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Lane raised an eyebrow. His face was all angles and lines in the soft light of dusk, a chiselled statue basking in gold. He wasn't so much looking at me than seeing- because him seeing me caused a jolt of something to run though me like an electric current. I was thrumming. I felt alive.

I stepped forwards. All was silent apart from the sound of my boots against the floor. I'd have to get used to this feeling, this blessed feeling of being the center of his attention. He didn't say a word as I pressed my lips against his ear, didn't say a word as I traced my fingers down his jaw. He didn't move a single muscle.

I exhaled slowly. His neck went taut under my fingertips. And then I drew back, lifting my hand away. Just far enough so that we weren't touching.

His breathing slowed. I took my time in watching him, no, seeing him, making sure he felt me run my eyes over every inch of exposed skin. The thrumming in my ears didn't stop. I realised I needed him to feel wanted. Needed him to know that I wanted him, the knight, and that he wasn't just the useless accessory I'd sometimes insinuated he was. I could apologise. No, I should, or at least tell him so. That I was a hypocrite at times, that I put others down to elevate my own self-worth. That I was selfish and rude and treated him like a child when he was so much more than I could ever be.

He had his faults, too, but he hadn't gloated in mine like I had his. I'd scoffed at what he called nobility, honour: because I lacked it. Because I wouldn't admit to myself that I was worse.

The words wouldn't form in my mouth. I knew exactly what I wanted to tell him. How absurdly cowardly I was. I'd always thought Daytin Ward and I were separate beings, separate people. It suddenly appeared that perhaps the line had always been blurred.

So I did the next best thing. When I was done admiring him, I stepped closer again and truly saw him one more time. It had never been pure attraction, I realised. There'd always been something else, something I couldn't quite put my finger on.

"Can I?" I breathed. My voice was softer. I would better myself for him, if that's what it took.

The room stilled in the moment. The orange shaft of light from the window made his eyes gleam; tiny pockets of starlight stared back at me. He nodded once, just the slightest of gestures. I could only hope he was as entranced by me as I him: not out of vain for once, but because I was so inexplicably captured by what he was that all I wanted was for him to know it.

"Why?" He murmured into me. "Was it today?"

My lips lightly brushed against his, just the tiniest touch. "No." I couldn't explain it further, didn't know how to. "Before... today."

I kissed him gently. I felt his slight intake of breath before he responded, kissing me back with just as much fervour as I had hoped for. His hand went to my neck; his fingers dragged against the skin there, tracing it in small patterns, barely pressing down.

Weightless. I floated now. My right hand buried into his hair. A heartbeat, two, three, they stopped and started in erratic intervals- warmth flooded through my skin- and then there was this burst, this release of energy: he felt warm, tasted like belonging. A sense of closeness I'd only felt with one other person, and that wasn't comparable.

We somehow backed our way against the far wall. My hands roamed freely against the back of his head, his neck. I could barely feel my feet on the ground. I pressed my chest to his, cloth against cloth, and leaned into him. The knight's mail on his back rubbed against the wood.

It felt so unbelievably real, kissing him, and I wanted to bury myself in him and stay there for a very, very long time.

Lane suddenly broke away and stepped to the side. The dream shattered, like a mirror breaking into shards of glass, and I coudn't hide the hurt written plain across my face. He saw it well and clear.

The sun began to dip behind the hill. He closed his eyes and breathed, as if still savouring the moment. That had to mean it wasn't me. I nearly wanted to smile at the thought and was immediately horrified. Of course my first thought was to stay out of the blame. I swallowed and turned to the wall. Perhaps this was the reason he'd pulled away, because of my joy in the pain of others, and he'd just realised it now.

The silence continued, and my twisting insides felt more hollow with every second that passed.

"I'm sorry." His face was half-covered in shadow. He spoke quietly. "I just couldn't stop thinking. About you, comparing me to... Isaac. I couldn't help it."

Isaac? I must've looked confused. I shouldn't have, considering the way I'd rushed straight into things. Of course he'd see it that way, because I was exactly the kind of person to use him as a distraction. "I didn't. I'd never do that."

Lane closed his eyes for a second, and the starlight flickered. "But that's what you'd say even if you did. I'm not trying to reject you. I just don't want to be compared, and I don't want to be let down."

"Do you want me to convince you?" Despair seeped into my voice. Issac was so far back in the past that he was nothing more than a memory. "There's nothing to compare. It's me and you now, isn't it? If you want me to tell you that, I will. Lane,-"

He sounded tired. "It's not what you're saying or not saying. It's not you. I just need time to believe it, okay? It's not you. It's really not."

The rejection hit me harder than I expected. I took two steps back and dropped my arms to my sides. What was there to believe? He was lying, surely. There was no logical reason for Lane to be thinking about him in that moment: I'd never questioned him on his past affairs, much less cared. Couldn't the fact that I'd initiated be enough proof? I swallowed. Perhaps he just needed a little more convincing. I'd change how he saw me if it meant pouring my heart on the table and stabbing it with a knife.

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