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Shared Warmth

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He’s pretending to be asleep, and sure, he looks sweet and handsome and kissable that way, but it just won’t do, so Jerry tugs his curls and huffs, grouses, chastises his partner’s laziness, and when he can’t tease out a drowsy grin or half-harsh threat of retribution, he sighs and flops on to his back and studies the crack that runs across the ceiling, suddenly an archaeologist, head tilted, considering the jagged flaw: a fracture in an old grey skull; it’s a dry day, no fear of leaks or dripping, nothing to spoil the shared warmth of a nine-dollar bed.