Felix’s curiosity was fascinating. In many ways, he was so cool and so confident: he made me feel large and clumsy when he strolled past me to peer in the top drawer. And I was well aware of the looks he drew, both at the gym, and when we arrived at the Haven. But the longer he was in Room 8, just the two of us together, the more the surface glamour faded and he just seemed like… another guy.
He made an irritated noise and pushed back his hair. It had worked loose from its topknot, as I’d noticed it often did. A drop of sweat glimmered under his ear. I had an irresistible urge to lean forward, settle my hand at the base of his skull, and lick that up.
“Here. Let me.” I stepped behind him, swept his hair up in my hand, twisted it, and fastened it back into place.
“What did you use?” he asked.
“It’s just a leather tie.” There was a pile of them in the drawer, of various lengths. This one was dark red, glossy, and looked good against his blond hair. The tips were pale green today, and brought out a muted hint of the same colour in his irises.
I watched the pulse in his throat as he swallowed, my hand lingering, brushing my fingertips over the shorter hairs on his nape. I wanted to take hold of him; to stroke him all over.
“Did you ask me?” he said softly.
I paused, because there was a jarring, yet strangely familiar edge to his voice. “Ask you what?”
“If you could touch my hair.” His casual tone had faded, the laughter no longer behind his words. “If you could touch me.”
I’d just wanted to help. But something stopped me saying that aloud.
“I should have checked first,” I said, instead.
“Yes. Just remember that.” He turned until he faced me, his eyes unnaturally bright. There were spots of colour high on his cheeks as if he was already aroused. He cupped my jaw with his left hand, and brushed his thumb over my lower lip. “Though my answer would have been Green.”