"Hey," I say gently. "Are you
okay?"
His breathing quickens. I see his knees buckle, and he
drops to the ground, his eyes closed.
Without thinking, I rush over and drop before him.
"Hey," I say urgently. "Hey, open your eyes."
His nostrils are flared—if his breathing doesn't
regulate, he's going to pass out.
"Look at me," I plead. "You have to
calm down."
He brings his hands up, pressing his fists into his
chest.
I place my left hand on his cheek. "Edward."
His eyelids fly open, and his jade-green eyes glisten
at me. He stares at me with an intensity I've never known—it almost takes my
own breath away. Ever so gently, he leans his face into my hand.
His breathing slows and deepens as he maintains eye
contact. I find myself breathing in time with him—his inhales match mine, his
exhales collide with my breath in the air between us. We're breathing the same
air.
"That's the first time you've said my name."
I blink. "It is?"
"Yes."
I ponder that for a moment. I suppose it is.
"Edward," I say again. His name feels nice as it escapes my lips.
"Are you okay?"
"I am now."
"Good."
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