When he comes to visit her in the hospital, for what feels like the first and possibly last time, her smile lights up the room.
He stands in the doorway a little awkwardly, but earnest. Eli is the most earnest person she has ever met.
“Hey,” she says, shyly. She worries that the hospital gown makes her look sickly.
“Hey,” he smiles, and comes a little closer. He isn't sure whether he wants to hold her, or kiss her, or dance around the room with her. He settles for sitting down beside her bed. And then it feels a little weird, knowing that in her chest, right now, is the heart that he fought trials over and argued religion over, and found Grace through. He reaches out, meets her gaze, and pauses, hand hovering over her torso.
A slight lift of her eyebrows and he thinks, screw it, and rests his hand over her heart. It beats beneath his hand, a steady reassurance at once so fragile and so empowering.
“You know,” he whispers, thumb grazing gently over her collarbone, “I fought for this heart.”
And Grace just smiles, brilliantly, and rests her hand over his. “And you won.”