For someone who can't see in any conventional way, you'd think he'd have some trait to make up for it. Being a good listener, for example. And while his stubbornness often means he ends up second-guessing everything and disregarding sound advice, he seems more receptive right now. More willing to nuzzle and hug and listen, without judgement. Whether that's because she's just imagining all the good parts of him without the bad or if he would naturally be still and listen when she talks remains to be determined.

"You didn't allow this," is what he finally says, a lover's whisper that she can almost feel warm against her ear. Her own reflection might berate herself. Tell her how this ended up being just another one on a list of a long line of failures. How she's never good enough. How these plans never amount to anything more substantive than little distractions; cheap trinkets and hollow baubles that she allowed herself to get sidetracked by. She deserves to pay the price for her shallowness, her stupidity.

But her Matthew? Putting her down like that? Never. He knows how to take the wind out of her sails, knows what to say and do to hurt her. He wouldn't do it that way. He can't imagine a world that is better off without any single person in it, no matter how long their list of bad deeds might grow. Especially not her.

"But. You're here anyway." And he's not. He slides his fingers over the backs of her hands, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. "What are you going to do about it?"