I see it in him.
Born of winter.
Sculpted from ice.
But utterly belonging to the dark.
Those shadows curl over him, like they’re trying to bring him closer.
“It must be hard to be around others,” I say after a moment too long. “Overstimulating, you know? Feeling people’s emotion-bubbles all the time. That would suck.”
My heart lurches—
Because something happens to his face.
It cracks.
The mask, the stone, fractures.
I swear, I swear on my fucking life, hesmiles.
For the shortest moment, the quickest millisecond, the corner of his mouth lifts… then I blink, or time passes, or I’ve lost my mind.
Maybe I did imagine it.
Because now, staring at him, his face is once again chiselled from ice and marble, completely unfeeling, and the light dances over the green of his eyes, washing out the colour.
He looks more inhuman than ever before.
And for a long moment, water trickling with the passing seconds, he just looks at me.
My toes curl under the water.
“Bubbles,” he echoes, “is an accurate description.”
Relief ribbons through me.
My toes relax.
I dance my fingers against the pressure of the water. “Everyone has their own…bubble?”
“Most.”
My eyebrows meet in the middle. “Most?”
There is no smile on his face, no whisper of one, as he repeats, firm, “Most.”
He doesn’t explain, doesn’t elaborate.
And I don’t push it, no matter the curiosity nipping at my insides. Because this might be the most he’s spoken to me in all the time we’ve been stuck together.
It makes me wonder if he would have spoken to me more away from the unit. If prying ears weren’t around, would conversation have flowed easier between us over these cold months?
I guess even I crave conversation sometimes.
Usually, I’m the kind to hide away. To dip out of parties and nights out without a word of warning, just a half-hearted apology text I would send when I got home.
I even hid from Bee sometimes.
