He didn't want to tell her for the same reason as he hadn't wanted to tell Gallivan — Angie knew too much about dark magic for Cash to brush her off, and if she thought he was going to pop another dementor into existence, then she was never going to let him leave this apartment and this bed. He pressed his face against the top of her head and inhaled the smell of her hair, familiar and safe. Maybe he could skip over it.

"I need you to tell me if I get worse," Cash said after a beat. It was the same thing he'd said when he was talking to Gallivan — he thought that if he did get worse, maybe he wouldn't notice. Or maybe he would want to hide it.

There was something else he wanted to ask her for, although he couldn't bring himself to right now. He wanted to ask her to forgive him, if he left. But he knew that she couldn't, and he wasn't thinking directly of that exit, and — he wanted to live, still.

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