He doesn’t drop it. He just keeps his thumb on my cheek and his eyes on mine, those pale, unreadable eyes above the black fabric. I can feel him waiting. He’s patient when he wants to be, which is one of the more infuriating things about him.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, turning my face away. “It was a long time ago.”
He absorbs that. His thumb traces down to my jaw and tilts my chin back up. “I’ll find out eventually.”
He’s so close now that his chest is touching mine. The wall is rough through my coat and his hand is in my hair. I should push him away. I should absolutely push him away. This is categorically insane behavior from both of us.
But when he kisses me and I let him, neither of us are truly surprised.
He makes a sound against my mouth—surprised, almost—and then his hands ar
