"The salt," Cilian murmured, his voice stripped of its armor. "It feels like glass in the muscle. It stings a lot, Ren."
Ren didn't answer. He focused on the task, his fingers working carefully in a way that masked the fact that his heart was ringing in his ears.
Even when he took the bullet for me, he didn't look 'this' tired. Ren thought and bit his lip.
He could smell the frost on Cilian's skin, mixing with the scent of the sea, and beneath it all, he felt the heavy, hungry weight of Cilian's gaze.
Cilian wasn't looking at the wound, or how Ren was taking care of it, of course, he was looking at Ren, his pupils blown wide as he drank in the scent of Ren's own pheromones, which were beginning to leak out in a confused, sweet mess.
