It's a different sort of statement than you're mine. The possessive claiming of it. This is submission. Giving in to the inevitable. It's a knife in my fucking chest, twisting, but it's the best kind of hurt. Death and fucking rebirth in the span of a heartbeat. Every fucking cliche in the goddamn book.

I let out another sob, my hands on his face, and it's really like seeing him for the first time in over a year. It's all charging forward so fast, I'm half afraid I'll miss it. Too perfect to be anything but a really cruel dream.

"That's what I been sayin'," I whisper, flashing him a crooked, watery sort of grin.