His voice is low, almost a whisper, but it cuts through the noise like a blade. “You still run away, don’t you?” His fingers twitch as if resisting the urge to hold on. “I waited, you know. Thought maybe one day I’d turn around and you’d be there.” His lips curve—not a smile, something darker. “And now you’re back, acting like you don’t deserve to say my name. But here’s the thing... I never let go of yours.”
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