" What does it feel like?”
I know what he is talking about, but still I ask, “What does what feel like?”
“The deliria.” He pauses. Then I hear him slide slowly out of bed. He is kneeling in the space between our bunks. I cannot move or breathe. If I turn my head, our lips will be six inches apart. Less. “What does it feel like to be infected?”
“I—I can’t describe it.” I force the words out. Can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t breathe. His skin smells like smoke from a wood fire, like soap, like heaven. I imagine tasting his skin; I imagine biting his lips.
“I want to know.” His words are a whisper, barely audible. “I want to know with you. "

― Lauren Oliver , Pandemonium (Delirium, #2)