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"Stay awake." You fight to keep your breathing level, to keep the tears clouding your vision from falling, to keep as calm as your mother would be in a dire situation like this, but it's so hard. So, so hard when the pulse of the boy beneath you is stuttering dangerously under your palm and his breaths are no more than gasps and he isn't warm anymore. "Stay awake, and you can go home, Neteyam."
Long archer's fingers curl weakly around your wrist, those yellow irises bright and brilliant as the sun eclipsed above you, "But I am home. I'm with you."