Markus
The more I speak, the darker the human’s, Quinn’s, eyes get. It’s like his spark has withered in front of my eyes in a flash and I have no idea what to do now. I don’t understand him. I don’t understand me around him. I don’t understand his impossible beauty which draws me to him even now, when he’s my brother’s. His perceptiveness confuses me. It should not be so easy to talk to him, admitting things I have barely admitted to myself. He’s a stranger, some guy we have to keep out of trouble until he’s stops being our problem and our lives are back to normal, without him in it. The problem is he doesn’t feel like a stranger. And I am definitely not sure about him being gone.
“You are alright, I guess,” I finally reply, because who the hell admits the other stuff out of the blue to
