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... e of laundry she hadn’t gotten around to sorting.

He was pouting, cutely. If she didn’t know him better, she might have assumed that was just his default expression, but no... he was genuinely sulking as he helped her fold clothes in her cramped, chaotic dorm room.

The place was a mess, textbooks stacked like makeshift towers, empty mugs with lipstick stains, and clothes draped carelessly over her desk chair.

The walls were peeling, the kind of chipped paint that screamed ...

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