If John could admit what he wanted, it would probably involve brown eyes and floppy hair and some killer combination of innocence and a dry sense of humor.
But that can't be right. The only package that comes in is male and about twenty years too young (if John even went for guys, which he doesn't). It must be something else.
There's an August rain outside, and John's shoulder aches. He stares out the window, wondering why his apartment feels so empty.
How can a kid he just met leave a hole so big John can't find his way out?
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