Sal's familiar with all kinds of truth, and all the wrong kinds of love. But this isn't the kind of honesty that's barbed in thorns, a love that hurts so much to touch; never has been. She knows, because she's learned so much about Anathema in these past months, that it's safe to reach out for this, and unlike in her old nightmares, she won't be left to fall.

She says I love you before she has a chance to second guess herself. The words tumble out barely a breath after Anathema's own confession and her blue eyes fill with so many emotions. Standing triumphant, however, over all of them is love.

There's a sudden lump in her throat that she forces down again (nope, no, fuck that), and without something else clever to say, Sal leans down to where they're holding hands. She gently kisses the back of Anathema's hand, and it's as much of a promise as her words. Solemn, reverent, a vow being made in the quiet space of a warm kitchen, a secret moment for only the pair of them to share. Saying I love you again, pressing the words softly against Anathema's knuckles, she slowly sits up.

She looks almost...well, can someone with a scar slashed across their cheek look bashful?