[ It's a comfort to be so close, and not have him pull away. She doesn't want to risk it now with a kiss, satisfied that he hasn't decided to walk away from her. It's why, even with her eyes still closed and her forehead pressed to his, she nods. ]

That's fair, Jon.

[ She pulls back enough so that she can look at him, holding his gaze while her thumb grazes his cheek. ]

I'll agree to that.

[ For some reason she hadn't expected any other confessions, but the more Jon speaks, the tighter her lungs feel in her chest. Mutiny, stabbing, scars. One hand drifts to his chest, pressing there through layers to feel the muffled beating of his heart. ]

I remember listening to this at night. [ Her forehead creases in pain at the image her mind conjures, of Jon being brutally attacked, his blood pooling out of him. It makes her feel nauseous, but she swallows the emotion back. ] You think scars are going to mean anything to me other than you lived? [ She shakes her head, and this time, her forehead comes to rest on his shoulder, a hug that isn't one, not yet. ]

Why? Why did they do it?