Note: A short drabble after being prompted with the word 'grief'.
"I hate you."
"I know."
"Don't leave me."
She clutches his blue shirt, fisting the material, squeezing it. It's still damp from the ocean. She can still smell the sea on him.
When her tears finally streak down her cheeks, it doesn't surprise him. But he doesn't speak. He doesn't say sorry. He won't.
So he kisses her. And his tears are her tears and her tears are his. They cry together.
And then he is inside her, his blue shirt discarded in the sand. They move together hard and fast, so frantic. When she comes, she sobs into his chest. He finishes soon after, spilling inside of her. His tears falling down against her mouth.
"Don't leave me."
He does.
"I hate you."
He knows.