He wears his heart on his sleeve, and when he does something, he does it with all that he has. Nothing, not a single action of his, is a half effort. I know his love for me would be the same. I know if we ever got to a point where things were strained, where the love wasn’t mutual and something needed to change, he wouldn’t let it fester into destruction. He wouldn’t walk out without talking with me, without giving every part of himself to what we had. If we went down, we’d go down fighting like hell to stay afloat, and there’s a comfort in that. He’s not Clark. He’s not afraid, he’s not
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