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Riley briefly clocks how Abby slides to face her, the roughness of the wood under their legs, and then she’s lost in AbbyAbbyAbby, the gently spiced smell of her hair, the firm pressure of her fingers as she grasps at Riley’s waist, the hunger threading between them. It feels a little like a release and a little like a promise, tuned to the orchestration of their breath. Riley is so glad she’s here.