It was the little things—the way she broke down over tea in his kitchen and put herself together again, the way she thirsted to learn and constantly be better for herself, the way she forgave him and let him in. It was the way she staked a claim on him and the way she trembled for his touch, the way she didn’t run when he told her of the death he wreaked for her, the way she accepted his soulless form into her soft heart. It was the way she stole glances at him, the way she stole his t-shirts, the way she stole parts of him too. There was no fucking way he was ever going to let go of her. He
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