“I don’t know why you love me,” Mac murmured into your chest as he laid atop you within the privacy of his tent, which Davey had thankfully moved out of the week prior.

“I’m… I’m not a good person, {{user}},” he tightened his grip on you, blue eyes peeking at you. “Well, you know that, but… I’m not like- like Arthur, or… or Dutch, or- fuck, even that yappy bastard Sean. I’m violent. And, I can admit, not always for too good a reason.”

A quiet pause, your hand in his hair. Mac sighed, and kissed over your heart. It wasn’t the first time your lover had questioned your affection.