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Who: Alisaie Leveilleur (

adelphoi) & you nerds
What: October general shenans
When: All month
Where: Everywhere potentially but probably just at her house mostly
Warning(s): Sick.. stuff?? idk probably nothing but will update if necessary.

PART 1;

a; aftermath

[ alisaie is not present in the marketplace when the attack occurs, but the resounding boom cannot be missed, even from her home flat. it's a hectic hour or so while she rushes to figure out what has happened, and when riza returns home sick she feels a heavy misgiving sink deep into her stomach. disease is not an enemy she can fight with her rapier, it's something insidious, something sneaky and unpredictable - gods help them find a remedy soon.

immediately, she's dashing right to work. with riza ill they'll need supplies - healthy foods, spare blankets, medicinal herbs, ice, a great deal of ice. once she's set with her list she's off to the institute and markets to gather what useful things she can, stuffing them into a canvas shoulder bag, but you can certainly bet that she'll stop to assist in any way she can, whether it's righting an overturned cart or leading those who were injured in the panic to the sanctuary.

of course, it's not long before she's feeling rather warm and dizzy herself and, of course, chalking it up to the rush and mayhem. maybe she'll just.. sit down a moment. ]

b; sickbed;

[ alisaie is an awful patient.

keeping her in bed is no easy task, and there's an itch under her skin that urges her to move, to work - there's so much she could be doing, ways she could be helping. this disease is a godsdamned prison.

she's responsible enough to at least not mingle with the public, lest she spread this horrible mystery illness further, but she cannot remain strictly indoors in bed for so long, not without losing her mind. so when she can, when the weather is tepid, alisaie sits on the second floor deck of her flat, wrapped up in a blanket, usually with a book (or stack of books), enjoying the fresh air on her too-hot face. ]

c; reaching out

[ what else can you do when you're more or less bedbound? catch up on the internet, of course. mostly, alisaie keeps an eye on the network for any updates, and takes the time to reach out to those she knows, to doublecheck that they're safe. if you've met her even once or twice, chances are she will toss a line out and test the waters. incoming message from RedMage: ]

This is Alisaie; how are you faring?

PART 2;

a; wandering

[ it's late evening the first time she sees him.

though first she hears him, the familiar voice of her grandfather calling her out of her dreams, warm and welcoming. she wakes in her bed, slick with fever sweat and surrounded by silence - mayhaps she had misheard it? it must have been a dream, her head is spinning. but then it comes again, distinct and clear; it has been years since she last heard his voice but it is not a sound that she would ever forget. ]

Grandfather..?

[ dizzy and disoriented, she climbs out of bed and stumbles toward the open window, squinting into the slanting light of sunset just in time to see the shape of him, louisoix leveilleur's all too familiar form disappearing around the corner. immediately her heart kicks up into her throat and alisaie gasps and turns, stumbling back through her bedroom and out of the house, down the stairs and onto the street barefoot, in her nightdress, to follow a ghost. ]

No, please wait.. don't leave me again..

[ how long she wanders in this delirium she cannot say, but her feet are sore and scratched and muddy, her hair down and wild from sleep and the tugging winds. she may run right into you, or trip over a flagstone, but short of forceful intervention nothing will keep her from her goal. ]

b; friendly fire

[ for those of you unlucky enough to visit her (or stop by her home for some other purpose) while the symptoms continue to worsen, you will find that her delirium has not abated. between bouts of lucidity and sleep she tries still to wander, to follow the voices and phantoms of her family and friends to whatever oblivion they might call her to, but it is not only friends she sees. sometimes it is enemies or horrible, twisted monsters. it's hardly a problem if she wanders outside, weaponless, but any creak of sound within her home would easily alert her.

blinking blearily, alisaie tumbles out of bed at the noise, her heart thudding and her mind cloudy, and she does not think twice before taking up her rapier and focus which lie across a chair in her room and stumbling into the dimly lit common area. her voice is rough from coughing. ]

Who.. who goes there?

[ catchall for october! alisaie will spent much of it being sick, apparently, so feel free to crash her place and visit.. make sure she stays in bed. get her texts or send her one, or meet up in the market!! if none of these prompts work for you i'm more than happy to work something out and write up a starter. ♥ plotting comment is here, or i can be reached on plurk for planning. i'm game! ]

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[ The journey to Wyver nearly does him in with worry.

He wears it well enough, because he forces himself to, as he does. Everyone is tense, and uncertainty lays over the traveling party like a blanket. It's no small thing, to evacuate an entire city that large, and perhaps it's a small mercy that Prompto's role within the guard keeps him busy. He sees that streets and homes are empty, that wagons are loaded and secure, that everyone is on their way. He keeps his friends company, offers what he can in the way of an uplifting distraction, peppers Alisaie's phone with texts. Just simple messages, to let her know where they're at, to see how she's doing, if she's even able to respond. With the state of her, he's not expecting her to be able to communicate so easily, but it's hard to not let his heart clench up in his chest when he goes for hours without hearing from her.

When he receives her picture of the flat, he commits it to memory, memorizes it, and even then, when they finally do arrive in Wyver, he immediately asks for directions from a local on the quickest way to get there. It's telling of the rush he is in to see her that he hardly stops to marvel at the city they've just arrived in. He could go back and help unload the wagons later. For right now? He has to see her. It's not even a decision he has to consciously make.

So soon enough he finds the flat she rented out, calling out to her as soon as he's through the door. Maybe he should have thought ahead, to tell her he'd arrived and to make sure she was here - but she has to be, right? In her state she couldn't be out wandering around, unless, unless...

But then he hears the sound of her coughing from a room beyond, his heart slamming against his ribcage as he follows the sound of it to the bedroom, to her side, where he should be -

In an instance, the relief that floods him at the sight of her evaporates when he sees the blood. Temporarily paralyzed, all he can manage to do is stare, wide-eyed in abject fear, at the state he's found her in. Gods, there'd never been - she hadn't -

Is it getting worse? ]

A-Alisaie?

[ He hates it, how weak and fearful his voice sounds in that moment, because how could he allow himself to feel as much when she's suffering like this? And all at once he's moving again, swallowing hard as he climbs on his knees onto the bed next to her, cupping her face in his hands. ]

It's okay, sweetheart, I'm here, I-I'm here -

[ But it's not okay. Not at all. ]

[ it's an illusion, it must be - the visions have only been getting worse, more and more often, surely this is simply another aftereffect. but then, were it a hallucination she would not be cognizant of it, and the coppery taste of it in her mouth is too strong to explain away. the cough has subsided by the time prompto arrives, and she's so distracted by the quiet horror of the blood staining her sleeves that she does not notice that he has arrived until he's there, kneeling beside her, touching her face.

she flinches with a sharp gasp, and not for the first time she is gazing upon him as if she is not seeing him but seeing past him, her wide-blown pupils hazy and unfocused. ]

Who..?

[ gods, she's so afraid, it claws at her insides like a beast caged in her ribs - who is this man? why is she bleeding? why does she ache all over? it's as if there are needles in her bones, and her eyes, they're sticky with blood -

it passes in a moment, and alisaie exhales in a shudder, one hand lifting to clasp tightly around the little silver locket at her chest. ]

.. Prompto.

[ warm relief rushes over her like a welcome breeze and her tension fades; for a moment she allows herself to close her eyes and turn her face against his palm. he's here.. he's made it safely, thank the gods. ]

[ She looks at him and yet doesn't, and it's like his heart stops beating in his chest. Gods, not this again, not this, not this -

But before he can despair too much, before his fingers dip trembling from her face, recognition slips into her eyes - her eyes - and it's all he can do to not give into the sob cowering in the back of his throat.

Still, the threat of it is too present for him to speak just then, and instead, he folds his arms around her, so careful and gentle, to express physically what he cannot with words.

That for how inexpressibly horrible all of this is, how despair and hope both claw at him in equal turn, how he can smell her blood and feel her pain-wracked form against him, at least...they're together again. ]

Edited 2017-10-19 05:22 (UTC)

[ it's terrible that even the gentle pressure of his arms is enough to hurt, and she breathes a soft whine of pain against his shoulder when he pulls her near. from head to toe she's pained, her skin and flesh and bones sing with it, her joints scream at the lightest jostle, her eyes burn and her ears ring. there's no end to it.

but still she leans into prompto as if her life depends on it, her body slack and her eyes closed, all of her slight weight sagging against him. only a day they've been apart but with the stress and fear it feels far longer, and every moment she spends alone is a moment she could hurt someone, wander off - anything could happen. she's too tired even to cry, she's cried so much this month, this long, long month that it feels she has no tears left, she's all dried up on the inside.

despite herself, she.. smiles, weak and weary, her lips cracked. ]

I should shower.

[ she's dusty from the road, bloody, and slick with sweat - the wyver weather, warm as it is, does not agree with her fever. she draws back enough to look into his face, and she's sure she must look a horror but there's just.. no reason to hide it anymore, to try to pretend that she is anything less than a mess. it takes more effort than she could ever expect to lift her hand to his face, drawing the pad of her thumb over his jaw. ]

Can you help me?

[ At the sound of her whimper, his hands spring away from her even as she leans into him, his heart slamming hard against his ribcage at the signs of this newfound pain. She's had aches and pains through the whole illness, but not like this, not like even the simplest touch made her suffer. He swallows thickly, throat bobbing. No, no, no - he can't cry now. He can't let himself. He can't lose it like that, when they've already lost so much, and they're finally so close to getting the cure she needs. They just have to...hold on a little longer.

But even as he repeats this mantra in his mind, the sight of her weak smile as she draws back to meet his eyes has his heart sinking so low into his stomach that he can scarcely feel it any longer. How quickly they've been reduced to the basest parts of themselves, bare and crumbling, by necessity. For as much time as they've spent together since they met, Prompto has always known how fiercely independent Alisaie is. Asking this of him would have prickled her pride a few weeks - hell, a few days ago, but now, torn and tattered as they are, it just is what it is.

But he doesn't even have to think about his answer to that question. He'd do anything she asks of him, and more. He'd take her illness upon himself if he could, if it meant she could be spared from this hell they've been living in for even a moment.

His arms settle near - but not quite on - her sides, and he nods ardently. ]

You bet. [ A beat. ] Can...can you walk?

[ His first inclination is to carry her, but it might be less painful for her to negotiate herself by walking. He'll do whatever makes her more comfortable, whatever sparing her pain even means now. ]

[ it's certainly a cold day in hells when alisaie is too sick, too weary to be concerned with her pride. what little energy she has must be devoted to moving, to breathing, to maintaining consciousness and finding a smile for him, and it's a hard truth but one she is coming to accept now, after a hard month, a month that has grown more and more difficult with each passing day. she's worn down. she's tired in ways she could never have thought possible. so she asks for help because she must, even if the look in his clear eyes is breaking her heart. ]

I think so.

[ she'd managed to stumble in here on her own, after all, difficult though it was. so she will have to manage again. the momentary pain will at least be preferable to sleeping in her own sweat and blood.

it takes a great deal of effort to stand and her joints rail in protest, pain like white-hot knives sinking into her bones. it makes her breathless, and she's pale as ash by the time she's on her feet, every exhale a sharp, agonized rattle. it feels as if she's falling apart slowly, pieces of her chipped away over weeks, her body and mind deteriorating and she is too exhausted even to be afraid anymore. there is nothing more that could possibly be worse than this, they are already living in the future they had been terrified for, what is left to be frightened of?

with her hands clasped to prompto's shoulders for support, alisaie wavers where she stands until her head stops spinning and the pain settles again, though she knows each step forward will be a study of torment, there's little enough to be done for it. ]

[ He moves with her, even conscious of her comfort, of every sign of pain that flickers across her face, of every shifting joint and how it must ache. When such a simple thing as walking to the bathroom becomes an insurmountable task, looking ahead seems Herculean, even taboo. How much longer could they keep this up?

But he can't let himself think that way - or, at the very least, he can't give her any further reason to be in pain. The idea of her worrying on his behalf right now is laughable. How could he spend even a fraction of a moment thinking about his own feelings when she's like this? He can't, so he sets his jaw as they move, slowly but surely, to the bathroom. ]

That's it. Nice 'n' easy. [ His voice is soft, but it doesn't waver, and he reaches into the tub to start the shower running warm. ]

...Mind if I join you? Horses, uh...stink. Literally and figuratively.

[ He smiles lopsidedly at her, lifting his hand to her cheek to wipe flecks of blood from the corners of her mouth. Gods, what a pair they make. ]

[ she'd never thought the day would come when a ten yalm trip feels like a victory, yet here we are. ]

I.. think that's a wise idea.

[ she'd been considering it even before he'd asked; at a time like this, passing out or losing her footing in the shower could be an absolute disaster, and tired as he is she can't help but need his steadying hand. a bath might be safer, but it would take longer, and she would absolutely fall asleep submerged in warm water.

speaking of warm water - the steam alone is enticing, and fevered though she is the heat will no doubt feel lovely to her aching bones. undressing seems as difficult a task as getting to the bathroom had, but she slowly, carefully begins to manage it nonetheless. ]

You are looking a bit ripe.

[ clearly brink of death sickness can't keep her from throwing shade. ]

[ It's simply too good to hear her make that jab in the first place that he can't even pretend to be affronted by it, the other side of his mouth tugging up with a huff of laughter as he tugs his shirt over his head. Look, he's not even blushing as he undresses this time! It's either a testament to how normal this has become, or to how tired he is. Maybe it's a little bit of both. But either way, he carefully helps her with her clothing, ever watchful of the pain written into her very bones. ]

Hey, some of us didn't get ferried over on gryphons like total badasses. I had to ride a poor man's chocobo. They're not fluffy at all...

[ How easy it is to fall back into their usual rapport, even as he shucks off the rest of his clothing into a crumpled pile so he can focus on attending to her, holding onto her elbow to steady her. Even as his gaze lingers not on her scars, but on the blood under her fingernails. For her to be bleeding like this...

No. He can't think like that. ]

[ keeping up their playful banter is all she can do to feel even relatively normal at this point. it's the only comfort they can both find right now, one she's all too ready to give.

his steadying hands are a blessing though, and make it worlds easier for her to step out of her clothing without stumbling. getting into the shower is a bit more of a struggle, considering the high step up, but with her hands grasping to his arms she manages. ]

How terrible for you. My gryphon was very fluffy.

[ she was like a majestic eagle soaring through the skies and bleeding from her face ]

[ He holds her steady as she steps into the shower, following after as soon as she has her footing. He steps in, and the warm water hitting his skin feels miraculous, a godsend. Funny how something so simple can feel so instantly renewing, refreshing. He can't even imagine how it must feel for her.

A quiet, exhausted sigh escapes him, his chest falling as he allows himself one moment to close his eyes against how utterly tired he is. That's another thing he's just going to have to...deal with. With her being in the state that she is now, her condition steadily getting worse and worse, how could he even think to allow himself to rest? At any moment, things could change, things could get worse, and he isn't going to just sleep through that.

So he opens his eyes again, still smiling wearily, adoringly, at her. ]

Still not as cute as a chocobo, but definitely an improvement over a horse. I know that makes me sound like...a neigh-sayer, but it's true.

[ rly, now of all times ]

[ it feels perfect, is how it feels. like prompto, alisaie takes a few moments to simply appreciate it, to feel the hot water beating down against her battered body like a soothing massage. when you're aching deep in your bones there really is nothing quite like a hot shower or bath.

turning away with her back toward him, alisaie tips up her chin to let the water run over her face, softening all of that lovely crusted blood. ]

This unbridled disdain for horses seems uncalled for, if you ask me. They are perfectly lovely animals.

[ why this, why now, in the year of our lord 2k17 prompto does this ]

[ Once she turns her back to him and he's sure she isn't about to collapse, he lifts his hands to run through his hair. There's no doubt this is refreshing, but he also knows as soon as he steps out of the shower he'll want to fall straight to sleep, and - he can't do that. Not with the condition she's in now.

So maybe they can just...stay in here for awhile, soaking up the steam, trying, for a moment, to find something normal to cling to. ]

Guess I got saddled with that opinion when one of 'em bucked me to the ground. I'm gonna have a sore tailbone for weeks!

[ he does this because THEY NEED IT ]

[ after a few moments of water streaming down her face, alisaie rubs both hands over it to wash the blood away. it's hardly of much use, considering the slow but constant flow, but it still feels good to get it off of her skin, at least for now, and to clear it away from her eyes. ]

Truly?

[ there's an attempt made at a laugh, and it's kind of pathetic and makes her dizzy, but it's nice to smile nonetheless. ]

I suppose the beast made an ass of you. Would that I had been there to see it.

[ shampoo pls ]

[ Maybe it's her joke, maybe it's the sound of her own laugh, however slight, that has a true, honest one gusting out from deep in his chest. It feels so good to laugh so earnestly and yet it's bittersweet how few and far between their laughs have been the past few weeks. It's enough for tears to press at the corner of his eyes, for his laugh to peter into a hiccuping sob he tries to pass off as a cough. ]

...Don't worry, I-I - I took some pics anyway. I can catch you up on all the mane events of the trip...

[ But much of the levity is gone from his voice.

He squeezes a bit of the shampoo into his palm and passes it off to her. ]

[ he tries to hide it but alisaie knows him too well, knows his mind and his heart, knows how tired he is, how difficult all of this has been, the toll it has taken. it makes her heart ache with a pressure that tightens her throat.

she needs to turn toward him again in order to wet her hair, but it gives her the opportunity to look up into his face again, to touch him. he passes her the shampoo but after a moment's consideration she sets it aside again and reaches instead to take his hand, the one with the shampoo in it, so she can scrape it into her own palm instead.

and then she's rubbing it between her hands and lifting them to his hair to gently, steadily work it through. there's something very.. comforting about this, about the casual intimacy of bathing with someone you trust absolutely, someone you can be so completely vulnerable with.

but she doesn't offer an answer. the will to joke has bled out of her again. ]

[ Thanks in no small part to his fatigue, to how swollen his thoughts are with fear, it takes him a moment to realize what she's doing, taking the shampoo out of his hand, until she's lifting her hands to his hair, his chest tightening and his eyebrows lifting as he understands. ]

Alisaie...

[ It's not a protest, not quite, but there's so much else mingled in the way he says her name for how it's little more than a whisper. It's a gesture so tender, so intimate, that he tips his head down, eyes falling shut against the tears he'd tried so hard to keep at bay.

It's no use. The tears slip out anyway, unbidden, rolling down his cheeks and mingling with the shower water as his shoulders shake. If he could say something, he would - but he's too full for words. Full of pain, full of exhaustion, full of fear, yes. But also full of love, blinding and unyielding, a thing far too great and beautiful for him to fully comprehend. It's such a simple thing, her fingers working the shampoo into his hair, and yet, it isn't simple.

Not at all. ]

[ it breaks her heart to see his expression crumple like that and yet it's satisfying as well. he's trying to hard to stay strong, she knows, and while he may need to maintain that for others, for his comrades in the guard and those he's helping on the streets, he need not do it for her. his company alone keeps her strong and supported, and while she loves his smiles, what she loves more is his simple.. presence, the knowledge that he's here, that she can hear his voice and feel his warmth and smell his skin. that's all she needs. mayhaps in time he'll learn that completely, but until he does she's more than happy to show him, to help him unwind whenever and however she can.

for now she maintains the silence. there's only this space between them, the heat and steam and the sound of beating water. her fingers work gently thorough his hair, rubbing deep into it, over and along his scalp in circular, soothing movements.

and while she works she carefully pulls his face down to her level, and she presses kisses to his cheeks, over his tears and the rolling water, first his right cheek then his left, crossing the bridge of his freckled nose and up to his brow. all she needs to say is there in her kisses, each one warm and soft and lingering, and in the slow gentle workings of her fingers through his hair. ]

[ It aches, but it feels so good, too - to let his emotions spill out while she massages her fingers across his scalp, and kisses his face so tenderly that a fresh hiccup of sobs wracks his shoulders. He doesn't deserve this, no matter how battered and weary he might be, but it's still so intimate and welcome that he never thinks to stop her.

Because this isn't just for him. When they're close like this, communicating perfectly without ever uttering a word, it's easy to forget that that separation exists - that they aren't just one whole, two parts that fit together so well that it's a wonder how he ever lived without her in his life. He lifts his hands to her face, thumbs gently gliding over her cheeks, willing this moment to never end, even for as much as it hurts so exquisitely.

But the water is so cleansing, just as these tears. ]

[ her heart bleeds for him, but it's so cathartic that she can't help but encourage it, to keep up with the slow, soft kisses and her fingers in his hair until it's all sudsed up from root to tip.

gods, what she would not give to kiss him properly, to draw his mouth to hers and kiss his breath away until neither of them can think about anything but how it feels. it's been so long she hardly remembers what his mouth feels like, his taste a distant, fading memory and in this moment with a clutch of fear she can't help but wonder if she will ever know it again. the cure is in the works but there's no saying how long it might take, and she was sick within hours of the bomb's drop, among the first wave of the infected. there's no guarantee that the cure will come quickly enough to save her. it's advancing so quickly, it's becoming harder and harder to stay awake, she's bleeding, she's hurting, she's dying.

but for now.. for now she pushes back those thoughts and slips her arms over his shoulders, holding him near, burying her face against his neck and trailing kisses there. ]

It's all right, love.

[ she whispers, nuzzling warmly at the juncture of his jaw. ]

You're home, now.

[ He lets them stay like that for a long moment, his arms winding around her when hers move over his shoulders, her sweet kisses driving the tension that's threatened to suffocate him for days from his chest. The water rushes over him, washing out the suds in his hair, spilling bubbles over his shoulders and neck and leaving him feeling scrubbed clean in so many ways. It's...funny, how true her words are, despite the fact that he'd never been here before a handful of minutes ago. Home wasn't just a place - it was a state of being, an existence, and when he exists here with her, he absolutely is home. There's no place he'd rather be than at her side.

He turns his head to kiss her temple, long and lingering, so unlike the way he had so very long ago on a rooftop in Olympia. She'd held him as he'd cried, then, too. ]

I am.

[ A quiet confirmation, and perhaps it didn't need to be said, but he wanted to say it.

And then he's drawing back, just enough that he can grab the shampoo bottle again and squeeze out a fresh handful before gently guiding her to turn her back to him again. ]

[ sometimes she worries that she does not always reach him. that her voice cannot find him when he's buried too deep beneath his sorrows, unready to hear what she is telling him, what he needs to hear. and that's all right. people do not change in a day, and prompto has years of self-doubt to work through, and that is something that he can only do himself, in his own time.

but this time, at least, the atmosphere feels visibly lighter when he pulls her in and kisses her temple, and when he draws away she feels.. better. as if, even in some small way, she has made a difference.

she hadn't been expecting any sort of repayment when she's chosen to wash his hair, but she won't refuse him the opportunity to do so. give and take, it's what they do, and she can't deny that she wouldn't enjoy the feel of it, the chance to just relax for a few moments and not worry about anything beyond the warmth of the water, and the feel of his touch. so without argument she turns again to face away from him - gods, every small movement is so impossibly difficult - and gingerly gathers up her long hair, pushing it back over her shoulders. ]

[ His hands work slow and steady through her hair, starting at her scalp, impossibly gentle as he works his fingers through any tangles he finds along the way. He knows the blood won't be washed away for good, that it will return, and that even just standing there must be causing her a great deal of pain. But he doesn't stop, taking care to address each and every hair upon her head until it's difficult to see through the bubbles.

He may not be able to take away her pain, he may not even be able to repair her spirits. But he can do this for her, after she'd so tenderly done it for him, and so he will, until her hair is soaped from root to end. As he gathers it up in his hands, he leans down to press his lips to the soft skin just behind her ear, whispering how much, how much he loves her, before he guides her shoulders to turn her back around again. ]

[ there's something incredibly soothing about someone's fingers in your hair. aside from prompto, the only people she has ever allowed it from were her mother and brother, but it was a feeling she always loved, when she permitted herself to be soft enough to lay her head in her mother's lap, or allow alphinaud to braid her hair for her. more than any other gesture of affection it has a.. pacifying sort of effect on her, and she loosens beneath it like a pup receiving a belly rub. it's an exquisite feeling. for a few lovely, fleeting moments the pain in her bones is erased, or at least forgotten, and when he leans forward to press tender kisses and sweet words behind her sensitive ear she shivers and falls slack, her weight easing back against him, skin to skin, warm and perfect. she could stay like this forever.

but warm water is not an endless commodity, so when he gently prompts her to turn she obeys, no matter how much she'd rather not. eyes closed, her hands find his shoulders for touch and stability both while she tips her head back to allow the water to run through her hair. ]

That feels wonderful.

[ When she turns back around, she'll find him wearing a weary but fond smile, hands setting gently onto her waist once again as she tips her head back to wash out the shampoo. It feels so utterly profound, somehow, to share such a simple thing as a shower with her, to help her wash away the physical reminders of everything this illness has tried to take from them, their actions a symbol of everything it could not. ]

Yeah, it does.

[ How badly he aches to kiss her, to lose all sense of everything in her kiss, to push aside the world for a few moments to express his love to her in a way he hasn't for what feels like ages. But he won't. Not when they've come this far without him getting ill, not with how hard she's worked to keep him that way. They would have the cure soon enough. (They had to.) And when they did, he'd kiss her until they were both senseless and dizzy,

It won't be long now.

It can't be long now. ]

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