[There's guilt in lingering like this, warm and comforted. Traitorous thoughts worm through their mind about betraying one promise to keep another: to stay with Whiskey, and not be alone.

There's so much left to do.

But maybe—

Their pulse begins to thrum. Their hands clutch, clinging to Whiskey with the same urgency that he had held them with earlier. Don't let me leave. They think it again and again, not weak enough (strong enough? ) to say it aloud.]