Not mine, etc. etc.
I don't know when I first realised it. Maybe it was when we were trapped in the alleyway, and his calm brown eyes met mine. When a flash of emotion broke his control, for just a moment, when they tried to restrain me. The way his lips thinned into an angry line as a drop of blood ran from my lip.
Maybe it was when we were thrown down here, in this cold stone hell. Or when he turned to me the split-second after the guards left us alone, and frowned; actually frowned. Perhaps it was his tone of voice as he asked if I was injured, or the tremble in his hands as he bound my arm with strips of his blue shirt.
Or maybe it was moments ago, when I saw a single droplet of glimmering salt water creep from beneath his lashes as he stood vigil over me. When he turned at my dry cough, crouching by my side and forcing the last of his water past my lips. Maybe I've always known. One thing is for certain, and that's that I know now, as I pull him closer by the front of his shirt and press my mouth to his. As a sharp gasp of cold air rushes past my lips before he relaxes and kisses me back.
I know now. I love him.