His hand is cold on my hot face, his eyes are shining, and I think I know what truth looks like.
I can't help but ask. "Is Buffy okay?"
His fingers card through my hair and he looks down at the floor, then back up. "No, she isn't. She may be, in time."
I don't want to say it, but the words come out anyway. "I saw the way you looked at her."
He pauses, tipping my face to make our eyes meet. "But do you see the way I look at you?"
And, finally, I do. And I exhale.