Forget you were the one to arrange this meeting. Hope beyond hope that he'll not come to meet you. Do not go to him if he does. Even if it means that he's willing, do not -
Oh, but there he is! Just running over the rain-slick rooftops, never breaking pace despite breaking through. Occasional splintering of shingles beneath his feet. You smile. You can't ignore how cool and beautiful he is, how his movements entrance you as they did at the moment of your first meeting. Now your eyes follow the pale flaring of his cape. You could catch up to him so quick despite his demonic speed; yes, and reach out to grab him from behind, burying your face into a headful of needles. But you must let him retreat. You must only follow him quietly. You must not appear too eager...
Ask yourself, "Where is your pride in control?" Since when have you ever been so tempted to abandon that pride? Delectable target. This Zelgadis Greywars, your affection. You reach up to feel that place in your mantle, that place where his rough and threatening grab seemed to reach through the cloth, to your very heart, leaving you heartburnt. You held your hand there for so long afterwards. More out of wistfulness than out of physical pain. But the hurt was no less real, was it? It was because he showed how much he doesn't trust you ...
You hope that he surely feels something; he came after all.
You let him disappear. You proceed slowly to the meeting spot. It has started raining again. Wet rendezvous. But he doesn't seem to mind; he came after all.
To be continued ...