Summer blinked hard, and a few tears trickled down her face. “Trusting you is easy. I look inside you, and there’s nothing to fear.” She clung to his hand, laying her face against their joined hands. “I’m sorry.”
Mordred looked at her, slightly taken aback. How wrong she was; there was plenty to fear, but perhaps it was better fooling himself into thinking there wasn’t. “Don’t be,” he says, bringing her hand up to kiss it, “don’t be sorry.”
She curled her fingers against his cheek. “We keep being here,” she said quietly, “not knowing what to do.” She smeared at the tearstreaks with the other hand, getting up slowly. A few paces sufficed to cover the room, and then Summer stopped in front of Mordred, looking at him, eyelashes still wet. “Should I not have offered it?”