Chapter Text
she’s been coughing up blood again. third day this week that she’s had these awful coughing fits, dry hacking sounds too harsh and violent for how delicate her body’s been, shaking the whole of her skeletal form like an earthquake pulls at a building’s frame, and it comes up thick and viscous, dark as grave dirt. it’s the third day this week and it’s only thursday, and allison is trying not to worry too much, because logically he cannot believe that the opaque mathematics of their world would send her back only to swiftly sweep her away again. the game is horrible, bloody and unfair, at times random and always uncompromising in its rules and its rulings, in what it gives and what it takes, all subject to the impenetrable whims of its puppeteers - but to his memory, to his memory, it has never lied.
jaylen doubles forward, and allie is trying very fucking hard not to worry, but as he supports her trembling body with his arm hooked under hers, as he feels all her insubstantial weight laid into him, as she leans over the sink - white-knuckled grip on its side with one hand, her other lifted and trembling, holding the bloodied tissue to her lips - as she gasps like what remains of her lungs is trying to crawl up her throat, he is finding it incredibly fucking difficult.
“i got you,” he murmurs, though he knows she’ll likely hate it - the softness of reassurance, the platitudes, the sweet nothings in the face of the abjectly horrific, she always has. he pulls her hair back from her face for her, gently moves the long damp strands over her shoulder. his eyes fix on the chips in his black nail polish instead of her. “i got you,” he says again as another round of coughing grips her, throws her forward, and he catches her before she can slam her forehead into the mirror - “i got you,” and it’s more for him than it is for her, isn’t it.
“i’m okay,” she rasps, eventually, once several minutes have passed in silence, once she’s felt safe enough to lower her tissues and grip the sink with both hands. allie carefully slips a stray bit of her hair behind her ear, and she repeats, “i’m okay,” half irate, or as close as she can muster.
“i know,” he says. “water?” she nods, and he reaches one handed for the cup at the edge of the sink, turns the faucet on with the heel of his hand, fills it only halfway - keeps his hand on the cup even after she lifts hers to take it, just to be safe. she drinks in broken gulps. he watches her throat swell and contract.
she pushes him away, eventually, once she has the strength to grasp again for her distant pride. he lets her go, steps back but stays braced to catch her should her knees give out. there are too many hard porcelain surfaces in this room for her to crack her head on if she fell, too many cold eventualities that would bury her again.
“you’re okay,” he says, and jaylen nods. “you’ve got a -” he reaches out, gestures, and she frowns a little, not understanding. the smudge of blood at the corner of her lips follows the downturn of her mouth. “i’ll get it,” he mumbles. he licks the tip of his thumb and extends his hand to cup her cheek, and carefully wipes it away.
“bit of blood,” he says afterwards.
jaylen wrinkles her nose a little. “just fuckin’ soccer mommed me,” she mutters, “i can’t believe you.”
“shut up,” allie answers, and he’s smiling. there’s a faint laugh pulled up from his chest despite everything, stopped just short of his tongue.
“do i have a bit of shmutz on my nose, too?”
“no.” he’s still smiling. even weakened, even rasped, the wry tone she gets when she’s making fun of him washes over him, settles in his ribcage and blooms there, fills him with an incomparable warmth. he moves his hand back to cradle the curve of her jaw, slips his fingertips into her hair, and kisses the tip of her nose. “you’re good. come on. should get you back to bed.”