PREVIEW

... ilence followed, and then the bathroom door creaked open. A cloud of steam billowed out, smelling of my soap and my shampoo.

Noah emerged, and for a moment, my breath hitched in my throat.

He was clean. His hair was wet and dripping, his face scrubbed of the gala’s grime. The chemical smell was gone, replaced by the familiar scent of my own products. He smelled like me.

He was wearing the black t-shirt Cyan had picked out. It hung off his frame, the shoulder seams halfway ...

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