[ She thinks that the comfort of having each other near overweighs the discomfort of the senses, to a certain extent. Enough that she's still careful about how much pressure she puts on him but is reckless enough to hold on, to bury her face into his shoulder, try to hide the way her hands are shaking by curling them into the fabric of his clothes. She's so angry and so tired and it's too much vulnerability, she doesn't want to feel like this and she doesn't want anyone to see it. ]
Too late. Already did. [ Almost like a joke, except for how her voice is quiet and raspy and tightly controlled to keep from cracking. ]
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Too late. Already did. [ Almost like a joke, except for how her voice is quiet and raspy and tightly controlled to keep from cracking. ]