It's not a story she particularly wants to hear, either; but she needs to, somehow.

She catches his drift pretty quickly and follows his lead; the blankets' warmth is welcome, and she could care less about getting the sheets damp. She fits herself against him, head on his shoulder, arm across his chest; perfectly placed to be clung to.

It feels, more than anything, right. She needs to understand how she could possibly give this up.