[Three hundred and eighty-two days since he'd been this close to her. She'd been dying at the time, struggling to breathe, too drained of blood to even speak a full sentence, and he had been losing his mind at the prospect of watching yet another person he'd come to care about die in front of him. It was always the same, death — it would come, it would claim someone, it would leave him with the memory of their final, ugly moments. He'd known then that even if it killed him, he would force the life back into her veins. A bloodbag by choice.
A part of him wants to pull away from her and leave this moment behind, because allowing it will only make things harder. He knows the way stories like this end. And this one, he's sure it's doomed to end messy. But... the other warped part of him is relieved to know that he's utterly fucked right now.
So he leans his head against hers for a moment, and knows this will have to do.
Sooner than later, it will be just another distant memory for her to parse.
As she releases him:]
Your wounds?
[Healed? Healing? He glances down at where he recalls the awful mess they'd found on her, after Joe's death.]
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A part of him wants to pull away from her and leave this moment behind, because allowing it will only make things harder. He knows the way stories like this end. And this one, he's sure it's doomed to end messy. But... the other warped part of him is relieved to know that he's utterly fucked right now.
So he leans his head against hers for a moment, and knows this will have to do.
Sooner than later, it will be just another distant memory for her to parse.
As she releases him:]
Your wounds?
[Healed? Healing? He glances down at where he recalls the awful mess they'd found on her, after Joe's death.]