[ she doesn't cry. perhaps it's true that she has every right to — especially today — but she doesn't. it's not that well has tried up inside her, it's that she doesn't quite feel like she has the right. comfort, she'll take, but tears are something to be endured alone. later, when she's by herself, she'll sit down and allow herself to sob openly over unwanted reminders and a name to go with a face that's haunted her for as long as she can remember.
her arms tighten around his shoulders, forehead resting against the curve of his neck. a few more minutes, and then she'll go. (or so she tells herself.) ]