"You mean more to me than I can possibly say," Carlisle chokes out, closing his eyes -- they are brimming with tears, ones shed in some mixture of self-disgust and utter frustration... and yet, he is grateful, so grateful to have his partner beside him. "I- I cannot begin to put into words my relief, the respite I feel with you here, knowing that I still have time with you. That- that I..."

He trails off, pressing his forehead tightly to Glacius', his eyes squeezing together as he grinds his teeth and tries his damnedest to not lose all of his composure. For what might be the first time, he's coming to terms with what Glacius has felt all along every time he mentioned his impending demise -- he came to terms with it long ago, but Glacius could never accept it. He wanted more time together.

And Carlisle realizes in his heart that he wants that, too. He wants more time than he will ever be afforded, more time than he, an accursed being, can have. He has thus far thought of their parting as an unfortunate inevitability, but one he could handle when the time came, much like his death. He should have realized far sooner that said separation (again, much like his death) would be an unbearable fate, one he'd do anything to avoid.

It's thoughts like that that make Carlisle wish he had a few more drinks in him, something to numb his mind from all the what-ifs going through it. Of all the comforts Glacius could offer him, he's positive alcohol is still off the table.