She was terrified. Terrified that one day he wouldn't be able to hold on, that one night he would close his eyes and never open them again, that he would ultimately be devoured, piece by piece, by those memories.
Just as she was wrestling with her thoughts, struggling so hard she could barely breathe, a warm hand suddenly grasped hers.
The warmth was stunningly real, like a piece of warm jade pressed against her chest on a winter's day.
She snapped her head up and met his gaze—his eyes were as gentle as moonlight on old parchment, and so full of heartache it was as if they saw through all her unspoken fears. They also held a hint of helpless adoration, as if he had long understood her evasions and self-deceit.
"Aluo?"
Her heart trembled. Her voice was so soft she sounded afraid of waking from a dream, afraid this warmth would shatter at a touch, afraid the man before her was merely an illusion.
"Yes, it's me."
He replied softly, his tone steady and unequivocal.
