[ He sees, both through your mind and through his own, the specific moments that you're thinking back to, and something in him immediately clicks. Memory, see, isn't just about replaying the moment on a psychic screen: it's also about recalling the other sensory details that made up the experience. Your boy has always, always been a prisoner of his own senses.
He's unfolding a little more underneath you even as the weight of you - comforting and solid - is caging him on top of that bed and within your limbs, and kissing you back, in the moments that follow, with a bit more urgency.
He loves you and trusts you so damned much, it occasionally frightens him. But he hasn't seen a single reason to believe that he's done this in bad faith. ]
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He's unfolding a little more underneath you even as the weight of you - comforting and solid - is caging him on top of that bed and within your limbs, and kissing you back, in the moments that follow, with a bit more urgency.
He loves you and trusts you so damned much, it occasionally frightens him. But he hasn't seen a single reason to believe that he's done this in bad faith. ]