Although she wouldn't admit it had she been forced to at gunpoint, Nami was absolutely terrified.
That ice that resided in her eyes was a reflection of her soul. She was silent, strong, bitter, and unforgivingly cold. For nineteen long years, not a single person had ever found a way to read her, to know her, to warm her up.
And here he was, his fingers entwined in her magic-flower hair, one arm pulling her even closer to him, until she could detect that faint familiar scent of wild grass and grapes that drove her absolutely crazy.
At the first touch of his hand to hers, she had felt the spark, actually felt a prick of warmth—the first she had ever known. Her entire life had been cold. Cold was all she had. And now this boy, a boy she hadn't even known until a year ago, was threatening to melt the ice that she was made of.
And she was terrified, because there was no chance that she would ever be able to pull away from him.
Not entirely of her own will, her hand reached up to touch his face. She kept her eyes closed as the glacier within her started to crumble. She knew that if she looked into his eyes, the ice wouldn't have half a fighting chance. She would melt into a puddle of water at his feet, unable to stand on her own.
His hair brushed against hers as he leaned in, touching his lips to her forehead, and she trembled with a foreign sort of fear. He knew exactly what made her tick, and it was scaring her. He could make or break her world at will. She was his book to read, his path to wander, his music to play.
She was in love with him, and it made her want to scream and fall away into the earth, never to be seen again.
That she knew.
What she didn't know was that he was just as vulnerable to her as she was to him.