He moves one of his hands to my chin and softly nudges me, once again drawing me out of my head at such a fast rate that I almost feel as if I received whiplash. I blink my eyes until they focus on him again, subconsciously realizing that his head is still bent and pressed to mine, his hands are back to resting on and brushing over my cheeks, and he had inched closer to me at some point while I was lost inside myself.
“Whatever you’re thinking, wherever you just went, stop it,” he whispers fiercely, his storm-cloud eyes raging and swirling with regret, longing, and hopelessness even more than I previously witnessed mere moments ago.
My pulse throbs at a rate that I’m sure isn’t safe or healthy, but I do my best to find the mask I spent my life forming so I can put it back where it be
