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... ng my chin.
Not a squirrel, thank the gods.
Just Ayame.
More specifically—Ayame’s hair, which had somehow unbraided itself during the night and now lay tangled across my face like a silky trap. Her arm was slung over my chest, her leg still firmly entwined with mine, and her face was buried so deep into my neck it looked like she was trying to phase through me.
I could barely move.
"Morning," I croaked.
She groaned, curling in tighter. "No it isn’t ...
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