[How did he ignore this for so long? God, she looks so awful (beautiful as always, he always thought she was gorgeous and that her smile was a goddammed shining diamond of a thing but he never wanted to tell her, was worried about making all of that mess even worse) but there is a vulnerability, a tragic fragility that will never convince him she isn't the strongest of them all. She is strong, he still believes that. But she shouldn't have to be strong on her own.

He holds her tight and still holds back on the affection he wants to show her. Can't push it. Gotta let her set the pace. But this is good.]

We will be all up in these piles. There will be more mounds than in a collection of plush, bulbous rumps. Every time you are worried, a jutting half-moon of soft, miscellaneous objects will be waiting there for you to slip straight into their deep cushioning crevices.

And I'll be right there with them, ready for more feelings jams than there is mayo to pair with. Or peanut butter? The condiment you put on a sandwich with jam.

I'm with you, Rox. Like jam is with that other thing.