Yvonne Finley was stunned.
Her gaze was fixated on the street lamp directly in front of her.
The light in that spot gradually blurred, and she lost focus in her eyes.
She was in a daze for a while before she stammered a response: "... Okay."
The inside of the car was so quiet late at night that the only sound was their breathing, being shared over the phone, was casting a strange and intimate sense of connection.
He seemed to be laughing.
In a subtle way.
Because of the high fever, his voice was deeper than usual. His enunciation, inevitably a little drawn out, was especially enticing as he made a slight sound of acknowledgement.
Two seconds of silence later, a brief chuckle emerged: "Then, I belong to her."
Yvonne Finley: "......"
Her hand that was holding the phone tightened, her nails lightly scratching at her skin. It wasn't painful, but her emotions were surging, and her blood felt restive.
