“What do I feel like?” “Like…a hot swallow of tea after a day out in the chill.” I test the current between us, exploring it, running my mind across it like hands over a precious object. “Like the faint char of a bonfire in the air from somewhere far away. A hint of flame and heat.” He does not say a word. He does not move a muscle. He does not even appear to be breathing. “Is that what I feel like to you?” I ask. “No. You…” A muscle leaps in his cheek as his jaw tightens. “You are like a crisp trickle of water down the back of a sun-scorched neck. Like cold aloe on a burn.”
