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Summary
Michael is one of the few people in the world who can say he is used to having Luke at his door. He has never had him in front of his door in this state.
He has makeup running under and around his eyes. Dark, battered, badly blended, and Michael asks himself: is it tears or just the fucking rain?“I'm leaving, Mickey. I'm leaving and I'll never come back."
[…]A kiss... has ever killed?
It’s just a kiss, after all. He can do it.
