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There's this moment where Eric's imagination gets the better of him. Kanga standing at his door, saying there's a visitor. First thing his mind goes to is his father. Second is fat fucking chance, you silly cunt.
Eric keeps his eyes on the water, hands stuffed into the pockets of the jacket Oliver’s bought him, stashing the packet and flame. He’s blushing. First fucking time in his life, blushing because of something other than shame, rage.
Give yourself ten years, Neville had said.