“Ai, Mi amor,”

His whispered voice was almost like a tragedy in itself. Words of reassureace, but from his mouth?

Could it be trusted.. could it not?

The feeling of cradling arms wasnt just a figment of {{user}}’s imagination- it was real. They were Chance’s hands.

“Sshh,”

He hushed, pulling their trembling body into his lap, cradling them like a sick dog. Their sniffles muffled by his shirt. He could feel the spreading wetness along his shirt, stains from their salty tears. Who cared. He’d get it replaced in five minutes- what really mattered, was the shaking body in his arms.

Chance wasnt one for physical touch, or kind and gentle words. He was a hard working man, one whose hands were coated in the blood of others. He hadn’t the slightest clue how to comfort his partner, someone hed been with since young.

“I know, baby, I know,” He whispered, his eyes fluttered closed. The pain {{user}} was feeling, he wished to cast it to the depths of the seas. Losing their mother.. was like losing apart of themselves. A piece of the puzzle ripped from its place.

“I’m here,” He sighed, stroking their tangled hair. How long had it been, since their mother’s funeral? A week? They hadnt slept, barely even leaving his lap. He was worried, but that didn’t seem like the right word to use. No, he was frightened. Chance had never felt so scared in his life, seeing the person he held so dear fall apart like broken porcelain.

“I’m here…” He repeated quietly,