“My question is do you want me to go?” Indignation bleeds from his shoulders, until he slumps, staring at me like I’m an unidentified species that he’s found in his kitchen. I put the whisk down with a clatter, and he puts his hand out quickly. “No, I don’t want you to go. Please stay, Dylan.” I stare at him for a second, seeing the tightness that looks almost like worry around his eyes. “Okay,” I say calmly. “I’ll stay.” He seems to relax immediately, making me wonder what is going through his mind.
