Work Text:
Snow was sitting on the sofa, a book in one hand; Kilian lay there with his head in her lap, her other hand gently petting his hair. It was a marvel such a thing had become possible, and that he was letting go of questioning it.
Half asleep, he murmured, "All this tenderness is slowly killing me."
Snow asked softly, "Should we be worried?"
Kilian shook his head a little. "I died before. Worse. But there was always someone left of me." She was so warm and gentle, so full of love. "Maybe I'll like who I'll be, this time."