had no idea what I actually looked like anymore. I kept my hand tight around his as he pulled away some, and I raised my eyebrow in confusion. I didn't say anything though, no, I even pushed as hard as I could at the bad thoughts, the whispers to the corners of my mind and kept him front and center.
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Post by William Beckett on Apr 29, 2011 5:48:48 GMT -5
I blushed and hung my head a little, trying to figure out where to go, what to do from here. No grounds priveleges. Tired of the living room that stunk of pain and death. I didn't know what I could do to show him how I cared. So I had to stand. I had to watch him. I had to wait. Just waiting, that's all.
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Post by Gabe Saporta on Apr 29, 2011 19:07:46 GMT -5
"My therapist says I talk about you a lot." I've reverted to blurting random things. It's a terrible habit, it's how I end up telling people how fucked up I am or why I decided to press a fork underneath my skin today. I just hoped he wouldn't resent me.
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Post by William Beckett on Apr 30, 2011 7:17:35 GMT -5
I smiled at him, tilted my head a little, intrigued. I couldn't understand what anyone could have to say about me. There were no words to repeat, I wasn't especially expressive, and there was nothing all that amazing about me for someone to ramble about... Was there?
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Post by Gabe Saporta on May 3, 2011 3:56:56 GMT -5
"Like, I've talked about how I hope you don't cut your hair, or that you wear the blue shirt a lot and that it's quieter around you and no matter what I say for some reason you don't yell at me and run away...." I smiled and tried to not stare directly at him, keeping his gaze felt oddly honest at the moment.
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Post by William Beckett on May 3, 2011 5:03:52 GMT -5
I blushed and ducked my head, biting my lip. Wondering why he would see all that, why he would look at me the way he does, why I mattered so much to him.
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Post by Gabe Saporta on May 7, 2011 2:58:07 GMT -5
I continued, "And one time, this nurse that was talking to me on the way to my room from therapy said that you had been waiting around my room...I don't know if it's true because I don't know if you even know which room's mine...but it made me feel special." I stopped there, a nagging sense of 'shut up' rang in the back of my mind.
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Post by William Beckett on May 7, 2011 4:18:16 GMT -5
I brushed my hair over my face and turned it away, trying not to admit that I'd kept track of him, figured out where he spends his time just in hopes of running into him whenever I could. Trying not to let him see the colour of my face.
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Post by Gabe Saporta on May 10, 2011 2:16:32 GMT -5
"I love you." I felt my heart beat heavy in my chest, muscles constraining, waiting for a reaction. My ears were drowned with white noise and I was frozen. I had to grit my teeth as the cackling laughter built up inside my head.
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Post by William Beckett on May 10, 2011 8:14:21 GMT -5
I put my weight onto my toes, leaning right against him. My mouth as close to his ear as I could make it without quite touching, without the whiskers I'd begun to grow since they began to refuse me razors, even under supervision, yet again, irritating him, I whispered, "I love you too." My voice, my breath, was as light as the sweetest summer breeze and yet I knew he would hear. I knew he would understand.
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