Queertist
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Summary
Your first clear memory of the saint is that of his eyes, his fiery eyes just inches from yours. His makeup smudged, his hands where only your hands have been so far.
He’s your first everything, your first real friend in the city, the first guy you’ve fucked, no scratch that, the first person you’ve fucked ever. Of course you don’t tell the saint that, but it’s not like he doesn’t notice.