[-- always one option, except it isn't, not this time, not when his gaze falls on her hands, the eerie way they're almost see-through. His expression goes serious in the blink of an eye, and he reaches out, not for her hands, no, not when he doesn't want to even allow for the possibility that he might meet nothing but air there-- he grasps her arm, bites his lip.]
... not something we're gonna do here. Look at your hands. You're not-- I won't let you just fade away, no matter how much you hate this. I'm sorry, but I just can't.