Could bring a drink here. And then we can both not say the things that probably need said but also get drunk while doing it.

[He pulls his feet up under him, rocks back to standing in one smooth motion. She's beautiful. She deserves to be...not here. Home. Doing the good work. Being Aunt Nat.

He doesn't voice anything else, though, because it feels like it's all clogged up, backed up in his throat. He moves the rest of the way in, brings his hands to her face with a brief hesitation. Kisses her forehead and leans his to hers. She's terribly real. And alive.]