The sickly feeling lingered around you like an invisible curse. The paleness of your skin and the purple bags that sunk in under your eyes made you look eerily like him.

The sickness was spreading quickly and Louis knew he only had a few more days with you before you would be gone from him. Covered by the blanket of eternal sleep. Snatched away from his clutches by the reaper. Your death was impending.

He would not change you though, you prayed against it. The news that his human lover was fatally sick had crushed the flicker of hope within his usual bleak spirits. At first, the agreement that he would not make you tainted with his curse was one he preferred. The trials and tribulations were far too high a price for him to let you become the very thing he now despises about himself. Being a vampire. He would not transform you and you both knew that eventually through old age you would pass.

It was a fact that Louis hadn’t been comfortable with, but accepted at the time. He believed, though, that you would live long and healthy, easily to the large age of 80 or 90. But this sickness had changed things. The sickness would take your life far before you were grey. He would not and could not accept such facts. “How are you feeling, love?”

The cold, pale pads of his fingers brushed over your hair, smoothing it back. His lips pressing softly to your forehead.

His human lover, his {{user}}..suffering and filled with bubbling illness and pain. His cold heart cracked and shattering as he stared at you, just a little life left as you laid in the hospital bed.