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The afternoon is quiet. Lumine stands, staring out over the precipice of a cliff; a step away from the knife's edge of the world. The overhang drops direct into the air and the horizon is nothing but blue and blue and blue; ocean melding into sky. So endless that she could tumble out into the open air and be lost.
A caress brushes at her elbow. A touch like a sigh and she starts, whirling into a covered chest as a hand tightens around her upper arm. "Careful."
"Dainsleif! You're the one who's sneaking up on me!"
Something works in his face; a subtle quirk as the sea air intrudes into their silence. Dancing through the long strands of his hair, curling around her shoulders. A bite she barely feels against his welcome warmth.
"I didn't mean to."
She knows that, of course. Still she pouts up at him, eyes narrowed. Pretending. "We should get you a bell, you're too quiet."
"Do you think that would help?"
So serious. Laughter rises in her chest too quickly and she works to tamp it, feels the twitch already starting in her cheek. "Very much."
"There's a market starting down in the valley. They might have something, if you care to look."
This close she can feel every teasing word as it bubbles from his throat. His face is calm, almost stoic but. There, right at the corner. She can see the suggestion of a smirk.
"Stop! I know you know I'm joking." Her palm flattens at his chest, traces the patterned details of his shirt. Dark but intricate, lines laid in with silk. She follows the trail of it lazily. Higher, higher. Up over his pectorals, along his collarbone, curling back around his neck. Fastens there, the long ends of his hair caught between her fingers. "Besides, I think that would be a pretty big disadvantage, if we got into a fight."
"I'd never fight you." Tone flat, blue eyes crinkling.
She hums off-key, mirrors the harmony in her hands. A trill made with skillful fingers. "Not even if I asked you very nicely?"
"Why bother when you're assured a win?"
"Are you saying you'd throw the match?" She affects a gasp, wriggles her arm out of his hold and he lets her go, instant. Replaces his hand at her back instead. "Even when I've made you such an enticing prize?"
He quirks a brow and she finally lets the laughter tumble past her lips, wild and alive. Sets her newly freed arm reaching, reaching, before he thinks to duck down and oblige. He is too close in her orbit as she sets the circlet of flowers at his crown. The bright shine of his hair usually so unattainable, brought down at a height for her to kiss.
He lifts his head and the effect is jarring. Glaze lilies and windbloom asters and that little purple plant that no one's been able to name for her, just yet. A palette of colours that clash together terribly, a vibrance that looks angry.
"Lovely," she says. She locks her hands behind his neck as he meets her gaze, pleased. "Fit for a prince."
His free arm comes up and for a moment she thinks he's going to adjust his gift, settle it more securely on his head. Instead he reaches for the lock that hangs by her cheek. Twines it between gloved fingers. "But I have nothing for my princess."
He says the words so easily and somehow they still make her flush. A live reaction that burrows beneath her skin and turns her shy.
"Shameful," she murmurs. Draws herself closer, peering coy beneath her bangs. "Then, will you take a request?"
"Of course."
"Oh? You agreed so fast." She tips her head at him, lets the mischief of her grin spread wide and dangerous. Notes the way he watches, almost unblinking. "I wonder what I should ask for . . ."
"Anything."
Oh. Every joke catches in her throat. Dies, fluttering, a butterfly's wings slicked down with syrup. Unfair of him to throw those promises around. Unfair of him to mean them.
So she names her prize. "Kiss me."
He leans in, immediate, all dark and blue and willing, and she wonders how she ever thought the horizon could compare to the gentle gradation of his eyes.
It's a familiarity that flusters, makes her heart feel too fragile in her chest. Curving together, anticipating every turn and gasp and need for breath. The soft press of his lips like a question: asking her permission as though he thinks there's any chance, even now, even after all this time together, she could refuse. She fastens herself to him, pulls him down, hands hot and wanting, desperate to have him closer.
It's never enough.
Lumine takes a step back, unbalanced as she cranes her neck beneath him. Taking and taking and taking; the sweep of her tongue against the sharp edge of his teeth, every laughing sound swallowed with relish. Stumbles. Another step and the ground disappears beneath her feet. So fully absorbed she'd forgotten where she was standing, the sudden sharp threat of the edge. Gasps, gulps down that bitter slice of air, the very emptiness that will destroy her and then.
The world spins out of focus, blue and blue and black in kaleidoscopic nonsense and her breath catches in her lungs as she's rolled, hard, to the grass. Tumbling down the incline in a tangle of limbs, her head tucked against his chest.
They sprawl at the level base with her splayed against his torso, one hand cradling her hair. The harsh beat of his pulse loud beneath her ears; thrumming, frantic. She blinks up at him and. Giggles. Laughs outright at the groan that cuts off in his throat.
"Please be more careful."
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry."
He frowns down at her as she fights to control her hysteria, as she reaches a pale hand to untangle blades of grass from his hair. His flowers have been shed all along the hill; a trail of crumpled destruction in their wake. "Don't be too upset."
"You scared me."
She stills. Looks at the crease between his brows, the frown pulling at his mouth. Traces the shelf of his bottom lip with her finger. "I'm sorry." An apology she punctuates with kisses, scattered relentless across his flushing face. His cheek. His nose. That little wrinkle in his forehead. She can feel the way he relaxes under each and every touch.
"Forgive me?"
He sighs. Forgone conclusion and still she feels nerves seize in her throat, the awful trembling hope of expectation.
His hand is gentle on her forehead, as he brushes her bangs out of her eyes. "I will, today."
Then he leans down, recaptures her lips and for a moment she remembers what it feels like to fly.
He presses his mouth to her neck, warm and soft.
"Dainsleif," she murmurs, and he doesn't unlatch. Only mumbles against her skin, vibration that shudders through her down to bone and makes her feel like she will melt. She purses her lips but tilts her head, so he can traverse her at his leisure. "I think we'll have to stop going through the, ah, the North gate of the Abyss. There are too many creatures there now, it's not. Mmm, worth it."
"Okay." He dips down, setting himself at the junction of her pulse. Licks against that jumping point, tongue igniting her like flame.
"Instead I was thinking we—Hah." She reaches backwards, reflexive. Threads her fingers through his hair, tries to pull him closer. He shifts in towards her, lips ghosting across her throat. Pulls back just enough for a single contribution. "Stormbearer."
"That. Right." Gold eyes dip back towards her map. A densely scripted sheet covered in symbols, meaning fleeing at every touch. It would be so simple to turn, to meet him in a kiss. "So we should use that one to—"
"Hmm." He sucks agreement into the space above her collarbone, sets all her thoughts scattering. Dandelion seeds in the wind.
"Dainsleif." She means for an admonishment but it comes out on a gasp. Feels a spark spiraling inwards, the premonition before she is ignited. She doesn't remember her last point. "You're distracting me."
"I didn't mean to."
And that's the awful thing of it: the truth.
It isn't intended to seduce. Every breath, every touch, every excruciating attention. Scrawling a record on her skin, tongue tracing out his signature. Inking his affection until it darkens, until she wears the souvenir so he can see it every scant moment when she's not in his arms. Flashes of blooming colour that prove she knows his touch.
Every bruise calls him like a beacon. His gaze, his fingertips, marking out the spots. All focusing into a caress so fleeting it must be unconscious. And when they fade he will descend on her again, rewrite his biography into her too-willing flesh.
Lumine sighs, conceding with grace as she folds the map away, puts it in the corner. Leans back and surrenders herself to his ministrations. "I can't focus like this."
"Really?" He leans up, nuzzling into her jaw. Adjusts her just slightly so he can reach an unclaimed stretch of shoulder.
"Yes." She covers his hand around her waist, curls her fingers into his palm. Pulls tight, laces herself into him like armour.
"Why?"
"Because," she starts, and she can already feel the weight of the words threatening to stop her heart. How can he be so ignorant? So unempathetic when the barest brush of her lips has him going to his knees, devout. "Because I love you."
He freezes. A breath shakes through his chest, sets all that muscle locking up around her. And then the rush of everything leaving him at once as he pulls her fully between his legs, cages her in with every limb. Chest curling over her back, forehead dropping to her shoulder. As though he's shattering apart and she's the gravity that will save him.
"Dainsleif."
He shakes his head against her shoulder and she tries again.
"Dainsleif."
It's not until she turns to him, curls her hand over his crown that he looks up. Face flushed, eyes bright; the wavering blue of searing flame.
She leans in and lets herself be burned.
She slams against the wall, lets her feet slip out from underneath her. Breaths stuttering in a heaving chest, palms slick with ragged skin. Blood is dripping from her hair, curling towards her brow and she knows soon one eye will be washed blind.
Dainsleif is close behind. Drops over top of her, so careful. Curls his uninjured arm around her shoulders and makes a shield of his body. Barrier, between her and the world. She lifts her arms, sore, aching, instinct. Takes his face gentle between her palms and draws him down to meet her.
"It's okay," she says and she needs him to believe it. "Everything's okay. We're okay."
"I'm sorry." His voice is rough, raw. Stones rubbing together, shards splintering with friction. "I never should have—"
"Stop. It's not your fault, nothing about this was your fault."
"You're hurt." Something crumples in his eyes, words edged out and bitter. And she can see her vision turning red, moisture dripping down his cheeks, the ground beneath them wet and dark. But she looks at him and he is devastated.
Lumine pulls him, hard, knocks their foreheads together in a way that doesn't help her bleeding. Breathes in the scent of him: amber and sandstone and an unfamiliar spice and waits until he's matched her metre. Releases, slowly, until she can be sure he won't move away.
From this close she can see his arm, tucked in tight at his waist, ribbons of sleeve hanging shredded from the elbow. She pulls it out, gingerly, measuring the damage. Lacerations dance up the flesh, the spiraling teeth turning him to tender meat. Her finger trails along the narrow path of unmutilated skin and she frowns. "So are you."
"It's nothing." Instant. So willing to overlook his own injuries so long as she is safe. A violence cracks beneath her ribs, makes her glare up at him, incandescent.
"It's not nothing!" She isn't often angry at him and it shows in his surprise. Irises widening, a window opening into sky. She fumbles through her things, grabs a vial and uncorks it with aggression. "Don't say that. And don't do anything like that again!" Her voice cracks and she pauses. At least he has grace enough not to interrupt. "You're going to die trying to protect me and—"
The liquid is splashing over his wounds, the ground, the edges of her skirts. It sizzles on his skin and he doesn't even flinch.
"And that's the thing that's going to kill me, in the end."
And then she starts to cry.
His horrified expression would almost be funny, if she could see it.
Instead his profile disappears in blurs of shadow, his undamaged palm cradling her head, tugging her warm against his chest. She sobs, grabs the edges of his cloak tight in her fists and shakes against his shirt. Damp discomfort setting in that he abides without so much as a wince.
He dips, low, to her crown to murmur comforting sibilation. Patting, consoling, as though speaking to a child.
"What. What can I do? What do you need?"
She pulls back just enough to glower at him, eyes dazzling and too big, cheeks washed clean. Moisture makes her lashes dark. "A promise."
"Anything," he babbles, desperate. "Anything."
"You can't interfere like that again."
She feels the stiffness settle. A shock that rips along his spine, has his posture nearly straightening. "I. I can't—"
"I'm going to get hurt." Even choked with moisture her voice is somehow fierce. "You have to trust that I can handle myself without your intervention. You'll have to let me take my hits."
A pained contradiction plays over his face and she holds her breath, for just one moment but. ". . .No."
"Anything," she whispers. His cape is still wrapped around her hands, clenched so tight it's stopped the bleeding. "You promised."
"Then. Anything short of grievous harm." And even this twists his mouth, a sacrilege forcing past his lips. "You will have to handle on your own."
"Unless I'm about to lose a limb you won't intrude."
"I." Desolation drops over his face but she won't let him go. He closes his eyes, tight, lids shut against this premeditated transgression. "I promise."
And the second those words are out she latches. Throws herself against him, careless, sealing their agreement. He tastes like salt and copper. Gasps into her mouth, unbalanced, but he catches her. Keeps her from the jagged ground as she shares her relief.
She can trust, this, at least. She's travelled with him long enough, knows every habit and peculiarity. He promised.
And Dainsleif would live and die on his word.
"They doubled back."
She frowns down at her roughly sketched map; lines dragged through the dirt, a handful of crystals marking out the mobs. They’ve been making good progress, careful, but it’s starting to get hard. Hordes of enemies and creatures that lash out at the slightest noise, no mind provocation.
Her fingers press at her temples. There's a pattern here, something she isn't seeing . . .
“Lumine.”
She doesn’t turn around but she can feel his approach; a presence so comforting tension slips easy off her shoulders. She crosses her arms over her chest and tips back, trusting him to catch her.
Anything less is an impossibility.
“I feel like I’m going crazy,” she admits. Closes her eyes, the beat of his heart familiar baseline at her ear. A pulse so steady she could set time by it, her calendar. The measure of her journey marked out by his phases.
“Maybe you are,” he says simply.
She frowns. Tips her head back up to scowl at him and is waylaid by a kiss. A promise, a devotion, everything’s alright, I’m here.
Her fingers glide up his jaw, guide him back down to meet her when he tries to pull away.
“Lumine . . .”
Murmuring her name like that will only pull her closer. She turns in his arms, slides her other hand around his nape. The strands tickle between her fingers, make her lips part with a gasp that he takes. A step forwards, another, guiding her easy downwards until he’s sitting, scuffing out the Northeast corners of the cliffs. She settles, facing, in his lap.
“Maybe you should take over, for a while.” Her head nestles against his neck, lips moving on his collarbone. “I don’t know if I can trust myself anymore, I’m not seeing the patterns.”
He huffs. A laugh, that curls around her ear, sets sweet in her breast. His arms are warm around her waist. “If you wish. Although I should warn you, I don’t know that I would do much better. I think I might be going crazy too.”
“Then at least this will absolve me of responsibility.”
He cinches her in tighter, drops kisses on her crown. The soft press of absolution against her sun-warmed hair. Magic or medicine that flows through her, imbuing her with peace. “Feel free to pin the blame on me.”
“Stop being so sweet or I’ll end up taking advantage of you,” she grumbles.
“Then take advantage of me. If it’s you, I wouldn’t mind.”
Awful and unfair. She straightens up, narrowing her eyes, all that earlier tranquility washed by a debilitating affection. Scowling, even when she leans in, even when he meets her.
Kissing him is always a little bit like pulling out her heart.
“So,” she starts, when his need for breath becomes too great. “Where did you go? Earlier. If you’d just gone for a walk I thought you’d have been back earlier.”
“Ah.” He frowns, disappointment twisting in his face. Unbars his arms; a lack of touch she makes up for by crowding closer to his chest. A package, wrapped in twine, is fished out from a pack some distance away. “You’ve been working too hard, I thought I should get you something to eat. I was going to give it to you right away but . . . you distracted me.”
Oh. Now that it’s there, she can smell the char of meat. Ignores the package entirely and throws herself back on him, raining kisses down like judgement. He’s too thoughtful.
She’ll have to work harder to deserve him.
“Lumine, you have to eat! You must be starving.” But he doesn’t sound upset. Doesn’t so much as shift away, giving himself into her touches.
“In a second,” she tries. Contradicted immediately by a rising rumble between them. She huffs and sits back, utterly disgusted by her body’s rude disruption. “Fine, okay. Yes.”
Spins out of his lap just to drop directly right beside him. “ Thank you, Dainsleif. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”
“No.” His smiles are such sweet things. Fleeting but with weight, miracles that she tucks in below her ribs, that she knows could ground her one day.
She wonders, sometimes, if she’d let them.
“I wanted to eat with you.”
The skies spread out above her like a ceiling. Like a trap. Stars pressed into two-dimension, so distant from the extraordinary truth. They’re strange, in this configuration. False relationships between them, when reality spins them lightyears apart.
Dainsleif has told her about the constellations.
It’s not a new concept, of course. In every world she’s visited, people like their stories. She’d just never paid that much attention, before. She’d never spent so long in a place it was required.
She frowns. That’s unfair. No part of this is his fault, and she enjoys listening. His soothing voice, the even metre, the way he sets his tales out like crystal, every new development a shimmering facet catching light. Another piece of him, embedded, deep below her iron skin.
Laid into her so long she can feel each shard like a lump, grown over with muscle, threaded through with nerves. Fixed and permanent.
What is she going to do?
The walk back to their camp is short. Less than a kilometre away, the tent standing watchful at the boundary of trees. An outpost; final stop before tomorrow.
She knows where her brother is.
She hasn’t seen him, of course, but there’s nowhere else that he might be. They’ve razed Teyvat, tunneled down into its core, lost themselves in the Abyss. This is the last place unchecked, the final blank spot on the map.
She’s going to find Aether.
And then they’re going home.
She parts the canvas flap. Dainsleif is a vague smudge in the darkness, lying still. The blankets draped over him are rumpled; evidence of her departure. He hasn’t moved since she’s left.
Lumine crawls inside, the press of rocks and uneven earth obvious under her hands. Dimpling the flesh, prolonging the discomfort of her wakefulness. It’s dark in here, but she can tell his eyes are closed.
The second she drops to lie beside him he opens his arms and folds her close.
It’s instinct. An unbearable belonging that makes her want to cry.
She nuzzles into his chest and his grip changes. A strange tensing of his muscle; a shifting into consciousness. His voice cracks, dry, when he speaks. “Oh. You’re back.”
He doesn’t ask her where she’s been.
“I’m back,” she murmurs, her palm flat on his cheek. He reaches up, holds her there against the skin. She wonders if he thought she wouldn’t be returning. Gone out ahead to find her other half, disappear without goodbye.
She wonders if that might be easier.
He turns into her palm, mouth brushing the slightly malformed surface. “I’m glad.”
He doesn’t say anything else, just fastens her in, but. The bud of something inside her blooms, terrible and sudden. Pushes her heart awkward into her throat and calcifies it into stone.
It takes her a moment to place the feeling. It’s too alien; she’s only ever felt it once before.
She’s afraid.
Her hands land on his head, carding gentle against his scalp. Soothing motions that smooth out the slight furrow in his forehead, the tense line of his mouth. So trusting, even now.
It’s too late. She won’t be able to leave without tearing something vital from her body. A piece too large, that she’ll have to leave behind.
Still. It doesn’t stop her from turning into his chest, returning his embrace. Locking her arms around him, burying tight and pretending. Maybe, when she dreams, she can make tomorrow just another day.
"It has to be here. It's the only place we haven't been, Dains." She shakes her head, resolute. “He has to be here."
“I’ll keep looking.”
She shifts in place, the clattering slide of her boots against the rock echoing too long, too loud in this impossible pocket below the earth. “The western edge of the caverns looks unstable, there might be some space behind them. Cover the entrance while I check.”
“Of course.”
She darts to the stone surfaces, and it’s slow, it feels so slow, and it might be strange to be so hurried after so long a wait but. Having the promise of him so close — he has to be here — is making her feel hazy. Every second stretched too long, the sticky pull of taffy.
She slaps her hands against the walls but. They feel solid.
“No!”
This isn’t happening, it can’t be. Moisture blurs the edges of her vision, has the uneven wall of stone wavering, texture swirling into smoothness. She hefts her sword in her hands and lashes out.
Sparks fly off the edges, jumping back into her face. The screech of metal discordant, angry, as she swings her sword again, again, feels the reverb shaking into her wrists. Distantly she recognizes a pulling force, a hand on her shoulder and she’s jerked backwards, arms barring her biceps against her torso. She should have heard him approach but there’s some noise that’s blocking out all sounds, disguising.
She’s screaming.
He bends, his head landing on her shoulder. She doesn’t know how she hears him. “Lumine, stop.”
She doesn’t want to. Because when the anger gives way, when all that fury dissipates she’ll be left with nothing but the hard stone of despair.
When her scream idles to a sob her knees buckle underneath her.
She’s kept upright only by his grace. The warmth of him around her, behind her. Human scaffolding that keeps her from her imminent collapse. The static of his voice, low, whispering hope into her ear. We can’t be everywhere at once, they might have moved him, he might be someplace we’ve long since left we’ll find him we can find him.
She’s so tired. But she has to believe.
There’s no other choice.
He jerks, grunting, and clarity pierces her all at once. They aren’t safe here, they’re too exposed, she’s cost them so much time, and. She stands under her own power and he lets her go, spinning immediately to face this incipient threat.
It’s not his fault he’s facing in the wrong direction.
Lumine shoots outwards, more power than sense. Snarling, feral, desperate. “Where is he?!?”
“Lumine! NO!”
The monster before her doesn’t cower, it can’t. Larger than she’s ever seen, metal and rust and the strange growth of buds, winding through the mechanisms. Veined in glowing blue.
She doesn’t falter either.
Her sword strikes out, glancing against the surface. The awkward tread of it’s single wheel spins backwards, sending it dancing out of reach. Maneuvering, easy, despite the bulk.
She doesn’t know what she expected, honestly. It has no appendages, let alone a mouth. But having something here, convenient, for her to take out her aggression?
She won’t worry too much about the details of her miracle.
“Give! Him! Back!”
The machine isn’t persuaded by her blows. A fact that won’t dissuade, only has her going harder, more incensed. The remote whoosh of parting air behind her driving her fist faster, faster, before he can pull her off and why can’t she just flatten this thing into the earth, just let her break it, let her pull it into pieces that she can grind beneath her feet —
There’s a creaking. A stuttered clanking, internal gears clicking into place. Slowly, at first, then fast and fast and faster. A ticking, a crescendo and fuck that’s bad, isn’t it, what did she do?
It happens before she understands it, before she can correct. Before she has any time to think.
She’s there and suddenly she’s not. Pushed, thrown, reckless to the other end of the cavern, blonde hair flashing out in front of her before it’s pulled violent out of reach. Even dizzy and with distance, she can see his face fill with relief.
“No.”
The thing explodes. Loud and terrible, no flaring heat but something, a lurching, the rotation of the planet shuddering, gravity bouncing, elastic. When her vision clears she staggers, pushing forwards, eyes sweeping.
There, on the edge. He’s crumpled against the wall, blood dripping from his hair, arm held at an awkward angle.
Flames wash along his right side in a flood of blue light.
“Dainsleif!”
"DON'T." Just the sound of her voice catapults him into consciousness.
She ignores him. Of course she does, she has to but. He throws his left arm out and a vial shatters at her feet. Old alchemy, where did he get this, and. Crystals burst upwards in a wall, closing him off. Sealed into a diamond coffin.
"No. No!” She strikes out with her sword, feels the shock jarring in her wrist. Again, again, again . "Don't do this."
“It’s contagious,” he says. So soft she has to stop, put her blade down if she wants to hear. Horror is shocking through her, closing up the vessels in her heart. “A devious trick, don’t you think? A walking death that the enemy can carry with them.”
His eyes are closed, head tipped back. Reflected through the stone, refracted. A million devastating portraits. “I always hated them the most.”
Something inside her has been displaced. Vaporized, leaking out with every breath. "You promised.”
He hasn't technically broken it, she knows. That blast would have been terrible.
But he says it anyway. “I’m sorry.”
No. The apology crawls under her skin, pierces muscle with barbed and needled legs, tearing. This is wrong, this is her fault, she never, she should have listened, she. Tears are spilling down her cheeks. Acid and burning. Her palm spread, cool, on the crystal surface.
"Can you do something for me?"
His voice is smoke; thin and barely-there. "Anything.”
"Don't die."
He smiles and it's bright. Terrible. The play of light over his face twisting his features grotesque.
"I love you."
It's the first time that he's said it. An awful revelation that slips inside her and shatters, fragments piercing, spinning into veins. She parts her lips and. She's not fast enough.
Reality is unbended. He's too important, too necessary to disappear like this. Smudged out like a whisper, when it should take a renting of the universe, knife twisted through existence. She watches, disbelieving, the blue fire flaring bright.
And then he's eaten up by flame and smoke, wiped clean from the landscape.
And the remainder of her world goes with him.
She offers only once.
The silence encases them, soft, makes the world seem hazy. When she presses her ear against his chest the stillness is broken by that steady beat. Lumine reaches up, brushes his hair off his face. Rests her hand on the curve of his cheek.
He covers her, holds her. Draws her down towards his mouth so he can lay kisses against her calloused skin.
The edges of his cloak slide silken off her shoulders.
"You could come with us." It's half-murmured. A dream, spoken into this transient peace. "Me and my brother, once we're reunited. We could be free, all three of us together."
He shifts, pressing his lips against every fingertip. She closes her eyes. The longer he lets this moment unspool, the easier it is to live in the fantasy. He'd look lovely, she's sure. Coloured by glimmering starlight, the cutting glide of wind. And finally she would have the two of them, one in each hand, bound together on their journeys.
Aether would like him, she thinks. He always was the better judge of character.
Maybe, she considers helplessly, desperately, more than well aware of the seduction of her knight . . . she'd even be willing to share.
Dainsleif threads his fingers through hers. Twists her wrist so he can press a kiss to the back of her hand; the only place left untouched.
"And you could stay."
She sighs and it pours out of her. Quick and deep and low, a liquid, drowning thing. Squeezes his hand, clutches him against that breaking place below her breast.
There's nothing more to say, after that.