I barely wait for the door to swing shut to pull Tink into a hug. Tink goes rigid. “What the hell are you doing?” “It’s called comfort.” I don’t let go. She’s not fighting me; she’s fighting herself. I lean down a little and speak directly in her ear. “No one’s here but us. You don’t have to be strong right now. Let it out.” “Fuck … you.” The last word comes out as a sob. Then her arms are around my waist, and she buries her face against my chest.
🥹🥹
