Edwin was still laughing when Robin kissed him. It turned at once into a sharp inhalation; an equally sharp press of fingers at Robin’s neck, keeping him close. Edwin’s mouth opening to his. It had the same urgency, the same carmine edge of exultation and not-being-dead, that had flooded Robin’s veins when they escaped from the maze. Robin kissed him, kissed him, drank him in like water.
