[ This is foolish, part of her mind says. She promptly tells it to shut up. She can feel him shake, and that just makes her want to hold him closer. She promised to protect him. She needs him.

You barely know him, insists that small, stubborn voice. She tells it, so what? Her hand remains tangled in his hair, and her other arm loops around his torso and she just holds on. She can feel desperation and sadness and confusion coming off of him in waves, and god she wants nothing more than to make it go away.

This is your life here. Your freedom. ]

You grab hold of whatever keeps you you, Peter. Hold it close and never let it go.

[ He is my life. ]

And if part of that happens to be me- [ I would not know freedom without him ] -then know that I am yours forever.