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We're Looking for Something Invisible that We Don't Understand

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He hid the deepest secret in the narrow space between dream and dream, and the only thing that could be witnessed was the mutual warmth in the palm and the silent affection of both of them, perhaps the reason for their long-lasting tacit, the bad habit that could not help but feel like a sin.

Sundance was trying to stay asleep with his back to Butch in the cramped and crowded tent, but his irregular breathing had already betrayed his lie. Butch was amused by it, laughing at the fact that Sundance was not always so good at lying to him. But he was obviously not much worse, Butch thought.

Although his body was wrapped in a wool blanket and a Poncho, Butch could still feel a slight chill, and the only remaining warmth was in the palm of his hand and his partner's hand under the blanket. Butch can't quite remember when this habit was developed, perhaps because of the nightmare that burst into his mind one night and the cry that came out of his throat, causing Sundance to hold his own hands worriedly at that time, so that the warmth that only exists at night will continue to this moment.

His companion is always mute to express care in this way, but Butch is not so annoying.

The man with flaxen hair blinked his deep light blue eyes and rested his forehead gently on his partner's back. He didn't know why he was doing it or whether it was to continue to suppress his inner impulses or to open his heart wider.

The only answer that Butch knew at that moment was the tighter grip of Sundance's palm.

 

  End.