He removed his helmet under the dim orange light revealing a head of short and bushy black hair atop a boyish complexion. He smiled feverishly as their eyes locked in the mist. He rushed to embrace her so quickly that if you paused the scene or got distracted by better-things-to-do you’d swear they would join in a first rate french kiss that film directors everywhere wish they could choreograph. But they did not. instead a sloppy sort of one-armed hug ensued, slightly uncomfortable owing to the moisture, but brief and rather pleasant.
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