I've both feet planted exactly where they belong, love. [He sets his cup down on the side table, bare feet finding the floor at last as he leans in to sweep the crumbs from her chin with his thumb. Warmth and calloused skin, entirely gentle for hands that've broken bone, twisted flesh. The sort of gesture society would frown upon, but here there's familiarity to spare. Privacy, and friendship that leans towards something thicker than blood, he supposes.] Of that you can always be certain.
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