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A whooshing fills my ears—thump-thump, thump-thump.
Warm, amber eyes flit to mine, then away, then back again, growing impossibly wide.
“Mason?” he says, so quietly I barely even hear him over the roar flooding my ears.
What…is this…
I sink into his gaze, and I feel…something, something big lurking there, just on the horizon. A tug from somewhere inside me, or maybe inside of him…
Emotion flares from his eyes, expanding his pupils.
And I see myself reflected there, in their black, shiny depths.
Is the fear I see mine, or his?
My fingers flex against his soft, too-warm skin, and it’s like I’m suddenly outside myself, watching as my lips part. Watching as I start to lean in?—
Just as he rips away from me, gaze pointedly aimed at the floor.
Back in my body, my hands hover in the air, and it feels like my heart has split itself down the middle, and each side is currently pulsing against each of my palms.
“Sorry,” he mutters, turning away, hugging himself.
I frown. He keeps saying that.
He mumbles something about contacts. The hell?
“Contacts?” I say, lowering my hands.
He gives a jerky nod as his fingers fiddle with the ends of his short sleeves. “Y-yeah, I’m thinking blue or green might clash weirdly with the brown, so I might just try a darker shade of brown.” He barks out a rusty noise, that I’m pretty sure is supposed to be a laugh.
“I don’t get it,” I say, but he doesn’t seem to hear me.
“Fuck it, maybe I’ll try something weird, like red, or cat eyes, so I can scare people off.”
My lip curls, and I imagine my face is one big what the fuck. Not that he can see it. He’s too busy pacing, and tugging at the hair that had fallen out from whatever gel he used to style it back last night. It now curls messily over his brow, reminding me of the boy I remember.
Maybe college hasn’t completely changed him…
Is it wrong that I’m a little grateful for that?
I clear my throat, and shove away the thought. “Where is this coming from?”
He shakes his head. “Just something that’s been on my mind for a while. If I could put on eyeliner, I could totally put in a contact.”
Eyeliner?
So he was wearing some last night.
“Jeremy…” I say slowly, warily, “why do you want to change your eye color?” Uneasiness creeps into my awareness, and my heart pounds as I wait for an answer, especially the longer he remains silent.
His pacing has stopped, and now he just stands there, blinking down at the floor.
“You know why,” he finally says.
“Jer, your eyes are perfect the way they are.”
For a long moment, he’s so still, I don’t even think he’s breathing.
