“Don’t give me that face. You are gorgeous. Your eyes, your hair — I fucking love your hair. The way your fingers are, and just the whole /length/ of you.” She disdained answering the bit about sociopathy.
He cocked his brow. “My hair is a nuisance but I’m too busy and lazy to get it cut. Besides my fingers aren’t that amazing. They’re just like yours,” he replied, making a face.
“Please don’t cut it.” Summer went over to him, taking his hands. She put hers palm-to-palm with his, smiling at how his overtopped hers by a whole fingerjoint. “They aren’t like mine at all. They’re long and elegant, your fingers, lovely and dexterous. You look all limbs but the way you move — you don’t even notice but it’s like watching a big cat, all grace and danger.” She curled one of his hands around her cheek for a moment, then turned to kiss each fingertip. “I love the way your whole face changes when you smile,” she murmured against his palm, “a real smile, not the pretend-to-get-along-with-humans smiles you like to give. You /are/ gorgeous, I’m a shadow next you.”