Fred leaned back into her desk, both hands wrapped tight around the circumference of the mug when she wasn't drinking from it. It sip was longer and more deliberate than before, often concluding with Fred leveling her gaze onto Wesley over the ceramic edges.

She didn't question him being here. It was one of the few things she didn't question lately, since her own realizations that felt like they'd turned just about everything end-over-end. But Wesley's presence? Well, Fred could admit to herself that she'd come to count on it. More than ever in the past few weeks.

"...it's good," she finally moved to answer his question, realizing she'd allowed the silence to stretch. "It hurts." Awareness followed, of how that sounded. "I mean, it's good that it hurts. I want it to."

It meant that she was here for it to hurt. There was a dozen ways she could have articulated that better, but Fred suspected she didn't need to.

"What about you?"