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“You said don’t take anyone with you. On the run.”
Turner whips around. "You're dumb, and I'm stupid."
He grabs Elwood by the sides of his head and crashes their lips together. Elwood blinks slowly. Turner's eyes are determinedly shut.
Even if it had never occurred to Elwood before that they might kiss, it occurs to him now that—for once—no one can see them, and even if someone can, it’s not like things could get any worse.
So Elwood kisses Turner back. He opens his mouth, wanting to taste while there's still time. Their tongues and teeth meet in a frenzied, desperate clash. It hurts a little, but it's easy and good. Turner's hands gentle on Elwood's cheeks, and their fevered kiss gradually subsides into a lazy, comforting brush of lips.
Eventually, Turner pulls away. He seems to steel himself. His eyes are warm and wet and beautiful, and Elwoods leans forward to kiss him again. Turner shakes his head. He takes one of Elwood's hands in his own. Both of their palms are sticky with sweat, and Elwood's fingers are trembling. Turner squeezes his hand, tugs him the way they were moving before.
“Run, Elwood.”
So Elwood does. He stumbles once, twice, but Turner doesn't let go.
