He's so cold, so cold. as if they reflected the light differently than they should have, or would have, if they'd been human eyes. He drew back just enough to talk, his lips brushing mine. But it seemed like prying and none of my business.
He drew back from the kiss, and his eyes had bled to blue. His arms were traced with bites and scratches, so it looked like he was wearing red gloves all the way up to his shoulders. Jean-Claude had crawled up on the bed, near the pillows. The door hung crooked in the frame, and a little light leaked around the edges, but it wasn't bad.
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