But again, my emotions didn't really give me a choice in the matter. He looked a bit more frayed and rough around the edges than usual. His stubble was a bit longer, and his hair stood out a bit at the back from having his head pressed down against the cushioned arm of the couch. The ghost of his rakish smile touched his lips, but disappeared quickly. Right away, I found myself sat on the couch beside him, one of his hands in both of mine on my lap. He squeezed my fingers, and his skin felt cool and dry. His hands were bigger than mine, the fingers long and graceful. All that anger disappeared, replaced by a need to help him through whatever this was. To show him how good I could be for him. We sat for a few moments, the dull reverberations of the music shifting through the room, a cup on the vanity vibrating ever so slightly. "What happened? What's wrong?" I said.
