"You think so?" he smiled, a little sheepish, a little embarrassed. A little shy, and mostly pleased.

And he sighed, resting his cheek over her forehead. "I worry. It's not something... it's not something I do. Have done. Ever, at all, often... ever, I think. In memory, at least, which, practically speaking..."

"I fear that I'll do something. That I'll lose patience, or lose my mind, or something will happen. And..." he shivered, clung tighter to her. As though she could prevent such things from happening.