[ He curves his fingers carefully against her cheek, running the pad of his thumb lightly over her freckled skin. Just like always, his hand fits perfectly here, the motion so familiar, so bone-deep it's almost not a choice he makes at all. ]

More than okay, [ he promises, voice soft. ]

We'll sit as long as you want. You'll have an awful lot to tell me by then.

[ He hopes— he hopes. He'd spend an eternity waiting there among those flowers, if it meant she had a lifetime to live and love, with all the tears and joy and wonder that comes with it.

If he is a dream, he wonders how it is he can feel his heart breaking. He wets his lips with the tip of his tongue; swallows. This whole time, his voice has stayed steady, gentle, but now it cracks, just a little, as a sore, sorrowful expression shifts over his face in the flickers of eyebrows pulling together, lips pressing together. ]

I have loved you so much, Maelle. Never forget that.