You are my blood mate, he says simply, finding my hand and squeezing it with his own. I would die for you. Gah! A little warning before the touching would be nice. Mainly so I can resist the overwhelming urge to morph into a jiggly pile of Jell-O, thank you very much. You’d … die… for me? I manage to choke out. I’ve got to lighten the mood here. Technically aren’t you already dead?