Alex moves to stand over him, looking down at that soft pink mouth. He feels himself standing at a very tall, very dangerous precipice, with no intention of backing away.
This thing, your mouth, its place. It’s what you do when you’re trying not to give yourself away. Not in the way that you do all the time, those empty, greedy grabs for you. I mean the truth of you. The weird, perfect shape of your heart. The one on the outside of your chest.