She was calling his bluff, he realized; she wasn't going to let him get off with something as paltry as I wasn't thinking properly. Nor should she, given the circumstances. They weren't supposed to be anything at all to each other anymore, and then he'd kissed her and started dying. She must have pitied him, or felt guilty — and that was probably why she'd stayed, after he'd passed out, and why she was here now. They must not have found a way to actually draw the curse back, he thought; he must still be dying, and she didn't want to disappoint him when he was on his deathbed.

But then why ask? She must have known, or at least suspected, the answer. He'd kissed her because he had been dying, and, as he now knew with extreme clarity, people were very selfish when they were dying. He hadn't thought about how that kiss would make her feel, or the guilt it might leave her with after he was gone. He'd only thought about what he wanted, which was to kiss her — not just in that moment but in every moment for what seemed like several lifetimes now. Because, sometimes, he felt like she was the only thing in the world he really wanted, and he could not die within arm's reach of her and not be holding her.

But he wasn't going to say that. If she was here because she pitied him and didn't want to break his heart right before he died, saying something like that would just make things worse.

"I don't know," he said instead, mumbling slightly. "I thought I was going to die. I guess I didn't want to do it alone."