Xavier's arms tightened instinctively when he felt the faint stir against his chest. For two days, he had sat there, never leaving Alvin's side. He had eaten little, slept even less. The others had begged him to rest, but Xavier had refused. If Alvin opened his eyes, Xavier wanted to be the first face he saw.
And now—finally—his beloved stirred.
"Alvin?" Xavier's voice cracked as he leaned down, brushing back the dark strands of Alvin's hair. "Love, can you hear me?"
Slowly, Alvin's lashes fluttered. His gaze, clear but tired, lifted to meet Xavier's trembling eyes. He blinked once, then twice, as though adjusting to the dim light.
"You…" Alvin whispered, voice hoarse. "You look terrible."
It was half a joke, half a truth. Xavier's hair was disheveled, dark circles carved deep under his eyes. His jaw was unshaven, his robes wrinkled.
