“But you seem to always end up looking after me. And you have enough of that with everyone else. It isn’t fair, Misha.”

He looks at me in disbelief. “I like looking after you. I always have done. Because you’re mine.”

“But I could get worse. I might end up needing surgery. You’ll be responsible for me.”

“That might happen,” he admits. “But we’ll deal with it, the two of us.” He hesitates, obviously looking for inspiration. “If I was close to death, would you leave? Say it’s been nice knowing you and go off to live in one of those little beachside cottages with a thatched roof in Turkey where you’d drink tequila with a scorpion on your hand in a beach bar while the locals cheer you on until you pass out at the bar?”

I blink. “That’s alarmingly detailed.” I pause. “And also heavily lifted from Skyfall.”

He ignores me. Something he’s good at when I’ve spotted an error.

“The thing is, if that did happen, we’d deal, and do you know why, Charlie? Because you wouldn’t be some random responsibility. Like food that’s gone past its sell-by date. You’d be my Charlie who is funny and the kindest, happiest person I know. Who is clever and cares far too much about the council’s long-range planning strategy for libraries. The Charlie who makes me smile when I think of him and gives me butterflies when I see him. The Charlie who rescues spiders and stray moles in girls’ shoes and makes toast and marmite for me because I love it even though he hates it. Why would I give up that amazing person for some random bloke who might never have a problem but will still never in a million years be my version of Charlie Sunshine? And one more thing. You might be my responsibility, but I’m yours too. You know you’re inheriting my mother and sisters, don’t you? That some days you’ll have to work to calm me down and you’ll intervene and employ that legendary ability of yours to make everyone happy?”

“But they come with you. They’re a part of you.”

“And epilepsy comes with you. It’s just another part of you, like your exceptionally long toes, the freckles on your shoulders, and those sexy knickers. I hate that you’ve got it, but at the same time it’s just a tiny part of the awesome whole of you, and I’ll take it happily because if I don’t, I won’t have you, and I’ve come to realise that you’re the best and brightest part of my life.”

I kiss him, wrapping him tightly in my arms. I love him so fiercely at this moment I’d like to absorb him into my blood.

“Always,” I whisper.

“Always,” he echoes.