"Yes," he breathed, keeping his voice low. He would have done so even without the promise. It felt like if he spoke too loudly, he'd disturb the angels, disturb the snow that was beginning to fall, somehow shatter the beautiful image before them.

"It's beautiful. Thank you for showing me this."

Gansey wanted the Phantom to look at him. It was—confusing—how his feelings were beginning to lean in regards to his captor. With his free hand he reached out, aching to take away the mask that covered his face, but he stopped himself. Instead, he brushed a stray golden lock behind the Phantom's ear.

"Is something wrong?"