[ For a moment, Day considers downing the rest of his drink so he can use alcohol as an excuse, or to change the topic to something else. Anything else, something that doesn't feel like he's setting himself up for disappointment or, heavens forbid, a broken heart. If he gives too much of "Joyous Day" to someone else, even another celestial, how is it any different from letting them have ████?

Things seem—different here, where it appears arcane fate has no hold over him, but he knows it won't last (and it shouldn't, really). He won't forget that keeping ahold of Joyous Day is like catching rain in one's hands; eventually, it will overflow, or slip through one's fingers to disappear into the earth.

But Ginger would notice, and then there'd be no end to it. He can always say that this is what Ginger asked for, anyway. ]

I'll only say it once. [ He must set that limit. Day puts the mug down on the coffee table, then turns to look Ginger in the eye. If he's making an earnest request, then Day should meet it with equal earnestness. ]

Remember me. The way I look, the sound of my voice, the things you like about me, the things you hate about me....the time we spent together, the way I make you feel. Whether you cherish those memories or come to despise them one day.

[ Hold onto me, please.

...But he won't say that. There is a limit to even this selfishness. ]