He wants to throw his arms around her, to comfort her, but to do so would be to end her life.
He hates that he can't touch her with a seething passion. It's the worst feeling he's ever known, second only to the fact that when he did touch her, he'd brought her back to life, which had started it all. She would not be alive now if not for his gift.
It's ironic, really.
He gave life to Chuck and in return, he is unable to touch her ever again if she is to keep that gift.
He wants nothing more than to touch her.
Instead, he studies her from across the table, mapping every feature of her face in his mind.
Her eyes, though gleaming with unshed tears, are as beautiful as the last time he tried to memorise them. Her hair, hanging down her shoulders, not quite messily, but not tidily either, begs him to twirl it around his fingers.
She is moments away from crying.
"I wish I could hug you," he tells her, softly.
She breaks her gaze from the countertop to meet his eyes.
She tries to smile at him and to tell him she's all right, she really does, but she just can't.
The first tears fall down her cheek.
"I wish I could hug you," he says again.