they were used to the decay by now.

the ever pulsing rot in them that never quite seemed to leave. some days, it was still manageable, something that was a weight on their chest, but not enough to block their breathing completely.

and some days it was this.

clawing. screaming. aching in a way that felt like it would never go away. rot that felt like it was crawling inside their chest, wrapped around their bones, like it was trying to become one with them. they couldn't breathe.

their fingers were trembling, nails digging crescents into their arms. like if they pressed hard enough, scratched deep enough, they'd be able to pull out the rot from their body.

their thoughts were thick with rot. melded with decay.

I don’t want this—I don’t— It won’t stop—It won’t stop—

they curled into themself, holding onto their arms tightly, trying to remember how to be, until–

footsteps.

quiet. fast. familiar.

anaxa was by their side before they could even process his presence, his hands close as they reached for them, not quite touching–not without their permission–but there.

they reached for him, grasping desperately at his coat, trying to ground themself.

"I–I can't– anaxa– please make it stop–"

he pulled them into his arms.

they sobbed into his embrace, the rot curling and screaming and blinding–they couldn't breathe. it didn't feel like it was just in them. it was them.

"breathe," he murmured, holding them close, trying to anchor them enough so they didn't slip entirely. it wasn't working. "I'm here, beloved. breathe for me."

his hands ran along their spine, grounding them. but it wasn’t enough. they were unraveling too fast.

they clawed at their own skin, sobbing. “it’s crawling—I can feel it—it’s not just inside me, it’s me— I can’t get it out—”

and for once—

he froze.

and he did the only thing he could think of.

he kissed them.