"Since when do I give a shit about conversation?" He laughs, a low rumble in his chest, and tilts his head back slightly. There is not a single part of this he doesn't love. Maybe next Christmas will be better, or the one after - if they can stay here, if they can make a life here that lasts - but he's not sure how that would be possible.

And he does give a shit about it. Even when he doesn't talk much, he likes listening to her. Even when things had been horrible and he had pulled back, pulled almost completely away from her and into a dark place where she nearly couldn't reach him at all, some part of him had been glad she had refused to be quiet. That she hadn't allowed the silence to eat them both.