[Oswald doesn't answer right away. His heart swells inside him, bright and full and too big for his chest, and it hurts - but a good hurt. They are who they are, the city's castaways, as kind to each other as they could be effortlessly cruel. But their falling out - and his struggle picking himself back up - has helped him understand that love can be a big and bittersweet and imperfect experience, and that's what makes it real. For them, it's this or nothing, and he'll take it, wanting it no other way.]

Last night, when you withdrew, I thought you weren't... well. [He gives a breathless laugh, swiping at his cheek.] I guess it doesn't matter now, does it?

[Finally, he squeezes back.]

I'm yours. [He says, testing the words. He glances to Ed again, expectant, hopeful. More unguarded than a ruthless king has any a right to look.] And you are mine. ...And now, you are going to help me eat this lovely breakfast before it goes cold. [With a gentle nudge in the ribs:] What do you say?