[ He does sleep. He does. And there's the barest glint of silver light from the night sky peeking in through the cracks in the door, and Clive's eyes open, still heavy lidded and exhausted but unable to go back to sleep. His mind is too busy racing, visions of Joshua and Dion in his mind, of Ultima and Ultimalis, blood and fire. He can't get the weight of Joshua in his arms to lift, and damn his wounds, he wants to go outside, cool his head. Tarja can yell at him for it later, but—
But there's actual physical weight on his legs, and he realizes there's someone next to him, a hand clasped on his on his chest, a head pressed to his shoulder. He turns slightly, still groggy, and in what little moonlight there is, she looks like an angel, peaceful and serene.
His savior, in so many ways. And he can't move her. He alternates from watching her sleep to staring at the ceiling, and he isn't sure when or if he falls back asleep but suddenly there's much brighter light coming in and Jill is still next to him, awake and smiling.
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But there's actual physical weight on his legs, and he realizes there's someone next to him, a hand clasped on his on his chest, a head pressed to his shoulder. He turns slightly, still groggy, and in what little moonlight there is, she looks like an angel, peaceful and serene.
His savior, in so many ways. And he can't move her. He alternates from watching her sleep to staring at the ceiling, and he isn't sure when or if he falls back asleep but suddenly there's much brighter light coming in and Jill is still next to him, awake and smiling.
So it wasn't a dream. He is alive. ]
...Good morning, my lady.