“No… no, this can’t be happening,” he muttered, voice breaking. His normally steady composure shattered as crimson tears streaked down his cheeks, each one glinting like tiny drops of blood in the sunlight.

“You can’t…” he whispered again, gripping your shoulders. “I can’t lose you. Not you.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, as if trying to will life back into you with the sheer force of his longing. His breaths came ragged, uneven, and the red tears fell faster.

“There has to be something…” he said, almost pleading to himself. “There has to be a way.”

He paused, staring into your closed eyes, thinking frantically. And then, in a heartbeat, he realized what the stories had always hinted at, what he had never dared to try before: maybe… just maybe… this could work.

Jacks leaned down slowly, trembling, and pressed his lips to yours. There was no hesitation, no second thought—just a desperate hope that this small act, this stolen moment, could undo the impossible.