Emmet clung on to Jasper, unable to tear his eyes away from the man in his arms; his body so still and lifeless, the glimmering, flickering flame of light that was the steady, miniscule rise and fall of his chest - his wispy, thin breath - being the only sign of some sort of consciousness and hope in that moment. Muttering all that he could, comforting Jasper with words of encouragement and promises of safety, Emmet did all that he could, whilst still holding the other in his arms and supporting his head with his free hand, to bestow some sort of joy and contentment, soothing his worries and fears and replacing them with a steady stream of love. Nothing existed outside of Jasper, and each slight flicker of his eyelids, like the flames of candles in the wind, made little ripples of hope well up in Emmet, as his tears continuously fell down onto Jasper's parched and dry skin. He so wanted the other to wake up so Emmet could kiss him senseless.
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