"...It's fine."
He had made it himself. Of course, it was good. Neville thought.
Grayson seemed satisfied with this response. He offered another bite, and then another, each one delivered with care on Neville's lips.
Somewhere around the third taco, Neville stopped struggling and obediently continued eating. It was easier just to accept this weird situation than to keep struggling. Besides, his stomach was genuinely grateful for the additional padding after the emotional roller coaster of the past few hours.
But as the meal progressed, he became increasingly aware of something.
Grayson's eyes were darkening with each bite Neville took.
Not with anger.
Not with displeasure.
But with hunger.
And this hunger had nothing to do with the tacos.
"You're not eating," Neville observed as a thread of nervousness laced his voice.
"Not hungry."
That's a lie.
