It doesn’t halt us completely, but I feel the shift through the bond before I fully register it. The steady hum between us deepens, warms, expands—like something in him has been struck clean through.
I glance at him, and the look on his face almost unravels me. His expression is completely… open with quiet intensity, but it’s different from the kind I’m used to. This one doesn’t press. It doesn’t weigh. It sinks in, deep and sure, like I’ve just handed him something he didn’t realise he’d been waiting for.
“You see more than most,” he says, his voice lower now, roughened in a way that pulls at my attention immediately.
His hand finds mine then—not a brush this time, not accidental. His fingers close around mine with quiet certainty, his grip firm but careful, like he’s grounding himself as much as he’s grounding me.
The contact sends a slow, steady heat up my arm, settling low and deep instead of immediate and fleeting.
“I have always been… divided,” he continues, his gaze still on me. “What I was required to be. What I chose to be.”
His thumb shifts slightly against my hand, a small movement that feels far bigger than it should.
“You look at both,” he says. “And do not turn away.”
I swallow, my pulse kicking just a little faster because that level of honesty from him does things to me. “Yeah,” I mutter, my voice rougher now. “Turns out I’m no longer great at looking away.”
A faint, real smile touches his mouth this time. And I feel that through the bond, too, a quiet thread of satisfaction and pleasure that settles into my chest and stays there.
We fall into step again, but the space between us has shifted. It feels closer, charged with awareness that hums steadily beneath my skin. The bond is there, too, no longer something I resist, but a quiet current that threads through me and anchors me in place.
His hand doesn’t leave mine.
I glance at him again and find he’s already watching me.
His gaze travels over me with clear intent—unhidden and unrestrained. It lingers in a way that makes my pulse pick up, my body reacting before my thoughts can catch up.
“You are distracted,” he says.
I let out a short breath. “You’re the one staring.”
“Yes.”
There is no embarrassment in him, no attempt to soften the admission. He owns it completely, which sends a bolt of lust right to my gut. My cock stirs in interest.
I shake my head, but I can feel the pull of a grin at the corner of my mouth. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I am attentive,” he replies.
“Is that what we’re calling it now?” I am absolutely teasing, the sensation as terrifying as it is fun.
He lowers his gaze again, slower this time, deliberate enough that I feel it as much as see it. The weight of that look presses into my body, and my gut flips.
“You would prefer I was not?” he asks.
The question comes out quiet, but it carries weight.
I stop walking. The answer rises immediately, clear and unfiltered. “No,” I say, my voice rougher than before. “Didn’t say that.”
His eyes meet mine again, and satisfaction moves through him. It’s steady and unmistakable. I feel it through the bond, a low pulse that spreads through my chest and rests there.
We move again, closer together now. The distance between us doesn’t return. It stays deliberately reduced like we’ve both agreed without speaking.
“You should rest,” he says, though the tone of his voice doesn’t match the words.
I glance at him, my attention zeroing in. “That what you want?”
His gaze holds mine. When he speaks again, his voice drops, roughened by intent. “No.”
