[She throws herself against him, a maelstrom of arms and feathers and tears, and he hangs onto her instinctively, automatically, fervently. His arms wrap around her like it's that or he'll fall entirely apart. There's no time to think about it, but if he had, he'd make the same decision. He has to protect her. He has to. He can't ever let her go.]
[He loves her too much.]
[Maybe he holds on too tight. It's possible, certainly, because he can't feel how tight his chest is with the breath he doesn't breathe right now caught in it. His whole body feels like somebody else's. Maybe that's an excuse for why it's racked with silent sobs, rattling around inside his ribcage. The two of them together are storms, fighting and joining and fighting again — but he's so tired of fighting.]
[Ultimately, he's too tired to be the only one supporting them both. He lets his weight and balance rest on the trunk of his tree and allows it to hold a steadying presence at his back. That way, he can just focus on her. On crying into her shoulder, on feeling the tears soak into his shirt in turn, on grieving (or beginning to grieve) for everything that's happened to her that shouldn't have.]
[It shouldn't have. None of this is fair. None of it. He wants to tear it down and start her life over. But he can't. And — and she doesn't have to. Even like this, she's good enough. He just wants her to not have to hurt.]
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[He loves her too much.]
[Maybe he holds on too tight. It's possible, certainly, because he can't feel how tight his chest is with the breath he doesn't breathe right now caught in it. His whole body feels like somebody else's. Maybe that's an excuse for why it's racked with silent sobs, rattling around inside his ribcage. The two of them together are storms, fighting and joining and fighting again — but he's so tired of fighting.]
[Ultimately, he's too tired to be the only one supporting them both. He lets his weight and balance rest on the trunk of his tree and allows it to hold a steadying presence at his back. That way, he can just focus on her. On crying into her shoulder, on feeling the tears soak into his shirt in turn, on grieving (or beginning to grieve) for everything that's happened to her that shouldn't have.]
[It shouldn't have. None of this is fair. None of it. He wants to tear it down and start her life over. But he can't. And — and she doesn't have to. Even like this, she's good enough. He just wants her to not have to hurt.]