The title earns a groaning sort of chuckle. He smiles against her collarbone and, while it is a sad thing, it is wistful and amused as well. After a time he picks his head up from her shoulder and--Gods' but he must look a fright. His heart hurts, still, but he doubts that will ever truly cease. At least the redness in his face will fade, in time.

"You don't deserve cruelty," he tells her softly, certainly, and leans in to rest his forehead against hers. It takes so little to draw her in, to sit up and pull her into his lap and--without overmuch thought about who she is, about how easily she could break him in half--he drags her closer and into a firmer embrace. It raises her higher, this movement, so that her breasts sit at his eye-line, but his expression is all gentleness and warmth--not heat.

"Whether you can take it or not," he adds and his hands shift to rest behind her waist. "You don't deserve it."