five

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corbyn decides to drop it and flick through a few more pages, scanning now only for any mentions of his name. there seems to be none, right up until mid-november. he only gets that far because just at that moment there's a noise from inside jack's bedroom and corbyn's pulse picks up again, another burst of adrenaline rushing through him as he slams the book shut.

shit.

he stands up as quietly and hastily as he can manage and tiptoes over to jack's door again, pushing it open a crack and begging it not to creak. it humours him, thankfully, and he sees jack still lying on his bed, facing the bedside table corbyn needs to put the book back on.

great


wc; 123
sorry these chapters are so short

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