The Door Under The Bridge

"Feeling better already?" Tristan asked, standing at the sink, elbow deep in dishwater.

Jinsu paced around the tiny kitchen, hugging his arms around his own waist, digging his fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

"What is it?" Tristan wiped his hands on a towel and turned his full attention to Jinsu.

"I…I think I know what's wrong with me. I think…I think I've seen this before." He stopped pacing and faced Tristan, hands balled into fists at his sides.

"You have?" Tristan's expression brightened. "Great! Then we can figure out how to help you."

Jinsu shook his head. "I wish it was that simple. Tristan. . . I . . . I think I'm dying."

"You think what? Why?" Tristan went to him, pulled Jinsu into his arms possessively. "Why?"

Jinsu stepped back and gestured to the door that led to the living room. They sat together on the couch, and Jinsu was barely able to control his tears when he spoke. "There was a high priest who died. His magic died. This is how it started with him. First he couldn't eat, and then . . ." Jinsu shuddered, recalling how Benatha had suffered, withered away without dignity. How he had begged for death at the end. "I don't want it to happen that way! You have to promise me that you'll let me go when the time comes. Don't make me linger like they made him."

Tristan grabbed for him clumsily, hauled Jinsu into his lap and held in him a tight embrace. "Stop it! You don't know that's what's happening. So many things are different. You're on Earth, not Torottu. You're eating different things, exposed to different things. You could just have a cold. Or maybe some sort of vitamin deficiency. Maybe you just need some vitamins."

Jinsu clung to him, fear mounting with the realization that Tristan too was afraid—why else would his grip be so firm, his voice so shaken, his words so rushed—that he too thought death was a possibility. Jinsu pulled away to speak to him, but Tristan's mouth claimed his in a torrid kiss.

"Tristan . . ." he gasped as their lips parted.

Tristan shook his head, planting small kisses on Jinsu's face. "Don't," he whispered, and Jinsu wasn't certain which he meant—don't talk about it, or don't die. Didn't really matter, he supposed. The sentiment was the same, either way.