Lach sat up carefully, making sure not to let her slip too far from his grasp as he felt around him for the blanket. Less than a minute later he discovered it somewhere behind his head and tugged it out from between the pillow he rested on and the arm of the chair. He rested it across her shoulders and tucked the sides under his body. He felt her body go rigid and he knew what was coming. He didn't say anything, though, and continued stroking her hair as she remained silent.

It was only when she spoke that he allowed himself to realize that this—the sex, the snuggling, the intimacy—wasn't real. It was completely fabricated, a parting gift in essence. It must have been a way for her to remember, a way for him to feel like he was allowed to have a part of her if he couldn't keep her heart. Her words did nothing to soothe his fears, and he unconsciously tightened his arms around her body.

He shook his head, his body shifting under hers. "Don't go," he pleaded quietly. She could leave later, after they'd rested and spent time together in quiet silence. It would hurt more afterwards, but he wasn't ready to watch her go. "I'm not ready."

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