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It wasn't fair really. Everyone got to go home except him.
He shouldn't be bitter, they say he's special, has a gift. Doesn't get to go home.
The bitterness was like a quick poison through his veins - like the acid he spilled on his hand (good.) - and it touched everything.
Late night meetings in the airvents - first casual conversation about home, wherever that was (home that he gets to go to.) and later... and later...
'Show me what it's like'
Warm air clinging to them in the small confines, carefully shushed whispers - lest they hear, lest they know - and the entirely new feel of skin on skin.
The skin on Kyle's hand was soft, and the scar Jarod left him with even softer. It felt good, better than the electricity between his hand and Miss Parker's. Better than anything.
"When do I get to go home, Sydney?" Jarod wants to ask. "When do I get to go outside and see Kyle?" But he doesn't, just in case the answer is never.