There was no fire in the room and within her. Lieutenant Ohtori Kensaku could feel it when he held her hand. But even though it was ice-cold to touch, it would stop trembling the moment he did, and eventually, her quaking body, too, would descend into calm. Her colorless lips would often curl upward a little, giving him a measure of peace, fleeting as it was.

Her hand—or rather, she—was his only remaining anchor in this world he no longer knew, and he dreaded to think that there might be one day when he would have to let go forever, to be left on his own, lost like a piece of driftwood once more.

Perhaps that day would come soon. He could feel her life fading away little by little every time he touched her. But maybe, and he truly hoped so, it was only his own paranoia. The paranoia that robbed him of so much sleep. But for her sake, he didn't mind. Whenever she came to, he'd be there.

"You should rest," she told him during one such waking moment. Despite his best attempt to hide it, his fingers had slipped off her, and Shoukaku, who had never lost her acuity even when the accursed illness had stolen much from her, knew why.

"I can't," he replied. A bitter laugh soon followed.

"I'll be alright. I only need rest. Just like you do," Shoukaku insisted as she drifted asleep again. She was still smiling, and he was relieved. He lay beside her and stroked her locks.

"Whenever you need me, I'll be here," he whispered what he had said so many times in the past before the temptation of laying himself to sleep by her side her became too overwhelming to resist.

It pleased Shoukaku to see Ohtori finally getting some rest, that he was sleeping beside her, even though she rued his lack of covering. At the very least, though, she could hope his slumber would be as dreamless as hers—he had done much for her, and he deserved a respite without anything haunting him anymore.

"Thank you for everything," she murmured, one hand slowly, painfully reaching out to touch his sleeping face. If before she would find doing it unimaginable, now she wouldn't. Changes were not something she was immune to, for good or ill—but this one change within her heart, she didn't hate it.

"Tell me, do you need me, too...?" she asked. "Is it alright for me to be here?"

Shoukaku had long accepted that she might not last much longer. The war that was had finally taken its toll on her body, the wounds manifesting in myriads of unexplained afflictions. She had thought she would accept her demise because she'll be reunited with Zuikaku.

But if he did need her...

There was only silence to meet her question, but she noticed Ohtori stirring before his hand became entwined with hers. She noticed that, for once, he was peaceful. And then everything became clear to her.

Time had changed both of them. The way she was looking at him now and the emotions behind it—she had seen them on him, too—many times before. She knew now—they were not alone. And she will let him know.

"I'm sorry, Zuikaku."

With that, Shoukaku closed her eyes.