Angel's cheeks flush a deep, flustered red. He pulls back quickly, looking away—shy, maybe nervous after the intimacy of reaching out to touch my face. "I… I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice low.
I look at him, a soft smile tugging at my lips despite the strange heat simmering under my skin. "Why are you apologizing?"
He stays silent, just looks down, a beautiful portrait of sweet awkwardness.
My own face is burning, but not from shyness. It's something else. A warmth is rising inside me, slow and steady, like a tide creeping up the shore. I rub the back of my neck again. The feeling is peculiar, unsettling—a subtle prickling, a hum of energy just beneath my skin, as if something is gently waking up.
Trying to shake it off, I stand up slowly, stretching my body with an exaggerated laziness I don't feel. "I should get to sleep," I announce, more for my own benefit than his.
Angel looks up at me, his golden eyes watchful.
