Offering to feed me isn't a whim, [ he says quietly, as they walk, ] It's a kindness.

[ one that he appreciates tremendously, at that. just as much as he appreciates the fingers running through his hair — it is like that week with them apart, unable to touch each other is now making octavian reach for him whenever he is within reach at all... and frankly, viktor finds he likes it quite much, finds the same kind of urge making his fingers twitch with the desire to reach out to him, to stop him from going into the kitchen, to make him stay right here.

but no; food is imminent, and he can manage on his own for now. though that doesn't mean he isn't looking up at octavian when he appears again, that the fingers doing their little one-two walk up to his neck doesn't make him smile. ]

Better, [ he says and means it entirely in the romantic sense, tilting his head to the side and down, pressing the side of his cheek and the tip of his nose against octavian's hand.

and then, because he can only be a romantic for so long, and because he knows octavian is asking in earnest, ] It is strange. My body feels better than it was, but my mind... [ with a twist of his lips, he looks down. ] I keep weighing every breath in my mind. Is this the one that will catch in my lungs? Or the next one? Or the one after? Because if I have died once, then I will die again.

[ and again, and again — until this place grows tired of that, or until he finds a solution that will stop the cycle. ]