The hardwood floor creaked under my weight and she sat up in bed with a gasp. Through the dark I could feel her eyes on me, hurt and disappointed.

“I…” I didn’t know what to say. ’I’m sorry’ sounded so lame.

“Can I help you?” She prompted, the pain in her voice masked by anger.

“…I’m sorry, Em.” I said feebly. “Look, I’m not saying your parents don’t piss me off, but I hate seeing you like this and knowing I caused that sadness in you. If making you happy means biting my tongue and shutting up, even after hours with your parents, then I’ll do it. I don’t need their approval. I just need you.”

I can see the tears glistening on her face in the pale moonlight filtering in through the curtains. I can’t stand to see her cry. I go to her and wipe the drops away with my thumb. “Please, don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry,” she tries to say, but the sound doesn’t come out.

“Don’t be sorry, baby.” Suddenly her hands are in my hair pulling my face to hers and she’s kissing me.

The butterflies in my stomach rejoice.

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