She was the only beautiful thing in his life. She always had been. Part of him was fairly certain she always would be. His life had been short, and ugly, and mean, and he had thought it would never be different until there was her.
"You can always trust me," he said. "Always."
She was staring at him, and he knew there wasn't anything else to say, because if he said anything else he might just not stop, he might keep going, until he told her how much he loved her, and that was the last thing either of them needed him to say.
His eyes were dark and hard, and he finally had to look away. "We're going to be late."