“Is she okay?” he asks. “Yes. I am the victim here,” I hiss, pointing at the mess on my head. His eyes travel over the braids, abruptly stopping on the visible tips of my ears. I usually hide them, just to avoid upsetting people with my otherness, and the way Lowe stares at them—first with hypnosis-like intensity, then abruptly glancing away—only reinforces that resolution.
HE IS SO IN LOVE WITH HER AND FOR GOOD FUCKING REASON BECAUSE SHE IS LOVELY UGH I JUST ADORE THESE TWO SO MUCH
