Mason walks me to my grandma's house, his hand in mine.

If I forget everything else, I can pretend he and I are simply two college students going on a walk through the city. I can pretend we both finished rough exams and he's taking me home, or out for ice cream. After wanting him for so long, it almost seems a crime to have his hand in mine without putting some kind of label on this.

The petulant child in me wants to stop walking, turn to him, and demand 'what are we?'. Friends? Boyfriends? Star-crossed lovers torn apart like Romeo and Juliet because my mother is a bad person?

But if I ask that, he could give me that same exhausted look he gave me when I said I didn't know if I would kill him. He would say, 'why do we have to be anything? Why can't we just be us?'

And that makes sense to me. Being us makes sense to me. I don't need to know what his hand in mine means as long as his hand is in mine.

"What are you thinking?" he asks, watching me.

I'm thinking that I want to walk forever if it means I don't have to walk away from you. I'm thinking I could find a cure for the infection if it means you never look as tired as you do right now. I'm thinking I'm going to betray my mother. I'm going to risk getting myself killed because I don't know if I can belong in a world that she's made. I'm thinking I'm scared that nothing is going to turn out right. I'm scared I'll come out the other side of this alone.

I pull his hand to my lips and kiss his warm skin. "I would kill for some good food," I whisper.

"Pretty intense expression for thinking about food."

I don't have an answer for that, so I nod. "Maybe we could get dinner sometime before I head back to the Academy."

He offers a smile that sets me on fire. "I'd like that." He looks up as we reach my grandmother's house.

I hate that we have to stop at the front gate and I hate the guards watching us from the lit paths. I hate the marble statues in the gardens and I hate the house that takes up half a block all by itself. I hate that my grandmother sits on a porch swing, watching us.

I wish I'd said goodbye to Mason sooner so I could've given him a hug and we could've said the things we really want to say to each other.

He gives my hand a squeeze. "I'll see you soon," he whispers.

No matter how soon that is, it'll never be soon enough. I don't want him to leave me here alone with her, but I've never even told him what she's like. He doesn't know I'm walking into several days of exhaustion and arguing and insufferable nitpicking over every single thing about me.

Mason moves forward and before I know what's happening, I'm being engulfed in his arms.

I stiffen slightly as I imagine my grandmother watching us. Then, his warmth surrounds me and I melt against him. I grip at his shirt and bury my face in his shoulder. A sob almost bursts out of me and, for the life of me, I can't figure out why. My knees threaten to give out.

Mason's arms strengthen around me. He brings his mouth close to my ear. "If you need me, just call," he whispers, so quiet I know he knows my grandmother can hear us.

It takes me a few moments to catch my breath enough to pull away. I take a deep breath once we've separated. My knees threaten to give out again. "Would it be selfish of me to ask you to stay?" I rasp, not caring if Grandmother hears me.

He brings his hand to my cheek and runs his thumb along my cheek like he's swiping away invisible tears. "No. Do you want me to stay?"

I grab his wrist and look towards my Grandmother, who is indeed watching us. I close my eyes. "No," I lie. "We'll both be punished for it. Go back to base. I'll see you soon."

If I'd been unprepared for the hug, I'm absolutely floored when Mason steps forward and presses his lips to my forehead. The world almost implodes around me.

"Be safe," he orders. Then, he's gone, and I'm alone with my grandmother and a dozen of her guards.

The gate slides open and I swallow my suffering, trudging up the sidewalk towards my grandmother's porch.

"Hello, Grand-."

"Sit," she orders.

I join her on the bench, my stomach still in the street where Mason pressed his lips to my skin.

"That was the Crane boy?"

"Mason," I agree.

"He cares about you."

I shrug.

She settles her hard gaze on me.

I look away before she can see me flinch.

"You care about him?"

"Yes," I whisper, before I can consider the consequences. More than anything. More than my mother. More than you.

Grandmother looks forward, out to the street as if she can still see Mason. "Good," she says, coolly. "Hold onto that." She stands and slips inside without another word.