It's little things that tell him everything has changed. She's settled now, singing around the house, seeking him out at odd moments, learning to trust.

Ever since they learned the Cure is failing, he's seen the half-felt fear, unacknowledged but waiting just below the surface.

It didn't vanish when he slipped a ring on her finger or when he vowed to love her even after they can no longer touch. It fades slowly—when he touches her, holds her, seeks her out anyway, and in the days they pass as man and wife.

It is a gentle thing, this trust.