Humming transitions into incoherent mumbling and back again as he keeps her pressed against him, fingertips idly toying with the ends of her smooth strands of chocolate locks as he does so. It continues on like this for a few minutes, something that only seems like seconds in his drunken mind before he pulls away ever so carefully to look her in those beautiful doe eyes of hers again. Only to note the glassy appearance to them. He frowns, arms unwrapping themselves from around her to instead gently wipe at the corner of her eyes to rid her of the offending tears that he seems incapable of stopping. He hates seeing her this way, as rare a sight as it is, but he of all people can understand its necessity as well. Still, it doesn’t manage to dull the ache in his chest any, especially when he fears he may be part of the cause. If not responsible for the sight entirely. ❝ Do… do you want me to stop? ❞ He asks ever so gently.
Any other given evening, she’d be perfectly content in such a moment -- tangled up with him, whilst he gifts her his sole attentions. But this isn’t any given evening, any given moment. Juliette tries, bless her heart, to avert her gaze, to spare him from seeing hues that glitter with tears rather than delight, but fails even so, because before a moment more passes he’s sweeping them away. Furrow deepens between manicured brows, and she sniffs, fair features half hidden from view as her head falls. ❝ No — … I like listening to you. ❞ comes murmured reply, and such, at least, is a truth. Soothing, the sound of his voice in her ear, even when the words he utters seems to tangle nonsensically upon his tongue. He’s not done anything wrong, anything to garner such a reaction from her, but weariness has won out over timing, and she can’t seem to stifle the pain that’s blossoming in her chest, proves utterly overwhelming in the moment. She swallows thickly, cants head upward just so to study pale hues despite the fact she’s yet to rid her own of tears. ❝ I love you. You know that, don’t you ? ❞ and yet despite such sentiment, there’s a sadness to the way she presses her forehead to his, noses just brushing whilst voice trembles. ❝ I just -- I love you so fucking much, Harry Osborn. ❞