His grip intensifies, still gentle, yet desperate. He sighs, the sound of weariness meeting comfort, the bittersweet relief of falling into bed after a long day. “Because I…I think I missed you. Because I hate kissing, but I love it when it’s you, and that means something. I don’t know what, and I wish I knew more, but I do know this,” he says roughly, and then he nuzzles me. I don’t know how else to describe it, this tender nudge of his temple against my cheek, the whisper of his mouth over the shell of my ear. “I want to kiss you so badly, it’s obliterated every other thought in my brain.
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