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Summary
Choco takes a small step forward, and Licorice steps away an equal distance, his back pressing against the counter. His heart twists at the sight of Licorice’s averted gaze—the way he lowers his head and hugs his arms, making himself look even more frail.
“Licorice..?”
And one might think the letters were made of daggers with how Licorice winces at the sound of his own name.
How softly it had drifted from Choco’s lips, and how gently it had lingered in the air between them. Yet all Licorice can think of was how horrible it was to hear his name carry that forbidden sweetness.