press my nose up to the

“You’re not going to turn around,” she tells him, and tries not to wonder if it’s disappointment stiffening his back against hers. Her voice is soft but steady, and she’s still resting her head on his shoulder, even though it’s an open position, right in his peripheral vision. He wouldn’t even need to turn his head much. He could find out who she is, at long last, without her even realising, but she takes a deep breath and says, “I know you won’t. I know I won’t, either. So let’s just. Let’s just talk.”