A/N: Oh, God. I just finished-and when I say just, I mean I just-finished Light. The feels were killing me, and I had to write it. Especially because Rodilio. Oh, I should mention: SPOILERS.

Sleep had become a delicacy. Before, oh, before, he'd had trouble with it, a constant battle between his subconscious and the rest of himself, but now, without a warm, protective arm around him, a restful hour was an improvement from the omnipresent knowledge that Edilio was, most likely, dead. It made no difference that the barrier was down; it was still nearly impossible not to collapse onto the mercifully soft dirt and die.

And how long, how long would he be waiting for a rescuer to find him? And then? How long for the fat to accumulate onto his bones, under the layer of skin that was just barely covering him, how long to banish the malnourishment that ravaged him? How long to get over the fact that he'd failed Justin, failed one of the two people he cared about in the FAYZ? How long to move past what had happened to him, had happened to all of the children that had suffered the fate of being trapped in the now non-existent hell-on-earth—though, after a year of ruthless, violent 'life', were any of them ever to be called children again?

As Roger collected his strength to crawl another foot or two, he allowed himself to think about Edilio. What had happened to him? Had he died fighting? No, not his Edilio, not his pacifistic, kind Edilio. Not his Edilio. Couldn't be his Edilio. Maybe he'd been caught in the crossfire, a killing beam like Sam's cutting through him and ending another life as if he were a plant and Gaia's lust for death a gardener's sheers.

A folded, rough piece of himself wondered, hoped, lived to think that Edilio was alive. That same piece had a voice, a taunting thing whispering in his head, If he was alive, wouldn't he be looking for you? and If he really loved you, he wouldn't have left you, he wouldn't have let you to die. He wouldn't have believed you to be dead, he'd have found you. Roger thought, if he had any water left in him, he might have felt tears run down his face. Instead, his body turned on itself and let out wracking, dry sobs, too tired to contain them, too hungry and tired and thirsty to care about moving anymore.

If Edilio was dead, and Justin was dead, what did he have to live for anymore? His family didn't know him any longer. He was kind to the residents of the FAYZ, but he wasn't sure they were really his friends. Sam was like a celebrity; he was unapproachable. A sour mix between a laugh and a cry ripped through him at that. Hadn't Edilio been unapproachable? And look at them now. Look at what had come of it. Only pain. Only wondering and hurt and horrid pain.

But, oh, what he wouldn't give to be held by his boyfriend before his eyes slipped shut just one more time.

What he wouldn't give to have those lips on his as he slipped into unconsciousness, into death.

And, with or without Edilio, Roger did just that.

When Roger woke, his evident life was confirmed by the pain he felt, the pain that was everywhere. The smell, recalled from a distance place, a different time, to be compared to this one, here and now, spoke of medicine and sanitation and something that was a little earthy and dry. He heard voices and the staged laughter that could only be from a television—

A television. His too-heavy eyelids flew open, only to be slammed back shut; the artificial light of the hospital room was too bright, too bright for his dark-conditioned eyes. Just how long had they been closed?

He felt his face scrunch in discomfort. Funny, he thought, how you think everything hurts until pain finds its way into you somewhere else.

He tried to look out again, this time more slowly, letting his eyes adjust. The first thing he saw, a glowing box in the otherwise dark room—was the only light really just the TV? It felt so much brighter than he remembered—showed a rather disgustingly horrible soap opera that featured an obviously American actress speaking in an embarrassing interpretation of a British accent.

The next thing he saw, contrary to what he imagined he would see, was a sleeping boy with a face that he remembered to be marred with war and decision. Of course, he'd already discovered how Edilio transformed when he slept.

Roger's breath quickened as he drank his boyfriend in. The clothes he wore were not torn, not stained. They were freshly washed and he was pleasantly surprised to find that the earthy scent he'd smelled before had been Edilio. Edilio is alive after all, Roger thought excitedly. Edilio is alive.

Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, Roger wasn't sure, the beautiful, exotic, previously-slumbering boy had awakened. His eyes blinked in confusion for a moment as he took in Roger's state.

It didn't take more than a moment for Edilio to be on top of Roger, in Roger's hair, under Roger's hospital gown, in Roger's mouth, slurring, "Oh, fuck, Roger," 's and "God, I missed you," 's. When he'd settled down enough, he sat beside Roger and held him in his arms. It was only then Roger spoke.


"Yes, amor?" Edilio stroked Roger's matted hair.

"I'm sorry."

Edilio's soft chuckle filled the room. "You've nothing to be sorry for. And we're safe now, okay? We're safe. And you're not leaving me again."