I pull back first.
I need to breathe. I need a moment to exist in my own body and understand what just happened, which is that I kissed Damien Wolfe in a room he built for me out of the design I made, with the silver tile on the floor and the light coming through the window exactly the way I planned it, and he kissed me back like it was the thing he had been holding back since the first day and had finally, completely stopped holding.
I press my hand against the scar at my throat. It is burning warm in the best possible way, the decided way, the way that says this is exactly right and has always been exactly right and every wall you built to keep this out was the wrong kind of architecture.
I drop my hand. I look at him.
He is looking at me. He has not moved. He is standing exactly whe
