When girls cry in the movies their tears are always big and dark, like raindrops slipping down their face. When men cry their only sound of pain is a choked breath and maybe a tear or two.

When Tate cries, his face is open and I can see everything. The darkness, but also his new found light. His tears are thin and fall from his eyes, almost invisible against his pale skin.

I have to choke back tears of my own. He is a strange swirling anomaly, and I am torn.

I can see the darkness, but I can also see the light that is swooping in. The sun that he has finally found the courage to unlock.

And even though his heart does not beat anymore, it is slowly healing. And I love that I am the reason for it.

In that moment, I realize that I love him. I don't know what that says about me, but it is too late because as much as he needs me, I need him too.

"Come here," I whisper.

A floodgate of relief and love washes a tiny part of the pain from his face.

Gratefully, he climbs onto my bed and lies down on his stomach next to me.

I study him for a moment. His jeans ride low on his waist, and I can see a flash of his underwear below his t-shirt. His lean stomach and broad shoulders mesmerize me. I love the way his body curves, and then straightens out.

I wrap my arms around him and hold him, needing to comfort him.

I begin to sing softly to him, truth flowing and intertwining with the words.

The pain you feel

It's all too real

And I can see

Why you love make believe

Fairy tales to enchant

The words written on your hand

Shadows cover your eyes

Only to spread their lies

But baby remember

Shadows

Their only an absence of light

And I

I can be the one you need

I can shine bright enough for the two of us

After all

You said until you met

That you could only see the light

Through a telescope

But baby

Telescopes are only used at night

Soon we were both lulled into a dreamlike state, wrapped around each other.

Sometime later, Tate stirred and turned to face me.

"I'm a bad person, aren't I?" He asked, his face tear stained.

"People can change," I tell him.

"How can you believe in me?" His voice is barely a whisper.

"Tate," I love saying his name. "Tate. Do you know why girls love to be called beautiful?"

He shakes his head.

"Pretty is what you say when you find someone attractive. Gorgeous is what you call someone on prom night. But when you tell someone they're beautiful it means that you see all of them and that you love every part.

Tate, I believe in you because you're beautiful."