I turn around and look up before I realize he explicitly told me not to do that.
The apartment is almost completely dark, but not completely completely dark. A thin seam of streetlight leaks through the gap between my curtains, just enough to carve out vague, ominous shapes from the blackness.
He’s tall as he looms over me, tall enough that I have to crane my neck back to find where his face should be.
But when my eyes reach that height, I see only a mask. It’s black and covers everything from the bridge of his nose down to his jaw. Not a surgical mask, not an N95 like this morning. This one is fitted, tight against his skin, molded to the contours of his face. Above it, his eyes catch the faint streetlight. They’re pale, but I can’t tell what color.
“Fine,” I whisper as I let my eyes
