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When I Never Think of You Again(2)

4

I felt that Mason was more cautious with me.

Washing a tattoo hurts more than getting a tattoo. After the first time he washed it, there was still a little bit left.

The skin on the back of his neck was crusted with a thin scab, making it look more eye-catching than before.

I knew something had changed between us, but we didn't mention it even though we both knew it.

He came home less often, and he wouldn't let me check his phone anymore.

I didn't know what the hell he was doing, but I knew I was losing him little by little.

He was going to be taken away by someone.

I was afraid that his increasing tenderness and indulgence towards me came from the same emotion.

That was guilt.

Mason came home late that day.

He came in with the typical gloom of autumn. He frowned as if he was tired, but his expression relaxed the moment he saw me.

"Why are you still up?" he asked.

He came over, put the blanket from the couch over my bare feet, and then touched my forehead.

His hand was
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