Morel

"I- what?" I take a step back, hurried and I nearly trip over furniture. "I'm not- I can't!"

"You need blood to survive, Morel," Winter says, tucking his hand to his chest again, but not rolling down his sleeve. "You can't live on coconut water. It's a poor substitute. It doesn't have the natural nutrients you need."

I shake my head quickly, desperate. No. "I can't- I'll hurt you."

Winter seems taken aback at that. "I'm not worried about you hurting me."

I don't know what it is, but something seems to have changed about his demeanour. Like he's decided something important, done something important, or finished something important. He's still assertive, strong, quiet Winter - the Winter I know. But something has changed.

He's more decisive, more close. More intimate, if that is possible. He's ready to be closer to me, and even though I can see his fingers shaking, he's prepared to offer me his blood.

The memory of his warm salty blood in my mouth is a pleasant one. I shudder and avert my eyes, feeling warmth pool in my body at the memories. His blood is tangy but slightly sweet, the only flavour I've truly tasted that made me light-headed if I drank too much. Rich. Does it still taste the same?

I swallow thickly, my mouth dry. "I won't hurt you, sir." The word is foreign in my mouth, leaving a bitter taste.

Winter shakes his head. "You don't need to call me that, Morel."

My name on his tongue is as much a drug to me as blood might be. It's intoxicating in the way he says it, familiar and kind and soft and gentle, but with his usual frost-bitten prickle of syllables. But it isn't as caring as it used to be. But I can hear him trying.

I'm too hopeful to think he might want me back. He might want to fix this, whatever is between us, and kiss and kiss until the pixies stop dancing and the jewel trees die, and lay in his bed under his covers and laugh about something he said, laugh about something I said, and watch his eyes light up as I kiss along his body and memorise those curves and dips and muscles and bones. Have him let me mark him as my own, and him let me, and him let me, and him let me, and him let me.

Winter sighs softly and begins to button up his shirt. He pulls his sleeve back down and looks out his large window. The pixies dance outside, and I know how much he has always loved it.

"I- I have to go," I say quickly. I slip out of the door before he speaks, closing it with a soft click. He doesn't come after me, which is just as well. I wouldn't be able to stop myself if he did.

I miss it all. Everything. Everything, everything. Him bringing out the sides of me I didn't know I had, the private things we said and did, things I dare not speak of. But I think of them more than enough.

What have I done to us? What have I done?