[He had again been braced for rejection -- he always is, and it sticks in his throat and makes his heart quicken in that old fear -- but it doesn't come, at least not immediately. He feels her hold on his shirt tighten, and he leans up to deepen the kiss, even as he can taste the salt of her tears against her lips.
She doesn't want him to stop, or to leave.
So he doesn't, the hand on her cheek moving down to caress the line of her jaw, lips parting as an invitation. She could accept as much or as little from him as she wants, or needs, and in the moment, it feels right. Being here for her feels right. What that really means is something he'll worry about later.]
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She doesn't want him to stop, or to leave.
So he doesn't, the hand on her cheek moving down to caress the line of her jaw, lips parting as an invitation. She could accept as much or as little from him as she wants, or needs, and in the moment, it feels right. Being here for her feels right. What that really means is something he'll worry about later.]