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|such fateful objects|


"He wanted to touch her - to reach out and brush his fingertips against her skin. The thought rang out like alarm bells in his head. She was not his to touch. She wasn't even his to look at, or think about. It had all just gotten so mixed up in his head. Yet he couldn't stop himself from standing near her. And when their hands brushed, it was because she had shifted closer to him."

[companion mix for my fanfiction.]

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