Bay begs me to leave, to go on alone. I cannot, so I stay and let him know. “I will not walk this earth without you.” I press my hand firmer against his wound, emphasising my words and hoping to cease the blood flow completely.

Bay does not speak — he cannot in his state. Instead, he looks up at me with those eyes and I look down at him with mine and plead with him to understand.

“So stay with me for longer,” I ask of him. “Please.”

My words are selfish and I see the way it pains him to stay awake, to force himself to feel the wound and not slip away.

“Please.”