Not fast—slow, quiet, like the petals of a flower blooming in the dead of night. They were pale, a crimson red glass eyes, rimmed in shadows. And they stared through me, not at me.
I didn't move.
He didn't either.
The wind rustled the grass around us, as if it too were holding its breath.
Then, finally, his lips parted—soft, chapped, colorless.
"…Why are you touching me?", said the boy softly yet still gave chills in his short reply.
His voice was low. Not cold exactly, but void of warmth. A hollow sound, like snow falling on stone. It wasn't angry. It wasn't anything.
"I—I thought you were dead," I whispered, heart pounding loud in my ears. "You were just lying here. Not moving…"
He blinked, once. Slowly. As if it took effort.
"I was resting."
His eyes moved to the sky. For a moment, I thought he might just fall back asleep, right there in the moonlight, as if I never existed.
"I didn't mean to bother you," I added quietly, pulling back, hands trembling as I reached for the cookies I'd dropped.
He didn't stop me. He didn't speak. He just watched.
"I'm sorry," I said again, feeling like a child caught stealing, even though I hadn't done anything wrong. "I was just… hiding."
A pause.
"…From who?"
"My brother."
His gaze shifted to me again, unreadable. "Is he cruel?"
"No," I replied quickly. "Just… protective."
Another pause.
He looked at the handkerchief in my hand.
"Those are sweet," he murmured. "I remember the taste. Barely."
I hesitated. Then held one out toward him.
His eyes flicked to it. But he didn't move.
"I don't need it," he said.
But there was a hunger in his voice that betrayed him.
"Y-You looks hungry," I said softly.
He lowered his eyes, lashes dark against pale skin. "That's not what I'm hungry for."
His fingers brushed my neck. Light. Lingering.
And I froze. Not from fear exactly. No. It was something else.
My breath caught. My skin shivered under his touch.
It wasn't just that I couldn't move.
It was that… I didn't want to.
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