Frustrated, Gansey opened his mouth to explain. That, yes, he had gone, but he had planned to come back. Why had the Phantom given him the option to go at all if he didn't trust Gansey would return? Whelk had thrown a magnificent wrench into his plan, for certain, but his intentions—...

Everything died on his tongue. For, in that moment, the Phantom looked as though he was in a fit of terrible pain. Then, there was the clack of something hitting the floor. Gansey's eyes followed the mask first. There it was, plainly, sitting in the dirt and grime. Abandoned. His heart beat furiously in his chest, like it might very well explode.

Then, in almost a haze, his eyes flicked up to the Phantom's face.

It was not what he expected. No scarring, nothing so hideous that needed to be masked at all. It was quite the opposite. The man before him was nothing short of beautiful, if not incredibly pale from how he lived. Stunned, Gansey could only stare before the rest of his mind caught up to him.

"Pha..."

No. The mask was gone. Gansey swallowed, fingers flexing in toward his palms though he longed to reach out. Fear gripped him, stopped him. He was a fool so many times over; fear of doing something utterly stupid cemented his shoes to the ground. This would be the worst time to jam his foot into his mouth or do something to send the man running.

"Laurent." Not knowing what else to do, he held his hands out, palms up. Offering.... offering nothing. Nothing and everything.