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Stories With A Soul

His throat ran dry.

Erin practically sang the honey sweet words, mellifluous phrase lingering in Uriel's conscience. The air in the bedroom grew heavy under Erin's wispy words, setting growing evermore dusky.

Erin awkwardly slid his hands away from around Uriel's neck, almost pathetically falling limp against his lap.

Uriel had those three special words on loop, as the same sincere voice hummed the words over and over again. Three words, maybe a bit ordinary on its own. Maybe meaningless, even. Though, when put together, something delightfully supernatural occurs. Timeless history between people can be summed up with those three words, making the butterflies in your stomach go haywire, tickling you from the inside out. Messy hair and messy curls and messy, pink-stained cheeks, Uriel embodied the word mess. He peered over, and thanked every star that he wasn't the only one who looked as messy as Uriel felt.

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