A/n: this one definitely isn't my best work. But it's moliver! Yay moliver!

The sun filled the room with a golden glow.

She idly stared out the window as she played with his hair. The whole house was quiet. Not a noise was heard. She couldn't even hear him breathe.

Her heart hurt as she brought her hands back down to her lap and folded them there. He exhaled. The sound was so loud compared to the silence that she jumped in fright.

She could feel his stare on her. She couldn't meet his eyes though. She couldn't. His eyes were everything. They were filled with youthful innocence and sparkling love and happiness. It was the first thing she noticed about him, and she wanted it to be the very last. If she looked into his eyes now...she wouldn't see that. She would see fear and sadness. She couldn't handle that.

"Miley..." He whispered softly. His hand took hers.

She stared at the wall. It was yellow. She hadn't had to beg much to be allowed to paint their bedroom this color. That was one of the wonderful things about him. He didn't hold silly male codes up. If the woman he loved wanted a yellow bedroom, he didn't fight that it was a girl color. He just let her.

Her eyes burned. Would she ever find another man like that? Was it possible to have two one in a millions?

"Look at me," He begged, his voice raw with emotion.

She shook her head.

She heard his irregular breathing, and she knew he was crying. Each cry of his that filled the room tore at her insides like a hungry vulture. And it was a hungry vulture. It ate at her more and more until she didn't know if she could ever take anymore.

She wouldn't cry. She couldn't cry. She wasn't allowed to cry. She...was going to cry.

He was a sensitive crier. He cried soft, heart wreching tears. It took her seven years to understand when he was crying. She could never hear the actual sobs; just the breathing pattern.

She was a melodramatic crier. Her sobs racked up her spine and shook her whole body. Tears made river-like paths down her face. Everyone knew when she cried.

When the first strangled, loud sob filled the room, he wrapped his arms around her. His hand smooth her hair back and he kissed her face.

He made her cry harder. He was the one dying, and he was comforting her!

"You can't go!" She struggled out from behind her heavy tears, "You can't leave me!"

The answer hung between them like static electricity. Yes, you're right. I can't. But I will.

"I'm sorry," He said softly, "I'm sorry."

She shook her head.

"You're not forgiven! You'll never be forgiven for leaving me!"

His tears dripped on her face.

"Look at me," He begged again, "Please. I want the last thing I see to be you."

This brought on a new round of hysteria. She choked out sobs.

"I can't!" She cried.

He stroked her hair, "Why not? Why can't you?"

There was so many things she wanted to say. She wanted to tell him that she couldn't take seeing his eyes like that. She wanted to ask him not to do that to her.

"I can't see you like this." She whispered.

His hands grabbed her face. He took things under control like he had for most their marriage, and he turned her face toward him. He knew what she needed and wanted even when she didn't.

She cried harder as she reluctantly brought her eyes up to his.

His warm eyes stared back at her. Through all the changes the disease had put on him, his eyes never changed. They were sad at first, but when they held a gaze for a few moments, they warmed.

She let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. It was settling to see his eyes like this...happy and normal.

She laid in his arms for hours on end, staring back at him. She knew he was dead even before his heart stopped, and the heart monitor the hospital had brought over so he could die at his home started beeping. After all, your eyes are the window to your soul.

She kissed him for the very last time, and gently shut his eyes.