His eyes are swimming with tears. “Fisher,” I say, the first tear escaping, more following each of my unsteady strokes along his face. “It’s too late for me. I’ve been too far dug,” I confess. His trembling hand comes around to cradle the back of my neck. “Just love me until then, anyway,” I say. “Please.” He dives for me, desperately tender and so perfect it stings. And I’m sunk a little more for it.
