“I did,” she agreed on a breath, a slight tremor to her voice. “Our nights wouldn’t be spent like this,” he answered, and he watched her face fall a little at the words. “Our nights would be spent on balconies under the stars talking or on sofas before fires watching a Chaosphere game. Our nights would be more than fucking fruit, cheese, and crackers. Our nights would be soft words instead of barbed ones to deflect and protect. Our nights would be intimate touches rather than frantic ones of uncertainty. Our nights would be my hands in your hair instead of your fingers pulling on the strands.
...more
I’m losing it
