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I leaned even closer, my voice dropping to a low murmur. "Yes. Someplace where no one will see us or hear me when I do whatever it takes to make you understand."
The words hung in the air, her confusion evident as she repeated, "Whatever it takes? What do you mean by that?"
Impatiently, I cut her off before she could start overthinking. "Just come with me."
A strangled "okay" escaped Skye's lips as we slipped out of the cacophony of the hallway. A knot of students buzzed in the corner, but their whispers were just static against the roar in my head. The only voice I craved to hear, the only echo I needed, was hers.
Silence snaked its way between us as we walked, my thoughts pirouetting like drunk ballerinas. I clenched my fists, willing the maelstrom within to settle. Annoyance, frustration, and a raw, possessive heat warred for dominance. Stepping away from the murmuring cluster, I halted, feeling the sudden openness like a dare.
"You want to talk here?" Skye's voice, laced with subtle defiance, broke the spell. Her hazel eyes, the color of autumn leaves kissed by firelight, met mine, their depths already holding me hostage. I was falling, I knew it with a sickening certainty, falling faster than a stone through starlight. Yet, fear, or was it some twisted sense of self-preservation, kept the words of my adoration locked in my throat.
Skye's voice, a soft melody against the background hum of the cafeteria, shattered the silence that had stretched between us like a chasm. "What's with the mask?" she asked, her hazel eyes shimmering with a blend of concern and something deeper, something I couldn't quite decipher.
I hesitated, the mask suddenly feeling like a wall against her warmth. "Something personal," I mumbled, my voice rougher than I intended.
"Can you take it off?" she persisted, her brow furrowing slightly.
"Not today," I replied, the words catching in my throat. Her question felt like a dare, a challenge to peel back the layers I'd built around myself.
"Come on, Dax," she chided, a playful glint in those captivating eyes. "You can't hide your face forever, you know."
"Maybe I can," I countered, a flicker of defiance sparking in my chest. It was strange, the way her presence ignited this fire within me, a mix of protectiveness and something else, something I couldn't yet name.
But then, my gaze caught on her. And something was different. A tangible shift in the air, a subtle change in the way the light danced on her features. "You look… different," I breathed, curiosity battling with the shadows in my own heart.
"Very different," she agreed, her voice a whisper.
I leaned in, scrutinizing the change. "You ditched the glasses!" I exclaimed, the realization dawning like sunlight.
"Bingo," she replied, a playful grin curving her lips. "But tell me, sharpshooter, can you spot anything else different about me?"
I studied her, searching for the hidden depths, the secrets beneath the surface. "There's a lot that's different, Skye," I admitted, my voice softening. "This is the first time we've spoken like this, without you trying to escape, without your usual… interruptions."
Her eyes, once guarded, now held a hint of vulnerability. "Well, today is different," she murmured, her smile a secret bloom in the dim light.
"How?" I pressed, mesmerized by the way her smile transformed her entire face, revealing a new layer of her that I desperately wanted to explore.
Her voice, a threadbare whisper, trailed off like a kite caught on the wind. "It's different because…" she stammered, her hazel eyes searching mine as if for an anchor. "Well, um…"
The silence swelled between us, thick with her hesitation. I watched her bite her lip, the same way she used to before launching into one of her scathing barbs. But today, the air crackled with something different, something electric and raw.
Finally, she met my gaze, and the words tumbled out like a dam bursting. "It's you!" she exclaimed, her breath hot on my cheek.
My mind, a jumble of wires, sparked with disbelief. Did she just… confess? The question echoed in my skull, refusing to be silenced.
"Me?" I choked, my voice rough with uncertainty. "Are you… lying?"
She met my skepticism head-on, her chin firm. "No, I'm not."
"Seriously?" I raised an eyebrow, searching her eyes for a flicker of mockery, a hint of revenge for some imagined slight.
"Dax, I mean it," she insisted, her voice a low growl.
"Swear you're not messing with me?" I pressed, desperate for confirmation.
"Honestly," she breathed, her sincerity a tangible force in the air.
A nervous chuckle escaped my lips, a sound strangled by the absurdity of it all. "How is this even happening? You, Skye Coleman, the queen of sarcasm and master of the well-placed insult, talking to me without resorting to… well, insults?"
