Wynonna's trying not to cry, and March's jaw tightens in return. He did this, he made the indomitable Wynonna frustrated enough that it's glassy eyes instead of fists. She's right, too--they can't unsay it. But maybe that's for the better.

Wynonna can't keep living in the gutter when someone's showing her the stars. It's as simple as that.

March sighs, bringing his hand up to scratch at his facial hair, casual despite the roiling emotion. He senses Wynonna's from the string, knows she can feel March's fear seeping through that little gold-red string. He's not sure which sadness is his and which is hers at his point. He's not entirely sure he cares.

"Yeah." It's small and non-committal despite the gravity of the words. He looks anywhere that's not Wynonna, feeling the weight of the ring he wears around his neck, the sting of the cold air. His voice is surprisingly leveled for someone who's usually a mess.

"It's not like I'm going anywhere."