He pushed against me, not inside, but knocking at that most intimate of doors. Exactly, Richard, exactly. His tan trench coat was perfectly pressed. There were so many things to think about, and no time to think deep, you had to let training and experience do some of the thinking for you.
I took back my hand and let him talk, let him open the bag that I'd wanted opened, so badly, only minutes ago. But I feel like shit. Let go of him, now, and I put a lot of force in the now. I had to stand on tiptoe to touch his face, and Requiem was at my arm, as I wobbled.
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