He will suffer in silence.

That's the decision he comes to, the choice he chooses to make after he catches himself staring at her sleeping for damn near an hour. Her long, thin body is curled fetal-like, knees pulled to her chest and one arm wrapped protectively around them. She shifts every so often against the grass, her full lips parting every now and again as she breathes little sighs of contentment. Will stares, transfixed at the blonde tendrils framing her face and idly wonders just how soft her lips would feel against his. Would she tremble against him? Press her milky white skin hard on his as he savored the sweet taste of her kiss? Would she melt into him or would he be the one to burn? Like a moth inching ever so closer to the flame that is Alice… He's wanted to kiss her so deeply and for so long that he doesn't recall when the desire first hit him.

But hit him, it did. And it hit so hard that he fears that if he ever starts kissing her then he will never want to stop.

And then she whispers, "Cyrus…" shifting again, her body arching into a phantom touch, and Will swallows back the lump in his throat because he wants so badly to be the name on her lips, the hands commanding her body to move with just a slow touch along the curves of her skin.

But instead, he does the honorable thing, rolling away from the sight of her, of absolute beauty, his back to her so that he can't look upon the beauty that is his Alice.

No. No, not his. Cyrus'. She belongs to Cyrus. And come hell or high water, he's going to help her find him. Because it's what she wants. Because it will make her happy.

And so, while she slumbers, dreaming of a man that is not Will, the Knave of Hearts takes a sharp breath, slams his eyes shut as hard as he can manage, and chooses to suffer. In absolute silence.

Bloody hell.