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“Do you want to come to my lake house this summer?” Quinn asks late one night, his limbs tangled with Kirill’s, lying in his bed.
Kirill turns to face him, resting his chin on Quinn’s shoulder. “In Michigan?”
Quinn hums an affirmative, “For like a week or something. My family, they’d be there so we can’t be- you know- but it’d be fun.”
“Okay.” Kirill agrees quietly, pressing a kiss into Quinn’s shoulder. “Will be fun.”
Or
Quinn invites Kirill to his lakehouse