His face startled me — his expression was torn, almost pained, and so fiercely beautiful that the ache to touch him flared as strong as before. My goodbye stuck in my throat. He raised his hand, hesitant, conflict raging in his eyes, and then swiftly brushed the length of my cheekbone with his fingertips. His skin was as icy as ever, but the trail his fingers left on my skin was alarmingly warm — like I’d been burned, but didn’t feel the pain of it yet.

I was aware of the time slipping away so quickly, like the black road beneath us, and I was hideously afraid that I would never have another chance to be with him like this again — openly, the walls between us gone for once. His words hinted at an end, and I recoiled from the idea. I couldn’t waste one minute I had with him.

Honestly — I’ve seen corpses with better color. I was concerned that I might have to avenge your murder.

I wish you could feel the… complexity… the confusion… I feel. That you could understand.

It’s healthy to ditch class now and then.

And as for her other question… well, I’ll be listening to hear the answer to that one myself.

It’s twilight.

At the time, all I could think was, ‘Not her.’

No blood, no foul.

I was wishing that I could believe that you were real. And I was wishing that I wasn’t afraid.