"Baby, carrying a gun and shooting like a boss is essential to my safety," he murmurs. "I wear Kevlar. S'why I shower when I get off work. I sweat like a bitch in that." Her gaze falls to her breasts, his own neck craning as he tilts the camera just a bit to see between their bodies. "Fuck, Rach. They're perfect. I know 'Tana's are huge but you got a perfect pair. M'serious." It hadn't stopped them, not much, when the three of them had spent the night together, learning (and re-learning) each other, but it's something important that he swears that she needs to know.

He's been living with her since they left Lima and practically glued to her since midway through their senior year; he doesn't trust himself when left to his own devices with a television and a refrigerator, without Rachel as inspiration to keep the house clean. [He likes his shit to be tidy. He likes to be able to find what he wants when he wants it. He really likes that a clean house means Rachel's more in the mood for sex, 'cause dirty shit or dishes that aren't washed just makes her bitchy. He gets it.] He needs to just make sure, dammit, that their home is clean. No pizza boxes lying around, no beer bottles, no Newlywed Hideaway turned into Renegade Bachelor Pad overnight. "Don't want you to go, either," he murmurs, reaching out to set the camera [at least temporarily] on the bedside table. "We can say fuck tradition and do the tradition thing for the big wedding. Wanna... wanna call Coco and say you're staying?"