After you've: caught your breath, guided me back to the parking lot, sat me in the car, started and then finished crying,

We talk about it.

It's awkward. You don't know what to say. I'm barely present, so it doesn't matter too much, but it's bothering you. You continue to be nothing but supportive.

"I think we should go home," you say, in stops and pauses and starts. And, y'know, my gut instinct is to harden towards you when you say it. Dude, fuck that. We came all this way.

I try to express as much, but nothing comes out. Which is to say, I agreed.

You're reaching to pat my shoulder, I guessed, but instead I feel myself pulled to a full embrace, overcoming the center glovebox.

We hold tight, and we don't let go until some part of you bumps the horn.