He made her cry, he made her [i]cry[/i]. Oh boy… he was an asshole. His face dropped when she said his name, he was sure she was going to say she was leaving. Or that he had made her uncomfortable and that she didn’t want to be around him anymore. That single tear pained him more than the dark for some reason and watching her be so sad made him slowly begin to pull away his hand. 

Then she squeezed back and it took him a moment to realize she wasn’t crying because of him, she was crying [i]with[/i] him. She shared her story, much to his surprise and soon she was crying on his couch as she shared something so personal, so deep, with him. Though as she pulled her legs to her chest and avoided eye contact he reached out and gently placed a large hand against her cheek. His thumb moved softly against her red cheeks wiping away the tears. Something deep down inside of him disliked the fact that she was crying, he disliked it a lot.

After a moment of rubbing her cheek he used both of his arms and pulled her completely onto his lap leaving her in her curled ball. Supporting her with one arm, he reached down and grabbed the blanket, throwing it across them and creating a small burrito of warmth around them. He then wrapped his lean muscular arms around her body and rested his head against hers, closing his eyes. 

“You’re not alone anymore.” He said softly giving her a gentle squeeze. “When… when you want to go back into that closet, you call me. Or text me. Or send a pigeon. And I will be there.” His large hand gently rubbed her back in their little burrito cocoon. “I will be there whenever you need me. I promise.”