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Summary
“We’ll never be able to—“ Touch. Be together. Kiss. Hold hands.
“Do you really think that’s what I want from you? No matter what comes out of that mouth of yours, the answer is the same. It doesn’t matter.”
The silence you demand in your fevered tirade is a different kind than Bob’s ever experienced: not accompanied by a closed fist and acrid words, but by intention, intensity-- devotion that he’s not entirely sure is appropriate for someone like him.
“What I care about is you.”
⤷ Bob can’t touch you. You try to make it work with him anyway.