Margo

“Roz,” he said, and his thumb brushed her bottom lip. She shivered. “When I was up north and felt I would lose my mind among the dead... When I thought I would be the next to die, and on the worst days, when I hoped I would be... I thought of home. I thought of midnights beside the river, and the way the houses in Ombrazia are so close together, it makes the world feel small. I thought of running through the alleys, of sneaking out to the Mercato, of treading water in the summers. Those memories kept me sane. And you know what?” His eyes were endlessly sad. Dark and infinite. “You were in every single one of them. Everything that reminded me of home—everything that reminded me of happiness—centered around you. Every time I looked up at the moon, I remembered when we were nine and I asked what would happen if it fell from the sky. How you laughed yourself silly at me, and said that although space was infinite, the moon never stopped circling earth. How it couldn’t stop even if it wanted to. And even back then, I knew which one of us was the earth.”
[...]
“I wanted to be your earth,” Damian said, more softly now. “Just once. Just for a moment.”
― M.K. Lobb, Seven Faceless Saints