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  • Artist Info: But, for the first time ever, he was distracted from the movie when he felt someone lean on his shoulders. When he turned his head to see what was it, his lips accidentally came in contact softly with Trey's hair. His mouth, for a brief moment, was filled with soft brown hair from the sleeping beauty aka Trey. His eyes widened in surprise but his many movie experiences prevented him from saying anything and disturbing the others around him. Chris broke out into a soft smile, turned around and adjusted his shoulders to make Trey more comfortable as he slept soundly on Chris's shoulders.<br />
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    He focused on the movie as the movie began to build up that one final moment. His heart was pounding and his eyes were already beginning to tear. But, once again his attention was ripped away from the movie. An amused smile came across his face he heard that soft voice mutter his name, before letting out a faint snort. He was barely able to stifle a small giggle, "Hey Chris," he whispered as he nudged Trey with his shoulders right before the climax of the final film, "it's your favorite part of the movie."<br />
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    Never before had he seen Trey fall asleep in the theater during his beloved historical movies. In the past, two or more years ago Trey was the one alert and aware and the two would giggle and laugh together as they watched the movie. Trey was never sleepy; he was always placing himself in the shoes of the characters and their struggles, sympathizing and feeling the emotions that the movie wanted the audience to feel. There was no time for sleep, but why? There was something that was bothering Trey and it bothered Chris that he couldn't figure it out.<br />
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    This only goes to show how little he knew about his friend now. He only knew what they did in the past and luckily Trey didn't change much. But the points where Trey did change, the little bits like experiences, decisions and thought process were all foreign to Chris now. He could see some things, but he couldn't see anything like before. Those two years, and probably more, was that blanket of impenetrable dust that blocked and clouded the words in the book, preventing someone from being able to read it unless they purposely wiped it off. But, he had too much on his hands, his hands didn't want to wipe off that dust despite the hate messages from his brain. <br />
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