I keep waiting to wake up again, and the next time I do, I’ll be curled cozily next to the man of my dreams instead of facing Mr. Tall, Cold, and Stoic. I peek through my tear-soaked fingers long enough to catch the look he’s giving me before he stands up and walks to the desk. It’s the kind of look an adult gives a naive child who didn’t listen when they were told the stove was hot.
I'm sure he just has one of those faces... I bet his savior complex is rearing its ugly head
