Every breath brushing against his skin came uneven and hot, the fingers tangled behind his neck tightening whenever he tried to pull back even slightly. As if some instinct had already decided distance itself was unacceptable.
This was clearly not how he usually acted.
Yvaion tilted Reis' head slightly, studying him.
Red-faced. Half-lidded eyes. Lips swollen from far too many kisses. The human looked utterly ruined, despite how little had actually happened.
Reis pouted. "D…do…you hate the o…offering?"
"Hmm?" What was this idiot even saying? "Why would you think that?"
Reis tilted his head slightly. Why?
If he didn't hate it, why would the guardian forget about the offerings for multiple days in a row? The one who would try to take advantage of every chance he got, suddenly forgetting about the fair share? Clearly, he had grown tired of it.
Yvaion stared, dumbfounded by the scale of his subject's imagination. And the direction of his thoughts.
