Who is he to deny such need? How can he claim to be any different? Theirs is an addiction, a weakness— that desire for closeness when all it serves is their own foolish undoing.

But it is a pleasant vice, and he is certain in his ability to keep tight to his own duties. To snap his teeth at her own, should she falter.

He reaches behind himself to fit a rough palm along the edge of her hip— or her thigh— he isn’t quite sure of it, and finds he does not care to know regardless. It is her. That is all that matters.

“Do not drink so deeply as to fall into ruin, and I shall not care.”

It is meant as a comfort, his assurance. But she will take it as she cares to, he knows.