[ next year. would he still be here in a year's time? would she? it's hard to say—people come and go in the resort with seemingly no rhyme or reason; she doesn't want to make promises she may not be able to keep. but he does while looking at her with so much affection in his gaze that it arrests her, the weight of it almost too much for her to bear. she has never doubted how much he cares, or that he cares at all—she hears it in his voice, she feels it in his touch; she sees it in his expression when they're alone, drawn close together time and again.
it's such a strange feeling, to hope for him to find a way home and for him to stay. she'll have to address it sometime, but for now she steps closer to him, leaning her cheek against the back of his hand. ]
I won't. [ and because she's come this far she may as well— ] I'll always be there whenever you want.
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it's such a strange feeling, to hope for him to find a way home and for him to stay. she'll have to address it sometime, but for now she steps closer to him, leaning her cheek against the back of his hand. ]
I won't. [ and because she's come this far she may as well— ] I'll always be there whenever you want.