"Thank you," I say, and touch his face. I want to touch him as much as I can. "It's beautiful."

The grass is soft and smells of the best part of summer. I put my face against his neck and breathe him in. I wonder what terrible things his body can stand while he's like this. Could I kill him? I think about it for a moment. Would he be blotted out like a human? Maybe it would be kind, to break him apart in his moment of happiness and swallow him down before he remembers despair. He wanted to give me oblivion once, I remember, and I kiss the soft skin of his throat. I'd give you that, I promise him.

I don't, though. I bite lightly instead: tender innocent thing. More so than Micah ever was, since I've been him.