Thoreau blinked at Rooney for a moment, then laughed, leaning in and kissing him deeply. "Your poetry is lovely," he said, pressing his lips to Rooney's forehead. "Thank you. Maybe I was wrong about poems. I'm sure we wouldn't like going to some girly tea or something though."
He popped a grape into his own mouth. "You don't have trouble saying. You don't seem like you do anyway." Radley'd said it all the time too, but Thoreau wasn't sure it meant the same thing when he said it.
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