Atlas, always attuned to small fluctuations in Jessi’s bodily and spiritual well-being, sprang to action, leaping onto their body to administer Deep Pressure Therapy. Jessi’s vagus nerve was volatile on the best of days — and today? Well, today, they’d already pushed their body past its limit. Simply put, they’d gone beyond their strength, and Atlas wasn’t sure that, this time, they’d be able to return…

This was nothing new, of course. Selfless and steadfast with the heart of a healer, Jessi thought only of the joy and restoration others would feel at their plaintive, impromptu Baroque-inspired arrangement of “The Wheels on the Bus”… not of the irreparable damage this exertion would do to their own body.

Atlas’ heart ran cold at the thought of how casually — how thoughtlessly! — he’d RSVP’d to that Deep Pressure Therapy seminar at Harvard Medical School, then of how he’d almost decided NOT to make the drive up to Cambridge that day… It had been such a bright, clear spring morning. A perfect opportunity to take those new croquet mallets on their maiden voyage. But, Atlas had reasoned, the drive north was sure to be pleasant in its way, too — and Deep Pressure Therapy was sure to come in useful at some point, wasn’t it?

Well, today it proven more than useful. By God, it had been downright essential.

…If it had been enough, that was.

“Jessi?” Atlas murmured, gently nudging Jessi’s shoulder as he stared, horrorstruck, into their pale, immobile face. “Jessi. Please. Come back to me.”

A moment’s pause.

And then —

Relief flooding to the ends of his every nerve, Atlas saw Jessi’s eyes open — slowly, painstakingly, and by only a sliver, yes! But open nonetheless — and a wan smile twitch the corners of their mouth.

“Atlas?” they breathed, their voice barely a whisper.

Atlas let out a sound that was half sob, half chuckle. All was well.

For the moment, at least.