“Fire is the hardest,” he murmurs. “My demon always wants me to set things on fire, but I can control what I allow it to harm. Most of the time, anyway.”
He closes his fist, dousing the flame, and his expression shutters. I don’t know what to make of it, other than the fact no one has treated me the way he does. Like I’m special, like I’m trustworthy, like I matter and deserve… goodness.
It’s baffling and confusing, and the only way I know how to repay it is by sharing more of myself in return.
“Maybe…” I whisper, unsure what I’m trying to put into words. “Maybe.”
Ro nods, perhaps understanding better than I do.
He steps back, then walks over to some stacked boxes a few feet away. I look around, realizing we must be in a storage room. It’s lined with metal shelving units, boxes and supplies stacked on the shelves and along the back wall. He sits on a box and pats the one next to him until I sink down on it. Then he dances a small flame across his knuckles and between his fingers.
“What’s it like?” Ro asks, eyes on his flame. “Your call to the stars?”
“It’s a curse,” I reply without hesitation, my voice bitter.
Ro frowns, and the flame stills on the back of his hand before he rolls it into his palm. Then his eyes meet mine as he tilts his head in question.
“This undeniable compulsion. I have no control, no power. It’s something beyond my physical body. I don’t know. It’s hard to describe. Like my soul itself needs to be close to the stars, but I can’t manage that, so the best I can do is find the ones that fall. Rescue the stardust from the earth and treasure it, at least until…” My voice trails off, and I hope he didn’t catch the grief that started to seep into my tone.
When I glance at him from the corner of my eye, he looks thoughtful.
“That sounds remarkably similar to my demon urges.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he says. “My therapist is treating it similar to OCD, since I have obsessive thoughts and compulsive behaviors, even though it’s not the same. But it feels deeper than that. Like you said, something in my soul. A need that isn’t being met.”
He shakes his head with a self-deprecating smile before continuing.
“Although, it’s been better since I started following you.Stalkingyou, I mean,” he chuckles. “I was trying to be politically correct.”
I roll my lips between my teeth and bite down on them. “I don’t think that’s a thing,” I say dryly.
Ro huffs a soft laugh. “Even using the word ‘stalking’ settles my demon side, which is frustrating. I don’t want to be a demon. I don’t like how it feels like I have no control over myself.”
I contemplate that, empathizing with him far more than I expected to.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice soft. “Yeah, I get that.”
Ro’s flame blinks out, and he moves his hand closer to me, right next to my leg, then flips it up. I eye it for a long moment, glance at him, then turn my eyes back to the far wall as I place my palm in his. He twines our fingers together, palm to palm, sending a tingling warmth up my arm. Then he looks straight at me and grins. I can see it from the corner of my eye.
“Stop it or I’ll take it back,” I say.
“Too late, you already gave it to me,” he says, tightening his grip. “This is my hand now.”
My lips twitch, but I’m saved from admitting anything when there’s a shout from the hallway.
“Ro! Customers!”
“Ah, that’s Finn. Gotta get back out there.”
Ro sweeps his thumb across the back of my hand, then squeezes it once. I reluctantly let go, and he slaps his palms against the boxes as he stands. Then he spins around with the most manic grin I’ve seen yet.
My eyes widen as my heart skips a beat. My defenses are ready to shoot up again.
“Ro…” I say, wary. “What’s that grin for?”
He saunters backward to the door as he replies.
