The hallway outside the apartment is dim and narrow, the overhead bulb flickering. The sounds of my parents drop to a muffled blur behind the closed door.
Adrian does not speak immediately. He turns to face me and the corridor is small enough that there is almost no distance between us and for a moment neither of us moves.
I watch his face. He is back to the composed version, the one from the car and the hospital corridor and every interaction we have had since this started. But his eyes are doing something I cannot read and his jaw is tight in a way that is not quite neutral and I think about his heartbeat under my palm in there and I tell myself I imagined the speed of it.
He moves before I see it coming. His hand is at my jaw before I register it, fingers tilting my face up, and for
