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Summary
'His hand on your cheek distracts you, as he turns your face to look at him. His expression is somewhere between lovesick and achingly sad.
“What?” you ask.
“Mm.” His thumb brushes over your cheekbone. “Just admiring the second-most attractive person in this relationship,” he says.
“You’re funny,” you say, fondness ruining your attempted deadpan delivery.
“You’re the one who said it--oomph--” You push him onto his back, and his eyes flash green again, just a sliver around the wide expanse of his pupils. One of his hands lands on his opposite arm and he shrugs, his voice very thin when he finishes, “not--hah--not me.”'
A request for a vision turns into something more.