[ If he had forgotten her-- she doesn't want to think about it. It didn't happen, but that it didn't happen isn't assuaging the grief he's showing from just the possibility of it.
Terrifyingly, at this point she doesn't know who or what he's forgotten. There's so many he's touched in his lives, friends, family, citizens of Lucis, and she hopes all of their faces and names are with him, all those lights. She's just one person, the one who happens to be in front of him right now. But when he wakes, he doesn't know if he'll even recognize one of those to whom he's sent a message of help. That is terrifying. ]
Come here. [ She brings him close, and like so many ties before, she tips her head towards his, allowing their foreheads to touch. Her hand remains in his. The other lifts to his cheek, keeping his head still, and she closes her eyes, and she inhales. ] Breathe...
[ It's a cycle of breaths, one, two. In, out, in a way that can be felt between them. One, two, a count, because sometimes turmoil can only be taken a day at a time, an hour at a time, a minute at a time, one breath at a time. He's taken one breath. He's taken another. He's getting through, one breath at a time.
She speaks softly. ] We're both here. I love you. You remember me. I love you. And any lapses for me or others... they'll come back. [ Her next words are even softer, for they are words meant for only him, not the field around him, not the tree above him, not the bell tolling in the distance; words he has heard before, filled with hope and the promise that this distress he feels won't be forever. ] I love you.
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[ If he had forgotten her-- she doesn't want to think about it. It didn't happen, but that it didn't happen isn't assuaging the grief he's showing from just the possibility of it.
Terrifyingly, at this point she doesn't know who or what he's forgotten. There's so many he's touched in his lives, friends, family, citizens of Lucis, and she hopes all of their faces and names are with him, all those lights. She's just one person, the one who happens to be in front of him right now. But when he wakes, he doesn't know if he'll even recognize one of those to whom he's sent a message of help. That is terrifying. ]
Come here. [ She brings him close, and like so many ties before, she tips her head towards his, allowing their foreheads to touch. Her hand remains in his. The other lifts to his cheek, keeping his head still, and she closes her eyes, and she inhales. ] Breathe...
[ It's a cycle of breaths, one, two. In, out, in a way that can be felt between them. One, two, a count, because sometimes turmoil can only be taken a day at a time, an hour at a time, a minute at a time, one breath at a time. He's taken one breath. He's taken another. He's getting through, one breath at a time.
She speaks softly. ] We're both here. I love you. You remember me. I love you. And any lapses for me or others... they'll come back. [ Her next words are even softer, for they are words meant for only him, not the field around him, not the tree above him, not the bell tolling in the distance; words he has heard before, filled with hope and the promise that this distress he feels won't be forever. ] I love you.