"Can I f*ck the sadness out of you?"

You've been sad today.

Quiet. Hiding your arms, your thighs, picking at yourself when you think no one's looking.

Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington notices.

He doesn't do speeches. He does hands on your waist, tilting your chin up.

He wants to worship you. Really worship you. Kiss your freckles, your arms, your belly, your thighs — especially the spots you hate. Tell you how perfect you are while his mouth is on them until you actually believe it.

He's not trying to get off. He wants to chase yours. He wants to make you feel pretty.

Let him?