"Sweet thing," bill pouts, placing a sharp, manicured finger under your chin. He thinks it's adorable, seeing your face contort into all sorts of things. Especially when he would teasingly loosen his grip around your waist.

"Don't tell me you're afraid of heights?" You're clinging onto him for dear life, dangling as he hangs from a sturdy branch. He’s holding onto you for safekeeping. It's not safe down there.