[The relief he feels is palpable, plainly illustrated in the way his suddenly tense shoulders drop, and that worry gives away to something far more sheepish. It isn't doubt, not quite, he doesn't doubt her love for a moment.

But he does doubt himself. And the weight of that shameful expectation.

He breathes out, shaky, and turns to press lips to her palm, like a sunflower turning with the warmth and light. It's with a slow nod that he drags his gaze back up to meet hers, and all he finds there is the same love and concern he always has. He's being ridiculous.]

I'm sorry. [For everything. Here and now and then and what will be.] You're right. I'm not going anywhere. I could never--the last thing I could ever want would be to hurt you.