You're not entirely sure how it happened but somehow your hands are on her waist and hers are at your collarbone and she's thin, so painfully thin, and you wonder if they failed to feed her in prison. Her breath is hot on your neck as you avoid each other's eyes.
She looks up to flick a thumb nail over your earring. "You wore them." She says, and your breath catches, you gasp. Of course. Jade, for strength, jade, to match your eyes, jade, a gift from her. How not to wear them.
You loosen her in the cage of your arms, lessening the imprints on your skin that the harsh jutting of her ribs are making. Her skin is as dry and thin as paper and when you touch your tongue to it you are afraid it will crack. She feels, somehow, overwhelmingly fragile – something you never foresaw for her.
"I love you." You whisper into the crook of her neck.
You can see her smile without looking. "Let's go home."