Chapter Text
"You haven't… finished the story yet…" Illuga protested. The words were barely distinct. The room seemed especially small, with the windows shut against the cold and the lights low in deference to his sensitive eyes.
The illness had come quick, and seemed to have taken half of Illuga's life. "It's one foot in the grave and the other out," so the doctor had said.
"What can we do for him?" Flins had asked.
"Make sure he keeps fighting. —Make sure he wants to keep fighting."
Now Flins reached for Illuga's hand, entwining their fingers together. Skin stretched like dry parchment across Illuga's knuckles, which protruded in almost an exaggerated fashion, the blue veins horridly stark. "I will tell you the ending," Flins promised. "Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow…" Illuga repeated, perhaps in protest. His eyes closed. "Can you tell me… is it a… happy ending…?" —The last said in a barely comprehensible mumble, so that Flins had to bend close to even hear the words.
"I hope so," Flins said. "I do hope so, Master Illuga." And he pressed a kiss against the delicate underside of Illuga's wrist, feeling against his lips that fluttering, fragile, human pulse.