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Illya's hand twitched as Napoleon grazed his fingers along them. His eyes fluttered open, blue as a summery sky, unable to focus.
“Any excuse to touch me.” Illya's voice was barely a sigh.
“Any excuse to stare at me,” Napoleon smiled through his pain.
“They were glares at your terrible jokes.” Illya's eyes could focus now, and he smiled weakly.
“You had fun at my expense, too!”
“It was worth it.”
Napoleon softly drew a finger along Illya's hair.
Simultaneously they spoke, "I love you."
In silence, at peace, with love, Illya's hand upon Napoleon's, they watched each other die.