Just — different.
“Cassian…” I start.
I don’t even know what I’m asking for.
Yes I do.
I’ve always known.
My eyes drop to his mouth before I can stop myself.
Then back up.
Then down again.
He’s so close.
He’s always been so close.
Close enough that I’ve memorized the exact shade of his eyes in low light.
Close enough that if I just breathe all I can smell is him.
It’s overwhelming all my senses.
I freeze.
Because if I move — if I say something —
I might ruin this.
Again.
He notices.
Of course he does.
His hand comes up.
Slow.
Gentle.
Brushing a strand of hair away from my face like we have all the time in the world.
Like this is allowed.
Like maybe it is.
My breath catches.
“Ro,” he says softly.
Longingly.
Like my name means something when he says it.
Like it always has.
