What's Still UnsaidShe finishes his sentences, which is something he never expected from her. It's nothing against her, really, it's just that none of his companions have ever been like that. Usually they interrupt him, and less usually they let him finish before they speak. But it's rare to find someone whose mind mirrors his own enough that
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"No," she whispers from behind him, arms sliding around his waist. She presses her face to his back and finishes his thought for him, even if it's in a way he could never finish himself. "You should not."
"You're always finishing my sentences, you know." His chest feels tight. This time, for the first time, he wishes she hadn't.
This moment is so intimate, so perfect. So true to the characters...
You made me cry dammit.
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