Another tear dampens the bedsheets. When he says things like always she wants to hide; she can't promise him always, or even ages. She's scared, and she can't forget that she's dead, that one day - one day it'll be her who leaves.

She shakes her head silently, and rolls towards him, onto her back, eliciting a gasp as the grazes there catch on the sheets. His hand's still there. He hasn't left, even if he should.

"I don't - I can't - you'll get hurt. I'll get hurt. This is - it only ever ends in pain. Everything does."

She still can't make herself ask him to leave.