Kolli
Danilo pressed kisses against my forehead until I calmed down.
He didn't stop. Not when I sobbed, not when snot got on his clean knitted jersey, not when my knees shook so hard I thought I would collapse right there on the dining room rug. He just held me with both arms locked around me like a seatbelt, like if he let go even for a second I would be ripped away by the wind outside.
"Estoy aquí, mi amor, estoy aquí, I'm here, I'm here, breathe, Kolli, breathe with me, that's it, that's my good boy..."
His voice was hoarse, low, right against my temple. He kept kissing my forehead, my hairline, the corner of my wet eye, soft, warm, endless little presses of his lips. His big hand cradled the back of my head, fingers threading into my messy hair, holding me steady.
