Life is such a glorious trauma, is it not?

I lived for the night, because I could go over to your house. It was the only thing that kept me going. You were the only thing, actually. It was… you.

I wish I were whole. I wish I could have given you youngs, if you'd wanted them and I could conceive them. I wish I could have told you it killed me when you thought I had been with anyone else. I wish I had spent the last year waking up every night and telling you I loved you. I wish I had mated you properly the evening you came back to me from the dead.

And bottom line, without John by her side, everything seemed to be just a big, resounding meh.

“Doesn't have to be easy to be right.” In that case, we're meant for each other.

He cleared his throat and reminded himself that if you pissed Her Holiness off, they'd need barbecue tongs to pick up your steaming pieces.

In his fantasy, he kissed his best friend again, pulled back, and… “I love you,” he said into the spray of the shower. “I… love you.” As he closed his eyes against the pain, it was hard to know how much of what ran down his cheeks was water, and how much was something else.