"That might depend on who's looking at it," she murmurs. "But I know what you mean."

She curves her hand, warm and solid, back at his neck. "Whatever you need to prove to yourself this isn't the same thing," she says, soft, "I'll do. I don't care if I have to say it a million times, or how tight you might want to hold on. I'm here. And – aside from a headache and a few bad memories – I'm okay."