Zoe’s got him again but like Edgar it’s jagged and rough even when he tries to be the opposite. On top of her, fingers curling in locks of her dark hair. She’s quiet, same as him and they get tangled under the covers and each in their own feelings:

“Love you, Edgar,” she turns her head but he’s not facing her. Hearing her speak, he tries to hold her up closer but she resists, wanting him to look at her. He hisses when she falls back and crushes his arm. She reaches behind her drawing his bandaged hand to her lips, kissing it:

“I do love you,” and though their foreheads rest against one another’s and she has it as she wants, he’s staring her right in the eyes; he says nothing.