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“I followed you in here because you looked lonely. I followed you in here because you’re beautiful, and I like beautiful things.” A pause, and then the rest slipped out of him: “I followed you in here because I’m lonely too.”
Wanting him didn’t scare her, didn’t feel impulsive or shameful or dangerous. It simply felt inevitable.
Madness, he thought to himself. This is what madness feels like, to want to exist in a moment that isn’t reality. And what a relief it was to know that he couldn’t fall in love with her, was incapable of it, because if this was a fraction of love, he would never be able to let her out of his sight.
