"I know you do, sugar," Kavinsky said, mouth against Newt's temple. He smudged kisses all over his skin, all the places that Newt seemed leery of--his temple, his cheekbones, the pulse in his neck and then his wrists, the back of his hands. This was the truth: here was a boy he adored. Here was a boy he would walk to the ends of the earth for. Here was a boy he would sell what little soul he had, if it meant he didn't have to suffer.

"Everything's gonna be okay."