[It's something she wants to deny, to put his mind at ease, but saying I won't means she won't try to hold his hand or reach out and hope that a part of him stays with her. It probably won't. It doesn't work that way here. She can't passively take in memories and thoughts like she used to and it's for the best that it's on occasion-when someone is curled up by the fire, grieving her missing piece and-

She fidgets. Hooking her fingers together, picking at the mixture of sand and frosting and whatever nonsense is stuck to them.]

I don't know how, but-

[There's something she's missing-the difference between them and why his heavy heart is more dangerous than hers. Why it 'spreads', but that doesn't mean he isn't hurting. That he's not lonely. That his heart doesn't sometimes crack under the weight of it, when he feels something ache with only the silence around him to listen to his problems.]

I want to be with you. Maybe-that's all. If it hurts, I want to hold your hand and you can squeeze it for a long time. I won't leave.