And it's not built on anything she can reasonably unravel, whatever this is--there are nuances she had never expected, heavy glances across crowds of people, her bare shoulder brushing against his leather jacket, his fingers pressed against the curve of her thigh or the arch of her back.

It's not what they say to each other, in the end: no sweeping declarations of love, no whispered forevers or rings; no bells (never any bells).

Instead, there are porch steps, his arms around her when she can't bear anything else, three small words before everything flashes bright and hot--and she knows (somewhere in between tears and the blood filling her mouth) that promises have never saved the world.