He's a blur of light and color, a dancing flame, moving so fast my eyes can barely keep up with him. His body twists and turns, flutters and flickers with only a slight bend, a gentle curve, a soft twirl. The whole time, he's whooping and laughing like a wild animal, daring anyone to try and catch him. Watching him, something alien and new erupts inside of me, lighting up my veins like liquid fire, engulfing my body like a torch. I have a sudden impulse to dance with him, to move with him. No, even more than that, I want to run my hands over his neck and shoulders, to envelop myself into the supple grooves and slopes of his chest. I find myself wondering what his lips taste like; I must be going mad. Terrified of my new found desire, I desperately try to suppress the flames rapidly spreading through my body, to stamp them out before I do something I'll regret. "You barely know him," the reasonable part of my mind hisses. "He's one of them; a forsaken." But then he spots me staring at him, and my willpower crumbles under the glare of that stupid, beautiful smile. He motions for me to join him. My body seems to have spontaneously developed a mind of its own and before I can stop myself, I stand up and stagger over to him. It's official: I've completely lost my mind. Trembling, I grab a hold of his hands. They're just as I imagined them to be: warm and steady. He tugs me closer, and I make a point to keep my gaze locked on his nose. I don't dare look at his eyes for fear that my heart will cease its frantic beating.
"Don't be nervous," he whispers, his voice as soft as a tinkling bell. He needn't worry; my fear disappears as soon as we start moving. I've never moved like this in my life, and as we twirl faster and faster, everything and everyone around us blurs away into hazy, indistinguishable blobs. I can't see, can't think, can't breathe; the only things keeping me from falling away with everything else is his heart's ceaseless thumping and the soft pressure of his arm around my waist. Then, without warning, a startling thought jars me awake from my stupor: I have no idea how to dance. You'd think I would've remembered that crucial fact before I got myself into this. My fear charges back and slams into me like a wave. I stumble, and he steadies me as we slow down. "You okay?" I open my mouth to tell him that no, I certainly am not and that I really needed to leave before I embarrassed both of us, but then my eyes meet his, and the words die in my throat. His eyes are like molten honey, dripping and oozing with golden warmth. I try to talk, to move, to do anything but I end up just sitting there, frozen, gaping at him like a fish out of water. Thankfully, he seems oblivious to my blunder and simply picks up where we left off. In no time at all, I'm flying in his arms once again.
I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know this new Laurel who lies, breaks curfew, and dances with nationally wanted criminals. But I do know one truth. It chants over and over again in my head, resonating through my body and filling me up with its song until it's perched on the edge of my lips like a bird, ready to take flight at any moment: I love him. I love him. I love him.