Some deep, pre-verbal part of my brain has been circling the truth like the first stupid wolf that became the first stupid dog circling a campfire.
Drawn to it,terrifiedof it, unable to look away.
And if she says it out loud right now, on this rooftop, while I'm still shaking from the unmasking practice and locked inside her and more vulnerable than I've been since I was sixteen and burning alive in twisted metal…
I'll fucking break.
So I kiss her instead.
Deep and slow and thorough, my hand in her hair, my other arm wrapped around her waist, and she melts into me with a soft sound that I feel in every cell of my body.
Her fingers trace the edge of my mask where it meets my jaw, the seam between who I am and who I pretend to be, and she doesn't try to pull it off again.
We lie there.
Somewhere below, the city keeps existing with its cars and its lights and its millions of people who have never knotted anyone on a rooftop who is simultaneously the most important and loathed person in their fucking life while having a panic attack.
Lucky bastards.
My shaking slows. Occasional tremors rippling through my arms and legs, spaced further and further apart as Bells's warmth seeps into my chest.
She's running her fingers through my hair, nails scraping my scalp.
I don't tell her to stop.
My knot throbs once, twice, and then I feel it begin to soften. The swelling eases gradually, pressure releasing in increments, and Bells shifts slightly on top of me as the lock between us loosens.
"Oh thank fuck," she mutters.
"Eloquent."
"We've been stuck for—" She reaches for her phone, which is somehow still clutched in one hand. She holds the screen above my face and I squint at the dozens of unread messages scrolling past.
RAF
I told Carmine you're doing rooftop meditation
he does not believe me
PHOENIX
GUYS PLEASE
carmine is asking if we have a drug problem
RAF
I said maybe
PHOENIX
THAT DID NOT HELP
RAF
well it got him to start asking WHICH drugs
and that slowed him down because I started naming Phoenix's favorite spices