It’s only then I notice the scratches running up his arm. The nick at his temple, and the flecks of dried blood begging to be brushed off. I don’t realize I’ve moved until I already have him cornered in the hall. My hand is a vice around his forearm, and his body heat seeps into my touch. He shivers, and I want to apologize for always being so damn cold. “Way?” he says warily. He’s still calling me Way, I think distantly. I gently turn his arm over in my hand. “You were on your bike.” He doesn’t say anything, so I force my gaze up. His brows are lifted and a weird look passes through his eyes.
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aw look who's concerned
