The Fingerprints of Strangers

This just about bloody well killed us, and it ain't finished, so it just might finish the job one day.

 

Contents

chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
chapter nine
chapter ten
chapter eleven
chapter twelve
chapter thirteen
chapter fourteen

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Explain Me
Art
In-jokes


 

Those [ ] comments in the story? They're the extent of how not-finished this is. Those are our editing notes, version 1.2.
--Lise and River

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Pete Wisdom isn't the classical figure of a teacher. No one knows this better than him. Then again, it's not like Angelo Espinosa has ever had any plans to be the classical figure of a student.

That -- doesn't explain, or excuse, any of this. Sometimes you get those things in life.

Some things are right. Some things are wrong. Everybody knows this.

Some people live in the gray.

And some people, they don't set out to be the classic anything, and end up being something else entirely. Which, if you ask Ange and Pete, is a dangerous thing, but nobody asked them. And that's the way things go.

Your cigarettes, your skin, your mind; sometimes, want it or not, the people who touch you leave marks.

And sometimes, sometimes the marks you find, you can trace them back and find someone. Someone who left a particular sign, someone who, perhaps, in the end, really does matter more.

And sometimes, all you can recognize is the smoke they leave behind.

~

Disclaimer: These characters have no relation to anything we own a copyright for, a hotel room for, a minor obsession (okay, we'll own up to that), or anything else. We do not have the legal authority to do this, and there is no profit intended or involved. There is most definite homoerotic content, and way too many cigarettes.