“When you see him, I want you to do something for me.”

“What’s that?”

“Ask him if he feels like he might die if he doesn’t get to touch you again.”

I frown. “Why would I ask him that?” I whisper.

“Because there’s another man who does.” The phone clicks as he hangs up.

 

T. L. Swan, The Stopover 

Reposted from mefir