She knows. Saying it would probably be too much, too soon; she hopes he knows she loves him, too; enough that it's always scared her, enough that it's worth it in spite of that.

Humming a soft agreement she reaches up blindly, stroking the rough stubble on his cheek. It's so familiar, to have her back pressed to the warm breadth of his chest; she's always felt so safe with him, in a way nothing else quite measures up to. And she's aware, too, of how long it's been since they could be here, like this. Being here doesn't feel like slipping back into the past; they've both changed, and she'd like to think for the better.

"Me, too," she sighs.

And what she means is more complicated than that-- something like, I'm glad we're able to be here, together, that we can be good for each other, at least this much, because she isn't quite sure what any of this means long-term. But she's glad she's here with him, either way.

"Maybe," she murmurs drowsily, "less property damage next time."