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“It felt like chicken soup when I had a snotty mess of a cold, like a glass of icy apple juice when my body was on fire with fever. I didn't disappear into his embrace like I had in Max's, but he was still strong and comforting and almost like relief. I buried my face in his shoulder, and he found the sweet spot on my back again, rubbing it until I wanted to purr. But then my skin prickled, and suddenly I genuinely felt feverish. It was only supposed to be a hug with a friend, not me climbing him like a tree.” — Sarah Chamberlain
It felt like chicken soup when I had a snotty mess of a cold, like a glass of icy apple juice when my body was on fire with fever. I didn't disappear into his embrace like I had in Max's, but he was still strong and comforting and almost like relief. I buried my face in his shoulder, and he found the sweet spot on my back again, rubbing it until I wanted to purr.
But then my skin prickled, and suddenly I genuinely felt feverish. It was only supposed to be a hug with a friend, not me climbing him like a tree.