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Another heavy, shuddering cough tears its way out of Kaeya's body, and this time, the cecilias that emerge are stained with red.
Frustrated tears stream down the Cavalry Captain's face. Not for the first time, he wonders if this pain is in any way comparable to what Crepus felt when he lay bleeding out from his side. But at least Crepus died in the arms of his beloved son, who he knew loved him in turn and would be devastated by his loss.
When Kaeya gazes up at Albedo, all he sees is the same expression he always has. Those teal eyes betray no hint of emotion even as he holds Kaeya's back close against his chest, gathers up the bloodstained flowers from Kaeya's lap to set them aside, murmurs empty platitudes that he's probably just picked up from the other Knights. There's no indication that he's upset about this at all.
(Albedo will cry, later, once several days have passed and he's safely locked up inside his lab, alone. He will feel the loss all the more acutely for his inability to prevent it, to fulfill even the dying wish of someone he considered a dear friend. He will feel the baleful glares at his back as others mutter among themselves about whether this counts as murder. Even before it all happens, Albedo has anticipated and resigned himself to this fate.)
(But Kaeya knows none of these things.)
Kaeya raises one trembling hand, and Albedo reaches around to take it in his own. Kaeya's fingers squeeze in response, weakly.
At this point, all they can do is wait.