It's still enough for him to register that something isn't quite right. When Locus draws back, his expression is carefully blank. That breathless, flushed look? Gone, smoothed over.
"You're afraid." There's a thoughtful gleam in those eyes, his thumb running just beneath York's lower lip. "Of me?"
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"You're afraid." There's a thoughtful gleam in those eyes, his thumb running just beneath York's lower lip. "Of me?"
One would think they were rather past that point.
"Or of this..."