He pauses, turning to glance back at me with his usual scowl. “What?” he asks as he narrows his gaze.
“Help me remember who I am, because I’m having a hard time giving a shit about missions when everything seems so utterly pointless.” I keep to myself that he clearly used to be more open with me. There’s a time and place for everything, isn’t there?
He takes a deep breath, misery lingering in his gaze as if telling me things about myself hurts him in some way.
I knew it.He’s been purposefully keeping things from me. But why?
I lean back in the chair, kicking my combat boots onto the table and crossing both legs, then my arms. “Spill.” It’s a borderline order and his eyes darken at it.
“Onething?” he eventually says slowly. Something nostalgic in his tone as he lets his eyes trace my face, dipping to the crux of my neck with something edging too close to desire.
“Mm-hmm.”
Mori turns his face back to the whiteboard, shoulders slacking as he exhales. The air between us seems to shift. I feel a distinct tug deep down at the dreariness that surrounds this man. It’s enough to drown in. Enough to fall six feet under. I wonder if anyone else has seen this side of him before.
I hope not. I selfishly want it all for myself.
“You always used to have your hair braided. The moment you were out of the showers, before bed, every waking breath I’ve known you—your hair was braided. And when your hand was injured and you couldn’t do it yourself—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head at words unspoken. I haven’t heard his voice this low and nostalgic before. It piques my curiosity.
Braids?I glance down at my hair, pink and waist length when it’s untamed like it is now. I thread my fingers through the loose strands and make a simple braid, then look up at him for confirmation.
He must read the apprehension in my expression. It doesn’t exactly feel right.
Mori shakes his head and murmurs, “You didn’t do them like that. Would you like me to show you?”
His smooth voice draws me out of my mind and snaps my attention back to him. He’s moved closer, sitting on the edge of the table a few feet away from me. My breath catches in my lungs. I didn’t even hear him walk over here.
I consider him for a moment. His eyes are calm and patient as I wrestle with the idea that I’ve forgotten something so personal to me.
It seems foolish that I keep having flashbacks of him, but not of myself.
“Um…okay,” I say carefully, eyeing him with caution.
Mori extends his hand, pale under the fluorescent lights. “Come.” His command is subtle and yet it rings through every bone in my body. All the sensations ofI’ve done this with him beforetrickle through me like water running down chains.
My boots drag across the table as I lower them and reluctantly stand, moving toward him. Once I’m standing in front of him, I get an overwhelming wave of his scent. Birchwood, the first thing I smelled when I woke up. It’s such a lovely taste that blooms through my senses. My fists tighten at the memory of soft summer eyes and easy smiles that were only for me. I blink and the image is gone. A sad and sorrowful man in place of it.
He looked at me much differently then.I trace his features with my gaze at the thought.
“Now what?” I ask, coming across as annoyed when I’m actually nervous. I’ve never been this close to him. He’s as devilishly handsome up close as he is from afar.
He offers me a lopsided grin that makes my stomach flutter as he twirls his finger in the air. “Turn around.” Heat spreads through me at the pure enjoyment that flickers across his face.
“And expose my back toyou?” Rude, I know, but this is Mori we’re talking about. Cutting off his partners’ heads, Mori.
He chuckles, the sound of it foreign to me, but it’s even lovelier than his grin. “You’re just going to have to take a risk and trust me, love,” he whispers. Mori’s British accent is soft and alluring. I could listen to him talk and whisper things to me for hours on end. His eyes flicker with amusement. I don’t know which it was, the chuckle or the smile, but I’m convinced he won’t hurt me.
I slowly turn around and take a steadying breath. “Now what?” I ask, but before he can answer, his fingers are already gently combing through my hair. He pulls the locks to one side, exposing the tenderness of my neck.
My shoulders tense as he brushes his finger pad over the injection mark. It’s still a bit tender, but the pain has long since faded. Nolandidsay it could take twenty-four hours to kick in.
What Mori must think of me for being so reckless.I know the chances of having severe symptoms are high, and still, I long to be like him. To understand him more. To have his attention.
He clears his throat as if to recenter his thoughts. “Now, you watch in the mirror as I braid, so you can remember how to do it yourself. Don’t expect me to do this for you again,” he says sternly, yet I can’t help but notice how carefully he touches my hair. As if running his fingers through the strands brings him contentment.
I do as he says and let my eyes drift to the mirror on the adjacent wall.
He’s too tall, even while sitting, so he has to hunch over a bit as he untangles my mane. I watch as he intricately parts the strands and separates sections. The motions seem familiar. The weaving pattern isn’t obvious through the mirror, but I find my hands phantom tracing anyway. A small gasp escapes me.
