Cracks and wounds could.. sometimes be healed. She hadn't been cracked or hurt deeply enough yet to know that lesson, the curse of the young, and he didn't want to be the one to break that glass ceiling. Yes, she'd hurt him, in more ways than one, and it was ironic that he had to be hurt in order for her to trust him.

He said nothing, but the soft smile on his face crept further and further away from his dark choclate eyes. They were moving into sensitive territory now. He'd nearly forgiven her for leaving him for dead, but nearly wasn't completely. That was a wound that took time.

The questions taunted him. He wanted to answer them but answering them made the answers real, made him real in a way he didn't want to be. His jaw set, hand tightening on her for a brief moment before getting looser then it had been.

"I do not dream, mon cherie. And when I do, they are nightmares." Normally drug fueled and crazy, leaving Matthew trapped in hell til the sun went back down. "But," he said, trying desperately to keep himself on the lighter side of his own tracks, "I do daydream. Which I suppose we will have to count, hmm?"

He studied her face for a long second, knowing she still expected an answer. "There are days where I wish I could have what you and Cassidy have," he admitted in a quiet, private voice, surprising even himself with the half truth. "Even if it is a lie. Even if it's twisted in complications."

Reaching up, Matt let his fingers drift across her cheekbone. "You two make it look.." He sighed. "Sweet."