"I—would rather he didn't. Or, anyone, really. I just wanted to tell you."

"Okay. My lips are sealed." Hold hold hold.

He really likes being held by her. Really, really does. "I love you," he says, and opens his eyes suddenly when he realizes what he just said. "Um, I mean."

Kiss. "You mean?"

He stops, and thinks. "No, yeah, I meant that."

Kiiiiiiiiss.

Mmmm kiiisss!

"I haven't," she says, when she is done kissing him for now, "thought in sufficient detail about under what circumstances I want to deploy that word myself, but I am delighted, be assured of that, pet."

"That's alright. I'm—not sure what the circumstances are, really. It just felt right to say it."

Kiss again.

Much of that. A whole lot of it.

"...they apparently fit their respective stereotypes, at least? And he doesn't seem to mistreat them, he's a pleasant enough person if you fit the way he thinks the world should be." Pause. "Which you, specifically, do not."

"You mentioned."

"Yeah. But he's a horrible person and you're the best kind of person and I'm all yours and not his so I don't care what he thinks."

"Good boy." Squish.

"I am! And I looooove you."

Kisses!

As many of those as Isabella wants!

She waaaaants... eleven. And then she is back to just holding and nuzzling.

He's fine with that, too. That's a good way to stop thinking about the thing he was just talking about.

"You want breakfast, pet?"

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea."

"Let's get dressed and I'll see if Alex is awake, then."

"Mmhm." So he sits up, stretches, and goes find one of the exactly three outfits he has for his boy self.