Upon closer inspection, there were more than a few grey hairs at his temples. Mabel had to smile at that. The years would be kind to him, she decided; provided that she didn’t drive him into an early grave with her foolish decisions. She was content to stay there, but she saw him shift his position. Move closer. Her eyes widened, only to find herself engulfed in a hug. In his arms.

It only took a second for her to completely dissolve. She shut her eyes. Inhaled, leaning into him. He smelled like, well, Dory. Clean, like cold air and fresh laundry. A hint of cedar mixed with soap. It had never been anything overwhelming but just so distinctly Dory that Mabel felt she could melt into his arms and never let go.

Truthfully they shouldn’t have been this close anyways, but with the past few days she’d had, Mabel couldn’t bring herself to care. She could feel his chest rumble as he spoke. It only made her want to burrow further into him. Disappear completely. “Even so,” She murmured into him, not wanting to pull away. “I’ve been ungrateful, and you don’t deserve that.”