My throat squeezes painfully. “I am.”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
His voice is patient, not a hint of surprise or worry. The calmness from him is staggering…and it makes my eyes burn.
“I have to go back to Boston,” I say.
He hums in acknowledgement. “Right now?”
“No, but…soon?”
He steps toward the table and sits in the other chair that didn’t transform into a torture dais. He grabs another bao and holds it to my lips.
“Eat.”
I open my mouth and take a bite. It’s so fluffy and gooey. The filling is tangy and sweet, with just the right amount of spice. I take another, much larger bite as tears blur my vision. I keep biting until the bun is gone and my mouth is full.
“It’s really good,” I say, my cheeks stuffed.
He chuckles. “I’m glad.”
“You’re not having any?” I ask.
“I don’t eat.”
“Ever?”
He shakes his head.
“You can’t?”
“I can, but there’s no point.”
I scowl and sit up in his arms. “Do you have taste buds?”
He smirks. “When I want to.”
Then I remember how he’d changed his appearance. Was it not just his looks, but perhaps even his composition too? Canhe alter himself so wildly as to not have taste buds? What else can he change?
“I feel your mind whirring. Can I answer some of those questions?”
I swallow the rest of the bun. “Are you a shape-shifter?”
“I am.”
I trace one of the lava-like scars on his chest. “Is this what you really look like?”
“No.”
My eyes dry up and I sniffle the last of my sadness away. “Will you show me your true form?”
He shrugs and grabs another bun that he holds to my lips. “Maybe.”
“Where do you come from?”
“Eat.”
I pout and take a bite.
