“Okay,” he whispers, cupping my face and tracing circles over my cheek with his thumb.
But now that I’m looking at him, I can’t look away. My fingers itch up his chest, but he squeezes my hand closed. “I wan’ to touch you too.”
He shakes his head. “No, I promise you don’t, Pandora.”
“Oh, please?”
He frees me with a soft sigh, and I trace his jaw, temple, and brows. “You’re beautiful,” I whisper.
His brows pinch with a pained look. He gives the slightest shake of his head.
“You are though. You have beautiful eyes. They are my favorite eyes, do you know that? And, your brows. They are very expressive.” My words slur with the effects of the potion clouding my mind. My fingers trail down to trace his lips. His eyes drift shut, but his face is tense. “And, these lips? They’re the best lips I’ve ever seen. But do you know what my favorite part is?” I press his lip up. “These two teeth. I want to kiss them.”
He clamps a hand around my wrist as his eyes flash open. “No, Pandora.”
“You won’t let me?”
He shakes his head and my face crumples. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pout.”
“Why?”
“Because it will break my heart.”
My eyes widen and trail down to his chest, and he lets out a shaky snort.
“Because you want to kiss me too?”
He groans. “You’re going to kill me, Pan. You’re literally going to kill me.“ Then there are real tears welling in his eyes and spilling down his face, and I freeze.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I croon. I’ll—I’ll stop. Please don’t cry.”
“I’m not. I just—fuck.” He urgently swipes the tears away before he snatches my hand. He kisses my fingertips as if to say ‘there’ and then my palm before laying my hand over his face. He groans into my palm.
I examine the foreign room. “Where are we?”
“This was my mother’s room.”
I scrub at my face. “I feel like I’m forgetting something.”
“Don’t think about it,” he says pressingly. “Come here, and I will kiss you.” He lugs me to his chest and kisses at the top of my head, distracting me by weaving his hands through my hair. It works for a time, but that feeling gnaws on me, and slowly, things start coming back.
I push back at his chest and stare at him intently as I struggle to work it all out. My memories are still fuzzy and distant, as though they’re years in the past. As though they happened to someone else. “You…”
He watches me silently, face somber.
“You…were supposed to let me die,” I whisper.
“No, I wasn’t, and I won’t,” he bites out.
“It’ll be dangerous to get rid of me.”
“No one is getting rid of you,” he growls.
“You have to because…I…I…I…I—“
