When I don’t take his hand, he crouches and meets me at eye level. He looks apprehensive when he asks, “Are you okay?” His tone is so soft, tinged with worry that has some of the bands tightening around my chest loosening. “I don’t belong here, Damon,” I say honestly. I’ll just have to find another solution for my visa. He reaches in and cups the side of my jaw, drawing my attention. “Listen to me. There isn’t a place where I am that you don’t belong beside me.”
Shut up I’ll cry
