Iggy ran a thumb across Nudge's cheek, wiping away a tear. He loved the feel of that cheek; so smooth, so young. Just what he always imagined her skin would feel like. All the times like this, all the times she came crying back to him allowed him to make a mental map of what her face looked like. From touch and a fuzzy memory of a two-year-old Nudge; he knew it by heart.
Iggy longed to shake her, ask her why, why did she go back to him when they all knew it would end badly. But that wasn't in the routine, and he didn't want to disrupt the routine. Nudge was a creature of habit, and the least bit of change might scare her away. Iggy was her sanctuary. She didn't come to him to be interrogated, so Iggy stroked her cheek and waited.
"How could he say that? I'm not naive..." she said, voice raspy. "Just because I'm not cynical like him..."
"Shh," Iggy said comfortingly. Her body was slowing it's shaking, and her gasps became quieter and less frequent. It was almost time.
Iggy reached his other hand around to the back of her neck, tilting her head upward. She was compliant. She was always compliant. She let him do what he wanted, but that was all she did.
It was alright, though. Iggy was used to it.
"Ew, they're kissing," the Gasman said in disgust.
"What?" Iggy asked. "You're old enough to like girls now, aren't you?"
"Yeah, I like girls," he responded. "But it's Nudge and Fang. You're lucky you're blind."
"I suppose I am. Here, have a pop-tart."
"I hate them cold," Gazzy complained. Iggy sighed. At least he had something to look foreward to.