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Summary
A hand—then, hands—on him, his chest. Sam's hands. They are thankful, but still frail and tentative. Just as the bud of an upolín hopes to emerge from snow in the early months, but the rosette isn't strong enough to break through the cold.
This is it. This is our goodbye, Henry considers bleakly. This is him, going to God.
The thought alone is reverentially terrifying.
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samuel sustains a life-threatening injury, wrestles with reason, and kisses henry goodbye; henry stops the bleedingfor kcdrarepairsweek day 6: confession and whump
