[ it's just as well, since she couldn't keep her hand there if he lifted his head. And for a moment, she's absolutely silent, eyes slipping away to regard the ceiling with bleary weariness. She can't think of anything he's done that she'd call "messing up"; she'd been the one to spit out cough syrup and make him worry.
But she's too sick to argue, so she relies on what she's always relied on. ]
no subject
But she's too sick to argue, so she relies on what she's always relied on. ]
I like you too much... to ever hate you.