Next chapter at 300 comments! Dedicated to ByeByeAmericanPie
  TWs vomiting, dead bodies, blood

  SHE LAY DOWN to die, closed her eyes for days and prayed for release, for solace, and perhaps she found it.
  Because Seven jolted upright at the sudden searing pain in her hip, a mess of aching bones and reopened wounds. It felt like fire. No, worse than that, it felt like molten metal, scoring itself into her skin like a brand. Burring beneath her skin.

  She yanked the offending item from her pocket, the small package, no longer sealed in its brown paper for it had burned through it and launched the horrid thing across the room, as far away from herself as she could make it.

  It landed somewhere by the balcony, possibly rolled off it, she didn't see. Didn't care.
  Her body convulsed, a violent wake of repulsion striking through her as she saw the body lying next to her, smelled the scent of rot in the air.

  Seven ran to the bathroom and vomited. Then she sat there, with the mess of Draco's blood surrounding her. None of it felt real. She looked around at the horrors surrounding her, wide-eyed and fearful. It felt like a nightmare. Please, she begged, let none of this be real.

  She didn't know how long she sat there for, pretending that this was all just a hallucination — that when she walked back into the bedroom, Draco would be waiting, but when she finally gained the courage to leave, she wished she hasn't.

  Draco wasn't there waiting for her on the bed. Something else was. Something she couldn't even stand to look at.

He was gone.
Draco was gone.
He wasn't coming back.
He had left her alone in this world.
She hated him for it — if only he had saved himself first, her wounds, though severe, were never mortal. He could've lived if only he had chosen himself over her.

The silence was stagnant, the air stale with sadness. Nothing moved inside that room except Seven, and when she stopped, the world did too. Draco was gone.

Nothing moved, until something did. At first, Seven thought the hallucinations had begun again, earlier she could've sworn she'd seen Draco's chest move. But she hadn't. She had stared for hours, laid her head on his cold chest until the smell of decay made her sick.
But sure enough, there it was again, a faint red glow, coming from the edge of the balcony.

She went over to it, wincing as she bent down to pick up the small, glowing rock. It was right at the very edge of the balcony — still where she had thrown it, a few centimetres more and it would've been in the streets below. A few centimetres more and Seven would never have seen it, found it, realised what Navy's gift really was.

It was unusually heavy for something so small and to Seven's surprise, it didn't burn her fingers as it had before when she had thrown it. Instead, it only glowed now, a flexing red emanation with no heat to it.
  The pain faded quickly after that. All of it. Even the heaviness in her shoulders. All of it.
She watched in silent awe as her skin knit itself back together, all those small, insignificant wounds — gone. And when she pulled down the bandages on her leg, those too were gone, only smooth, unblemished skin remained. Not even so much as a scar.

  Though did nothing to shift the sadness, the thick scent of rot in the air. The mental maladies remained untouched. Beside her, Draco's corpse lay still, motionless and gaunt, a shadow of the man he once was — now hardly a man at all, more a shapeless mound of flesh.

She had been reborn, stronger, and yet still empty. She didn't want it. She didn't want any of it. Not without him here to share it with.

  Seven stared down at the rock in her palm, the ebbing flow of light slowly beginning to fade from it. Innately, as if in a trance, almost like her body knew what to do before she had even figured it out herself, she put the rock into Draco's palm, closed his stiff fingers around it.
He was dead, had been for days, there was no life left in him to heal — and yet, she let herself hope.

Slashes of red light beamed out from the spaces between his fingers, slicing the air like strikes of bloody lightning. It grew bright, then brighter still.
Seven drew near, the bed dipping beneath her weight as she settled over him; watching. Always watching. She hadn't realised she had begun to cry until her tears dropped down onto his wrist. At the place where his dark veins had begun to glow red too, the colour surging upwards, spreading throughout him.

For a while, nothing happened. His wounds sealed, clotted blood loosened, he began to look alive. But he wasn't. Even when everything had healed and he looked just as he had before, he was still dead. Unmoving. Heart silent; unbeating.

"Please," Seven had never been particularly pious, but now she prayed, begging, pleading to all the gods she didn't believe existed, "Please — bring him back..."

One breath. That was all it took. One breath, a singular rise and fall of his chest, and she fell apart. All those days of pain and grief erupted into a feeling so hot it couldn't possibly contained, bursting from her mouth in a guttural cry.
A second breath, and she knew it to be true. He was alive.
Another, then another, then another and another. She watched each and every one, hungrily, desperate for them to continue. Terrified that at any given moment they may stop.

In that same way that life is so carelessly given, it can be taken away just as easily — she of all people knew that.

She held his hand, bawling as his fingers were now warm when for so many days they had been cold.

He squeezed her hand, weak and barely perceptible, but there nonetheless.

His eyes were still closed when he spoke, voice rough and hoarse from disuse, "Why are you crying?"

"Why am I crying?" Seven said hysterically, gasping for breaths in between sobs, "Draco you fucking idiot! You nearly —," She couldn't bring herself to say it, "— I nearly lost you!" Seven buried her head in his chest, listening to the sound of his heart beating. Strong and regular and alive. "Don't you ever do that again — next time you're hurt you tell me!"

  Draco's hands tangled in her hair, stroking her head, holding her close as if he had spent a lifetime missing her. "I know." He said softly, "It's okay. I'm okay, see."

  "No — it's not okay!" Seven sat up. His eyes were open, looking at her. She looked at him, unable to stay angry. All her words were washed away. Oh, how she'd missed that shade of grey. "Promise me," She whispered, wiping at her cheek with the heel of her palm, "Next time you'll save yourself first — sweat to me that next time, you'll tell me, no more secrets."

  "Seven, I —," He began, starting to say that he couldn't possibly promise all those things. He sighed, pulling her down onto the bed beside him so that she was laying next to him. "I promise," He said, "Only if you promise to stay with me, no matter what... The truth isn't always pretty."

  She didn't hesitate. She wasn't ever leaving him ever again, "I promise."

  ***
QOTD- Any theories? Also — look at this gorgeous fan art for this chapter!! Done by annak3davra