We kissed again, our breathing becoming heavier, and we both fumbled for his belt. Stepping in the shower with him I recalled briefly that I had read somewhere—a morning newspaper article or something to that effect— that it was supposed to be difficult to distinguish the qualities of two voices if they were both whispering. But the sounds we made were singular, and it seemed that words were entirely unnecessary by that point. The low hollow-sounding sigh belonged to him, and the short startled one belonged to me. I breathed predominantly in short, desperate bursts, and he in prolonged exhalations. I blinked away the tears that were lost in the running water, and urged him to take me away.
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