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Her hands thread into his hair, sending chills down his spine.
“Rey,” he whispers. “I–”
“Hush,” is all she says as she kisses her way across his face.
“But–”
Her lips at his temple.
“Rey, listen–”
The scar on his cheek.
“Would you just–”
The tip of his nose.
“Ben,” her voice is soft, “Let me have this.”
His hands fold around her biceps, but he doesn’t push her away.
“I can’t–”
“Hush,” she repeats, insistent, kissing his jaw.
Her fingers tighten with the smallest tug, her nails ghosting over his scalp, and he gasps at the feeling.
She always makes him feel so much.
“Rey, I have to leave.”
“No,” she sighs. “No, you don’t.”
She lets her hands fall into her lap, looking away from him.
He leans back to see her clearly: the almost-pout of her mouth, the pink tint of her cheeks, the tears in her eyes threatening to spill over at the thought of him leaving.
He loves her hopelessly. He didn’t think he knew how to do that anymore.
And yet.
He trails one hand up her arm, across her shoulder, along her collarbone. He lifts his hand to rest against the side of her face and drags his thumb along her cheek, smiling at the little huff of breath she lets out against his wrist.
But it isn’t fair to her that he stay; no matter what she says, no matter how far away he gets from his past – everyone looks at him (and by extension, her) with trepidation and she shouldn’t have to suffer that.
“Yes, I do. No one wants me here.”
“Don’t be absurd,” she scoffs, wrapping her hand around his and pressing a kiss to his wrist.
“I’m not–”
He tries to pull his hand free, but she only grips him tighter.
“Yes you are, Ben. Absurd. Ridiculous.”
Her eyes are fierce, holding him in place; she doesn’t relax her grip until he stops trying to move away, and then her hands are impossibly gentle as she turns his hand over.
She kisses his knuckles, fingertips. Her breath sets his skin alight.
“But, even if they don’t want you here…” she says as she uncurls his fingers, pressing a kiss to his palm, “I need you, though. So it doesn’t matter.”
He lets out a shaky breath as her eyes burn into his, flipping his hand to grip her wrist and tug her carefully to him to stand between his knees.
Her smile is soft even as her tears work free, their fingers threading together. She rests her forehead against his, their noses brushing.
“Okay,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I’ll stay.”
She lifts up, kissing the top of his head.
He wraps his arms around her waist, brushing his lips against her throat.
“I love you,” he sighs, hugging her to him, his words the softest prayer.
“Good,” she replies, and slides her fingers back in his hair.