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It was a crisp sold line.

His side was dark shadow, shielded from the sun by the entryway awning. Protecting all the patients from the world beyond. The world outside where the bright light of the sun seems to reach every space. Heating up everything enough to make ripples in the air. Another different from the cool still air that claimed his side of the divide.

Separating the hurt, from the whole. The walking from those on wheels. Those with homes from those without, with families from those…him from George...

He clinched his hands tight around the armrest of the chair the moment he spotted George’s father’s taxi, his friend-his love-leaning against it.

Only when George was moving, getting closer to the line did he relax his hands, pushing on the wheels, propelling him foreword, right to the edge.

But he couldn’t force himself to cross it, to reenter that world. The world without his father, his home. His life…

George didn’t care. His hands reached across the golf. Wrapping themselves around his arms and pulling.

He blinked when George drew him up. Flooding his eyes with light, covering his body with warmth before the sun got anywhere near him…