He turns and sees her standing there, purple ballgown, big curls and painted lips. Eric can't remember the last time he actually looked at Pam like she was something to stare at. Something beautiful and graceful and sophisticated and ruthless and loyal and his and so 110% willing to be his.
It is only when he wonders when the last time she looked this stunning was that he realizes Pam hasn't had the opportunity to dress up since they were relocated to Shreveport. And that is his fault. She isn't built for small town, hillbilly nonsense. Pam is designed to turn heads and break hearts. She was raised to laugh and fuck and kill. He realizes that is what he loves about her and he has been holding it back - holding her down in this role of 'sidekick' instead of 'partner'.
The room is eerily quite. His mind is racing with things he should say to her in this moment but the only thing that comes out is a proclamation of how beautiful she is. And he means it, means it in every way a person can be beautiful.
He observes her for a full minute, drinking in her form and face and hair. Without knowing who moved first, they embrace. He studiously notes how she looks and feels and tastes.
Pam traces the black branches on his chest and neck, wanting nothing than to suck the venom from his veins. She'd take his place if she could. She would die in his place gladly. But more practically, she wants to die with him. She doesn't say this out loud but he knows it all the same. He can't stand the thought of her not living after he's gone almost as much as she can't stand the thought of doing just that.
The dark lines marring his skin make her want to scream. It caves in her heart and elicits a bubbling in her throat like get darker and longer every day and all her efforts to staunch them have only succeeded in infuriating her. Nothing she does helps. Nothing she says changes anything.
He confirms to her for the hundredth time that he is going to die because he believes that if he says it enough, the act of it won't be as shocking.
Before the sentence is even complete, her head is shaking vehemently. Can't he deny it? Can't they live like it's just another day until there are no more days? Can't he lie to her? But no. That's not how they operate. He doesn't hide behind sugar coating with her. She is too smart for that, too important to him.
She hates him for dying. She hates herself for letting it happen. But most of all, she hates time. Time that moves too fast. Time that will take him too quickly and leave her behind.
Tears are not something she can control anymore. Just his name on her tongue stirs them inside of her. Eric hates himself for making her cry. She has cried so much recently and it's all because of him. He has spent years pulling away and now there is not enough time to right all the wrongs he's inflicted upon her. He knows she will forgive him anyway and he hates that he knows that because he doesn't deserve it. But he's grateful all the same.
This is really the end. How can he just now be fully grasping that fact? This is the last ballgown he will ever see his progeny wear. This is the last even they will go to. The last dance they will share. He might live tomorrow and the next day but they are days, they are numbered. He knows that she is slowly realizing this too, despite her refusals.
So instead of trying to form words around how much she means to him or what he hopes for her future, he kisses her. Slow and hard, the way they did the first time all those years ago. He kisses her like she's shiny and new. He cups her face and grabs her hair like he has to explore her again. Like he doesn't know every single thing there is to know about her. Like she's something to be coveted and cherishes, because she is, and he is a fool for not thinking so every day for the past a hundred years.
He kisses her like it's the last time.
It might be.