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"Don't leave me. Don't, don't—"
Kimiko's words are cut off by a sob bubbling up out of her, big fat tears rolling down her cheeks. Her lover is shivering in her arms, bloody and blistered, looking up to her with all the love she never thought she'd deserve. His fingertips are touching her cheek, reverent, like he'll die happy if this is the last thing he sees, and it's so unfair. There are still things he should see. He wants to travel, dance, settle down. The last thing he sees should be the sea, or a peaceful smile from Kimiko when she's old and withered. Not this — the tears and the pain on her face.
"Mon coeur," Frenchie says. My heart. It's what he's always called her, and in a panic, she realizes she's never told him he's her heart, too. How is she going to live on without her heart? How will she fight? Love?
Getting the words out seems impossible. She can feel it getting closer. It's getting colder, and they're both trembling, and his fingers are twitching against her skin. All Kimiko can say is, "No no no no, Frenchie, no—"
"Mon coeur," her lover says again, distorted through the tears and the vice grip around her heart inside her chest.
She feels like it might actually stop once his breathing does. She wants it to.
"Kimiko." Frenchie's fingers dig into her cheek, insistent. "My sweet, wake up."
When she opens her eyes, her heart is racing and she feels lightheaded.
"Frenchie?" she gasps.
He's right there, face hovering above hers. Wide eyes, alert. His skin is clear, aside from the sun-spots on his tan skin. He's much cleaner than in her dream. When Kimiko reaches up to drag him into her arms, he's warm, solid, and relaxes into her. He smelled like dirt and blood and cigarettes for so long, she wants to start crying all over again when all she smells is the sea, and their laundry detergent.
"I'm sorry," Kimiko whispers. She squeezes her eyes shut, squeezes him in closer, and noses at his neck. She can feel his heartbeat against her lips, a steady thrum of all the life in him. All the love he holds for her is in there. Alive.
"Do not apologize," he murmurs back to her, and slowly, she feels her body calm down. There's no need for fight or flight responses anymore, there hasn't been in a long time, but her body is lagging behind.
"You are my heart, too. I can't do it without you, I never want to. I don't know what I would have done if—" Out of the nightmare, finding the words is easier, but saying that part is still too hard.
After a pause, Frenchie just says, "I know."
Kimiko can breathe easy then. She knows he loves her and he knows she loves him just as wholly. They're the same, always have been, and they will be until they die. She hopes that when it comes, they go together, like in the movies. It will be peaceful, maybe in this room, with this view, their dog at the foot of the bed.
Over Frenchie's shoulder, she can see dawn break through the sliding doors of their bedroom. The sea breeze is making the curtains dance gently, and she can see the the cliffs of the Calanques on the other side of Marseille.
"You already went for a swim?" Kimiko asks after their breaths have synced and she can feel him growing heavy with sleep on top of her.
Frenchie only hums in response, and she supposes she can let him doze off for a while. It's her turn to stand watch, ward off the bad dreams that still chase them when they close their eyes. She cards her fingers through his hair, feeling the seasalt left in the sun-dried strands. It's growing long, though it's still annoyingly stark black. He says he loves the streaks of silver in her hair, and she only believes it because she loves every new line on his face and the wrinkles on the back of his hand.
After his nap, she might make waffles, or take a stroll to the bakery where she uses French Sign Language with one of the younger staff. She'll read a book on the patio Frenchie built for them fifteen years ago, an addition to the house they bought and fixed up, thirty minutes out of the city. In the afternoon they'll spar, make love, and get a start on dinner.
And of course, they'll dance.