[ His eyes sting and something wet falls down his cheek, but even if he had it in him to wipe it away, that would mean letting go of Maya's hand, and that's most certainly not something he wants to do right now. There's blackness creeping in at the edges of his vision, and it's a struggle to keep it from enveloping him completely, but the pressure of her touch keeps him anchored. (Not the feel of her skin, he can't feel much of anything, really, hasn't been able to for a while.)
Another low rumble resounds somewhere else on the ship and sets the deck shaking, and Peter has so much he wants to say to her, to spill out everything, but the words won't come; they keep evading his grasp, and he has no idea how to say any of it. It's so hard to think. He doesn't know how to tell her she's his best friend; that she means so fucking much to him; that she's the smartest and most gorgeous person he's ever known; that she helped him to learn to trust and be honest again, with himself and with her; and God, why didn't he say any of this earlier, so he wouldn't have to try to do it now, when he's bled nearly dry and his insides are mess?
It takes him a half-second to realize his eyes have slipped shut and that his head is starting loll forward, but he tilts back, forces his eyelids open again. He focuses his eyes on her face and grasps her hand, wrapping his fingers around hers as tightly as he can -- which isn't very tightly at all. ]
I love you. [ It's not even a tenth of everything he wants to say, but it's all that comes to him, and he imbues it with all the meaning he can. He hopes she understands. ] I wish-- I wish we had more time.
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Another low rumble resounds somewhere else on the ship and sets the deck shaking, and Peter has so much he wants to say to her, to spill out everything, but the words won't come; they keep evading his grasp, and he has no idea how to say any of it. It's so hard to think. He doesn't know how to tell her she's his best friend; that she means so fucking much to him; that she's the smartest and most gorgeous person he's ever known; that she helped him to learn to trust and be honest again, with himself and with her; and God, why didn't he say any of this earlier, so he wouldn't have to try to do it now, when he's bled nearly dry and his insides are mess?
It takes him a half-second to realize his eyes have slipped shut and that his head is starting loll forward, but he tilts back, forces his eyelids open again. He focuses his eyes on her face and grasps her hand, wrapping his fingers around hers as tightly as he can -- which isn't very tightly at all. ]
I love you. [ It's not even a tenth of everything he wants to say, but it's all that comes to him, and he imbues it with all the meaning he can. He hopes she understands. ] I wish-- I wish we had more time.