He felt as though he was melting under that gaze, against that voice those dark, wicked eyes. It slid through Merric's veins, burning him from the inside out, all liquid heat and painful wanting, and the steady thrum of a longing for something he could never have somewhere in the back of his mind.

Merric's sharp intake of breath made his throat ache. He stared at Lysander, eyes still wide and stunned, face still flushed, lips parted in an expression of utter confusion and bewildered shock.

Several heartbeats of moments passed. Merric slowly nodded, closing his mouth, feeling the weight and the confident firmness of those words go through him just as everything else Lysander had said to him did.

On one side of things, he had kept his promise to Roswell. He had said what Roswell had wanted him to say, and he had not touched Lysander.

On the other side of things, he had wanted to touch Lysander so badly that it physically ached.

"Yes," Merric managed to get out, a half stifled word. He fumbled for the doorknob, pulled it open, and then, with a last backwards look at Lysander, slid out and closed the door behind him.