[ Peek knows that, in the end, whatever happens between them is his responsibility. Not that he begrudges that fact in any way and not that he particularly minds, but it doesn't seem to make the situation any easier for Grace. (And that — that's where Peek begins to take issue.) She smiles less, she talks less too and everything Grace does seems to happen beneath a veil of sullenness — thin, near imperceptible to the unpracticed eye but those tiny details, infinitesimally small and uncountable, they make up the very bread and butter of Eamonn's existence. They are the mortar that holds together a life spent dedicated to the care and protection of a single, blossoming soul.

Ultimately, it's a game of diminishing returns and all Peek can hope for is that — when the time finally comes — it'll be later rather than sooner. He can't argue with an age either, not any better than Grace can, but the fact remains and it makes him uncomfortable. (Y'don't mean t'at, had been his bleary reply. Y'can possibly— Then she'd kissed him while Peek had curled his hands fitfully at his sides, unwilling to reach for her and draw her close because he knew if he did, he'd ruin her forever.)

Grace looks unhappy and so Peek frowns. ] Hey, [ he says, quietly. Then again, more gently: ] Hey.

[ He considers kissing the hand still held in his, considers kissing her forehead or cheek or mouth. Peek leans forward, bracing a hand against the bed, but in the end doesn't, just holds her gaze like sorry like I do love you. ] Y're the only one f'r me, Gracie. Y'know t'at don'tcha? Y're my girl. Only one I'd ever t'ink of havin'.