*Trigger warnings* major medical trauma. Near death expirence(s), PTSD, family arguing.
Miras wakes up the second I go still.
One moment, my breathing is slow and steady beside him—the quiet, familiar rhythm he's been unconsciously listening to since he crawled into bed next to me. The next, there's nothing.
No inhale. No exhale. Just silence.
His stomach drops.
"Cherish?" His voice is rough with sleep, but he's already moving, propping himself up on one elbow to look at me.
I don't answer.
His heart slams against his ribs.
The room is dim, shadows stretching long across the bed, but he can see the tension in my body. The way my fingers twitch weakly against the blanket. The way my chest barely moves, like my lungs have forgotten how to work.
"Cherish." His voice is sharper now, panic creeping in at the edges. He shakes my shoulder, not hard, just enough to try and stir me. "Hey—wake up."
I suck in a tiny, strangled breath, but it's not enough. My throat closes around it, trapping the air somewhere between my lungs and my mouth. My body seizes, my fingers clenching around the fabric of his shirt in a weak, disjointed motion.
Miras has felt fear before. Fear in the middle of a fight, fear when the odds were against him, fear when a mission was doomed from the start.
None of it comes close to this.
This is the kind of fear that rips through him, that roots him to the spot, that makes his hands shake as he cups my face, tilting it toward him.
"Cherish—breathe. You have to breathe." His voice cracks, but he doesn't care.
My eyes flutter open, barely, but they're hazy, unfocused. My lips part, but nothing comes out except a faint wheeze, a desperate attempt at air that isn't working.
Miras' chest tightens. His pulse is a frantic drumbeat in his ears.
This can't be happening. Not now. Not after everything.
His hand trembles as he presses it against my chest, just over my heart. It's pounding—too fast, too erratic, like my body is trying to fight but doesn't know how.
"Damn it—" He doesn't realize he's shaking until he tries to press his forehead against mine and feels how unsteady he is.
I'm slipping, and he doesn't know how to stop it.
He sucks in a shaky breath and grips the back of my neck, his thumb pressing against my pulse, grounding, anchoring. "Listen to me—breathe with me. Right now. Right now, Cherish." His voice is urgent, pleading.
I can't. My body won't let me.
Miras' own breathing turns shallow, ragged, panic clawing at his throat. He presses closer, his fingers curling into my shirt, into my skin. "Don't do this. Don't you dare do this."
A rattling sound escapes my throat, and that's what breaks him.
He can't fix this. He can't force my lungs to work, can't do anything but sit here and watch while my body fights itself.
It's the most helpless he's ever felt.
"Imani!" His voice is raw, desperate, louder than he's ever let it be.
The sound jolts me. My fingers twitch, my chest spasms—and then, finally, finally, my lungs drag in air.
It's not enough. But it's something.
Miras doesn't breathe until I do.
I choke, gasping, the air scraping its way back into my lungs like it hurts, and suddenly he's moving, shifting so that I'm halfway against his chest, his arms locked around me like I'll disappear if he lets go.
"I've got you, I've got you, I've got you—" It's a whisper, a mantra, more for himself than for me.
The door slams open. Imani and my dad rush in, voices urgent, but Miras barely registers them.
I'm still breathing, but I'm shaking. I press my face against his shoulder, weak, exhausted, barely conscious.
Miras doesn't care. He presses his lips against my hair, not letting go, not moving, not leaving.
"I'm sorry," I gasp for another breath of air to get the words out. "I didn't mean—to wake everyone up."
I barely manage to get the words out between ragged breaths, my chest still tight, my body still trembling in the aftermath of whatever that was.
Miras makes a choked sound, something caught between frustration and disbelief, and his grip on me tightens. "Are you serious?" His voice is rough, strained, like he's fighting to keep it steady. "Cherish, you—" He stops, like the words won't come. Like he doesn't trust himself to say them without breaking apart.
My dad kneels beside the bed, his hand already on my forehead, checking for fever. His touch is careful, practiced, but there's no missing the tension in his shoulders. Imani is moving around, already pulling out supplies, already planning next steps like he can fix this, like he can fix me.
Miras doesn't move.
I tilt my head slightly, trying to see his face, but he won't let me pull back. His arms are locked around me like a shield, his heartbeat hammering against my shoulder.
"Miras—"
"Don't," he mutters, voice tight.
I swallow, my throat raw. "I'm—"
"If you say you're sorry again, I swear to God—" He exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. "You couldn't breathe, Cherish. Do you get that? You stopped breathing."
His voice cracks on the last words, and that's when I realize.
He's scared.
Not just upset. Not just frustrated. Terrified.
Miras isn't the kind of person who panics. He's steady. He's the one who keeps other people from losing it. But right now, he's gripping me like he doesn't trust the air to stay in my lungs if he lets go.
I feel my dad's hand tighten briefly on mine before he pulls back. His voice is gentle when he speaks. "Cherish, sweetheart, you need to try and relax. You're still catching your breath."
I nod faintly, though the movement feels heavy, like all my strength has drained out of me. Imani presses a pulse oximeter to my fingertip, his expression unreadable as he checks the numbers. He exhales through his nose, barely sparing Miras a glance before muttering, "She needs oxygen. And she needs to stay calm."
Miras doesn't move.
"Miras."
He flinches. His head jerks up, eyes dark and stormy as he looks at Imani, like he just remembered he's not alone in the room.
Imani's gaze softens—just a little. "She's okay now," he says, quieter this time. "But she needs you to help her stay that way. Not fall apart on her."
Miras lets out a slow, unsteady breath. His arms don't loosen, but I can feel the way his shoulders drop slightly, the tension in his frame unwinding by inches.
I close my eyes, pressing my forehead against his collarbone. I can still feel the aftershocks of the episode in my body—weakness curling into my limbs, the ache in my ribs from the struggle to breathe.
But I'm alive.
I can feel Miras' heartbeat against my skin, fast but steady.
I squeeze his sleeve weakly. "I'm okay," I whisper.
Miras exhales sharply. Then, carefully—so carefully—he shifts, pressing his lips to my hair in something too quick to be called a kiss, too lingering to be anything else.
His voice is barely more than a whisper.
"Don't ever scare me like that again."
My dad takes a slow breath, like he's steadying himself, before he speaks.
"Her lungs spasmed." His voice is calm, clinical, but there's something tight underneath it, something strained. "It happens when the scarring from the Cube flares up. Her airways constrict, and sometimes, if it's bad enough, her body just… forgets how to breathe for a moment."
Miras stiffens against me. His fingers twitch where they're curled into the blanket, like he's physically holding himself back from reacting.
I already know what he's thinking.
This wasn't a fluke.
I watch the way his jaw tightens, the way his throat bobs as he swallows down whatever emotion is clawing its way up. His eyes flicker to my dad, sharp and dark.
"How often?" he asks, voice low, controlled.
Dad hesitates. That alone is enough to make Miras' entire body go rigid.
"It's hard to predict," my dad admits finally. "It depends on a lot of factors—stress, exhaustion, even the air quality. It's been happening less often since she's been out of the Cube, but…" His eyes dart to me, his expression softening. "It's not gone."
Miras doesn't move. Doesn't speak. But I can feel it. The tension curling into his frame like a wire pulled too tight, the heat of frustration building beneath his skin.
It's not fair.
I already know he's thinking it, because I'm thinking it too.
For a moment, the room is too quiet, heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid.
Then Miras exhales, a sharp, unsteady sound, and pushes back from me—not far, just enough to put space between us, his hand dragging over his face. His fingers dig into his temples, and I can see the way his breathing picks up, just slightly.
My chest aches.
I shift, reaching for his wrist, but he doesn't let me pull it away from his face. He's still looking at my dad. His voice is quieter when he speaks, but no less intense.
"So it might happen again."
Dad doesn't answer right away. That alone is answer enough.
Miras presses his lips together. I can see it—the way his hands tighten into fists, the way his foot taps once against the floor like he's stopping himself from pacing. He's pissed. But not in the way he usually is, not the sharp, sarcastic kind of irritation he throws at Imani when they argue.
This is different. This is fear turned inside out.
Finally, he looks at me.
I meet his gaze, trying to ignore how exhausted I feel, how my body still feels wrung out from everything that just happened. "I'm okay," I tell him quietly.
His eyes darken.
"You weren't," he says, and it's not quite anger, not quite something else. "You stopped breathing, Cherish. I—I woke up and you weren't—" He stops himself, drags in a slow breath. "That's not okay."
I don't know what to say to that. Because he's right.
But what am I supposed to do? Apologize? Pretend this isn't my reality?
Miras looks away first, shaking his head like he's trying to clear it. "So what do we do?" he asks, glancing at Imani now, frustration curling into the words. "You said it's not gone—so what the hell are we supposed to do?"
Imani sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "She has medication. Oxygen, if she needs it. It's just about managing it when it happens."
"That's it?" Miras' voice sharpens. "We just wait until she stops breathing again and hope we can fix it in time?"
The room is silent.
No one has a good answer for that.
I shift, pressing a hand against Miras' arm, and he flinches under the touch before letting out a slow, unsteady breath. He doesn't pull away, but he doesn't relax either.
His jaw clenches, his expression twisting into something almost unreadable.
"I hate this," he mutters, barely above a whisper.
I squeeze his arm. "I know."
But there's nothing either of us can do. And that's the worst part.
"I'll program BID to monitor her vitals," my dad said like it's not currently three in the morning. "See if maybe he can predict a spasm that way before it happens. That way next time it isn't drastic."
Miras doesn't look particularly reassured. If anything, his expression hardens, his fingers twitching against his knee like he wants to grab onto something—me, probably—but doesn't trust himself to move right now.
"Next time," he echoes, voice quiet but sharp. His jaw tenses. "You're talking like this is inevitable."
My dad exhales through his nose, the kind of breath that says he's tired but isn't about to soften the truth. "Because it is," he says evenly. "At least for now."
Miras' head dips for a second, his hands threading through his hair before gripping the back of his neck. He looks like he wants to argue, like he wants to fight this somehow, but there's nothing to fight.
I shift slightly against the pillows, my limbs still leaden, my chest still aching. "BID monitoring isn't a bad idea," I murmur, my voice hoarse. "If it helps catch it before it gets that bad again…"
Miras' hands drop from his neck, and suddenly he's looking at me again, his eyes flashing. "You shouldn't have to settle for that," he snaps. "For a warning system instead of an actual solution."
I flinch, and immediately, his face twists like he regrets saying it, but he doesn't take it back. He's furious. Not at me. Not really.
At the Cube. At what was done to me. At the fact that no one seems to have a real way to fix it.
At the fact that he can't do anything.
Imani crosses his arms. "Miras, you need to calm down."
Miras lets out a bitter, humorless laugh. "Oh, yeah? Calm down? That's real helpful, thanks."
Imani glares at him. "Cherish needs to rest. She just went through hell, not you."
That makes Miras snap. "You think I don't know that?" He's standing now, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His voice isn't loud, but it cuts. "I woke up to her—" His voice falters for half a second before he swallows it down. "To her dying in front of me. Do you think I'm just going to sit here and be okay with the fact that it could happen again?"
The room is tense. Imani doesn't have an answer to that. Neither does my dad. I do, but I don't know if he'll listen.
"Miras," I say quietly.
His eyes snap to mine. His whole body is still coiled tight, like he's ready for a fight he doesn't know how to win.
I lift a shaky hand and pat the bed next to me. "Sit down."
He hesitates.
"Miras," I repeat, a little more insistent.
His throat bobs. Then, finally, he sits.
He looks wrecked.
I reach for his hand, and this time he does move, gripping my fingers tightly, like he's afraid I'll slip away again if he doesn't hold on.
I squeeze his hand weakly. "I hate it too," I admit. "But I'm alive."
His fingers tighten around mine. His head dips, and he exhales slowly, trying to steady himself.
After a long, long pause, he mutters, "I'm still not happy about it."
"I know," I whisper.
Miras doesn't let go of my hand. He grips it like he's afraid I'll disappear if he loosens his hold even a little. I don't mind. My fingers are still weak, but I curl them around his as best as I can, trying to anchor him the way he's anchoring me.
The room is quiet, heavy with everything we're not saying.
Imani sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "We'll set BID up to start monitoring right away," he says, his voice quieter now. "It's not a fix, but it's a start."
Miras doesn't respond.
My dad looks at me, his expression softening just a little. "You need to rest, sweetheart."
I know he's right, but the thought of closing my eyes again makes my chest tighten. What if it happens again? What if next time Miras doesn't wake up in time?
Miras must see something shift in my expression, because his grip on my hand tightens. "I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs, voice rough but steady. "I'll be right here."
I swallow hard. "You should sleep too."
He huffs a soft, humorless laugh. "Not happening."
My dad looks like he wants to argue, but one glance at Miras' expression makes him sigh instead. He knows it's useless.
Imani presses a few buttons on his tablet, setting BID's monitoring system into place. "If anything changes, we'll know immediately." His voice is all business, but there's something else under it—something almost gentle. "Try to get some rest, Cherish."
I nod faintly. My body still feels wrung out, every muscle aching from the effort of just breathing.
Imani and my dad exchange a glance before stepping toward the door. "Call if you need anything," my dad says softly.
I nod again, but my eyes are already drifting shut.
The door clicks closed behind them.
The room is quiet now, just me and Miras in the dim glow of the bedside monitor. His thumb brushes absently over my knuckles, and I feel myself slipping toward sleep, too exhausted to fight it.
Just as I'm drifting, I hear him whisper, so soft I almost don't catch it—
"I've got you."
The next morning comes slowly.
I drift in and out of sleep, consciousness tugging at the edges of my mind, but my body is reluctant to wake fully. Everything feels heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and the lingering ache in my chest.
The first thing I notice is the warmth.
Miras is still next to me.
He never moved from his spot, his body pressed close, like he was making sure I never slipped away again. His hand is still wrapped around mine, his grip firm even in sleep.
He did sleep—eventually. I can tell by the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing, the way his body has gone slack beside me. Not deep sleep, probably, but enough that he's not fighting to stay awake anymore.
I keep still for a moment, listening to the quiet. The room is dim, but the glow from the bedside monitor tells me it's morning.
I shift slightly, and almost immediately, Miras stirs.
His grip on my hand tightens, and he tenses for a split second before his eyes snap open, sharp and alert. He blinks, disoriented, his gaze darting to me instantly.
"Hey," I murmur, my voice still rough from sleep.
Miras exhales sharply, like he has to see me awake before he can believe it. He pushes himself up on one elbow, his free hand hovering over me like he wants to check everything but isn't sure where to start.
"You okay?" His voice is low, still thick with exhaustion, but there's an edge to it—wary, like he's bracing for the worst.
I swallow, testing the feeling in my body. My chest is sore, my muscles weak, but I can breathe. The thought alone makes my stomach unknot just a little.
"Yeah," I say softly. "I think so."
Miras studies me for a long moment, his gaze scanning my face like he's looking for any sign of a lie. Eventually, he exhales and sits up fully, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Good," he mutters. I watch him, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders are still too tense. He barely let himself rest last night, and now he's right back on edge, like he's waiting for something to go wrong.
I decided not to push it. Miras won't listen to me, not now anyway. Him and Imani are constantly going at each other, and I can't stand to constantly see him argue.
The silence between us is thick, but it's not uncomfortable. Miras is still leaning against the edge of my hospital like bed, his fingers curled loosely against the blanket, his breathing slow and measured. I can tell he's still struggling to settle, to shake off the fear from last night.
I don't blame him.
I almost wasn't here.
I swallow, my throat still raw, my body weak, but I can feel something else stirring inside me—something aching.
I turn my head slightly, my fingers barely grazing against his wrist again. He lifts his gaze to mine, and for a second, I just look at him. At the exhaustion in his eyes, the way his hair is still messy from sleep, the quiet storm of emotions he's trying to keep locked behind his expression.
I want to ease that. Even just a little.
"Miras?" My voice is soft, barely more than a whisper.
His eyes sharpen instantly, focused entirely on me. "Yeah?"
I hesitate, just for a second, because I know how he is—how careful, how protective. But I want this. I want him.
"…Kiss me?"
His breath hitches.
I see it immediately—the way his body stiffens, the flicker of something almost panicked in his expression. His fingers tighten in the blanket like he's anchoring himself.
"Cherish—" His voice is hoarse, hesitant.
I give him the smallest smile I can manage, my fingers brushing against his wrist again. "Please?"
Miras looks at me like I just asked him to do something dangerous.
And in his mind, maybe I did.
"I don't—I don't want to hurt you," he mutters, jaw tightening.
I blink up at him. "Miras. It's just a kiss."
His gaze flickers over my face, lingering on the deep exhaustion still settled beneath my skin, the way my breathing is steady but shallow, like he's memorizing every sign of my weakness, every way my body is still failing me.
Like one wrong move might break me.
My chest aches.
I shift slightly, though it takes effort, and manage to slide my fingers fully over his hand, lacing them weakly through his. "You won't hurt me," I murmur.
He exhales sharply through his nose—he doesn't believe me.
But I don't want hesitation. I don't want fear.
I want him.
I shift as much as I can, tilting my chin up, closing that last fraction of space between us. My lips brush against his, light as a whisper, and that's all it takes.
Miras exhales shakily, something breaking loose in him. His fingers tighten around mine, grounding himself, before his other hand lifts to my face, cupping my cheek with devastating gentleness.
And then he really kisses me.
It starts slow—soft, careful, like he's memorizing the feel of my lips, like he's learning me all over again. But there's something desperate just beneath the surface, something trembling at the edges. His thumb strokes lightly along my cheekbone, reverent and warm, and my heart stutters in my chest.
I part my lips slightly, inviting him in, and a quiet sound escapes him—a noise so small, so fragile, that it makes my stomach twist. His hesitation falters, and the kiss deepens.
His lips move against mine with aching tenderness, slow but intentional, like he wants to take his time, like he needs this to last. I sigh into him, my fingers twitching around his, weak but wanting. He must feel it, because his grip tightens, grounding me, keeping me tethered to him.
He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and suddenly, it's more. More warmth, more closeness, more of the fear slipping away, replaced with something raw and hungry beneath all his restraint.
I can feel it in the way his fingers slide from my cheek to my jaw, in the way his thumb brushes just beneath my ear like he wants to memorize the shape of me. In the way his breath shudders slightly when I sigh against his mouth.
But even with all that heat building between us, he never pushes.
Never takes more than I offer.
His touch stays careful, reverent, like he's terrified that if he pulls too hard, if he lets himself lose control, I'll shatter beneath him.
I don't want him to hold back.
I press forward as much as I can, letting my lips linger against his, letting my fingers weakly squeeze his hand again. He stills for half a second, like he's trying to hold himself together—then he exhales, something breaking loose inside him, and kisses me deeper.
It's still gentle. But there's a new kind of urgency behind it now, a quiet kind of desperation.
I can taste it in the way he lingers, in the way his lips press against mine like he's afraid to let go. Like he wants to pour every unspoken word into this—every fear, every sleepless night, every second he thought he was going to lose me.
I feel it.
And I don't want him to stop.
Eventually, when the need for air forces us apart, Miras rests his forehead against mine, his breathing unsteady.
For a long moment, neither of us speak.
I close my eyes for a second, just breathing him in.
"…You okay?" he murmurs, his voice low, rough around the edges.
I huff a quiet laugh, opening my eyes again. "I should be asking you that."
"As long as you're here, I'm perfect."
As much as I strongly disagree, I don't say anything.
"I have to admit," he chuckles under his breath. "I really like kissing you."
His words catch me off guard, but they make my heart flutter in a way that feels light, almost normal, despite everything. I can hear the faint chuckle in his voice, like he's not sure if he should be admitting it, but I feel it in the way his thumb strokes lightly over my wrist. Like he's testing the waters, letting me in on something small but real.
I look up at him, meeting his eyes, the warmth in them soft but genuine. "Yeah?" I tease, raising an eyebrow, feeling a little bit of a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. "You're not just saying that to distract me, are you?"
He gives me a playful grin, but it's edged with something deeper, something I can't quite put my finger on. "Maybe a little," he admits with a smirk, but then his expression softens. "But no. I mean it."
The sincerity behind his words catches me off guard again, and for a moment, all I can do is blink up at him, a little unsure of how to respond. The tension between us is still there, but it's different now, more comfortable, like we're both finally letting our guard down just a little.
"I think I like kissing you too," I admit quietly, my voice almost a whisper. "Maybe even a little more than I should."
His smile deepens, and I see something in his eyes flicker—something that tells me he's trying to find the line between teasing and meaning it.
"Guess we'll just have to keep testing that theory," he murmurs, his voice low and warm, just a breath away from mine.
I don't think he's expecting the way I lean in, slowly, letting my lips hover just above his before pressing against them with a softness that's both familiar and new all at once.
The door swings open, and I don't need to look up to know who it is. My father's footsteps are familiar, steady, followed by the softer tread of Imani. I feel the change in the room as soon as they step in—an almost invisible weight pressing in from both of them.
"Are we... interrupting something?" Dad's voice cuts through the moment, and I feel a flush creeping up my neck. I glance up, catching his gaze, but I can't read him—his eyes flicker from me to Miras, the unspoken judgment hanging in the air.
Imani doesn't even seem to notice the tension. His eyes are fixed on me, brows furrowed, mouth set in that worried line. "We need to get you up, Cherish," he says, the words gentle but firm, like I've been lying here too long already. "You've been in bed too long. Your muscles are already atrophying. If we keep waiting it's just going to be harder to get you moving again."
His words hit me like a cold splash of water, snapping me back into the reality of what's going on. I've been lying in this bed for what feels like forever, and I know he's right. I can already feel the weakness in my limbs, the dull ache that makes even the smallest movement feel like a battle. But that doesn't mean I'm ready for this.
"Imani…" I start, but my voice is weak, unsure. I don't want to argue, not really. He's right, but it doesn't mean I'm ready to face this just yet.
Miras looks at me, his expression softening, but I can see the flicker of concern in his eyes. He doesn't speak, but the unspoken question in the air is clear: Are you okay with this?
I hesitate for a long moment, my mind racing, but I finally nod. I don't want to stay here, not trapped in this bed with my body feeling like it's not mine anymore. I want to move, want to feel like I can do something, anything.
"Okay," I say quietly, though the word feels like a struggle. Imani immediately steps closer, offering me a hand, ready to help me sit up, but my father's voice interrupts again, his tone softer this time, like he's giving me a moment.
"You're sure about this, Cherish?" he asks, his eyes searching mine for something, some sign that I'm truly ready for this. His protective nature is there, buried beneath his usual distance, and it makes me realize that I'm not just letting my body down. I'm letting him down, too.
"I'm sure," I reply, my voice steady now, even if I'm not entirely sure of what I'm about to do. "I need to try. I need to keep moving forward."
I can see my dad's features soften ever so slightly, though he doesn't say anything more. He just nods, his gaze shifting to Miras for a brief moment. There's something in the way my dad looks at him—something I can't quite put my finger on—but it's enough to make the air between us feel even heavier.
Imani's hands guide me as I push myself up, the dizziness making my head spin. My legs feel weak as they hit the floor, but I fight through it, focusing on breathing, on not collapsing back into the bed. Every part of me wants to give up, wants to curl back under the covers and ignore everything, but I can't. I won't.
Miras watches, his eyes fixed on me like he's prepared to step in if I falter. His posture is tense, his hands still hovering near me, but I can tell he's giving me space. He's trying not to smother me, trying to let me do this on my own.
And for a moment, I feel like I might actually be able to.
I take a few shaky steps, my legs feeling like they're made of rubber, but I push through. The dizziness swirls in my head, and the room seems to tilt ever so slightly. But I keep going, focusing on the sensation of my feet on the floor, the steady pressure of Imani's hands guiding me.
But then something shifts. Something feels wrong.
I stop mid-step, my breath catching in my throat. My heart rate spikes, and a cold sweat breaks out across my skin. I don't know what it is, exactly, but everything in me is screaming that this isn't right.
"Wait..." I whisper, trying to steady myself. I look up at Miras, my stomach dropping at the concern etched across his face. Imani's still at my side, but I barely notice him now. All I can focus on is the overwhelming sense that something's not working.
Miras takes a step forward, his eyes scanning me like he's trying to figure out what's going on. "Cherish? What's wrong?" His voice is tight, like he's trying to hide his panic.
"I don't know," I say, shaking my head, my voice strained. "It just… feels off. Something's wrong."
I try to take another step, but my legs give way. I sway dangerously, and before I can even react, Miras is there, his arm around me, holding me up. "Cherish!" he exclaims, his voice a mix of alarm and urgency.
My chest tightens, my breath coming in short gasps. The dizziness is overwhelming now, and I feel like I'm sinking. Like I'm losing control of my own body. I reach out instinctively, grabbing onto Miras as if he's the only thing keeping me grounded.
"I can't…" I whisper, my voice barely a breath. "Something's wrong."
Miras doesn't hesitate for a second. He's already helping me back toward the bed, his voice low and frantic as he speaks to Imani.
Imani moves quickly, his face grim as he runs over to a computer that is connected to BID.
"BID, show me her vitals!"
My dad stands frozen at the doorway, his eyes wide with concern, but he's not moving. Not yet.
"Maurice!" Imani yells. "Stop standing there and look at her vitals!"
Whatever shock my dad is in, he snaps out of it. My eyes follow him to the computer screen, but I can't see his face.
"You're okay," Miras whispers, his voice softer now, trying to calm me. But I can't shake the feeling that something is horribly wrong. That I've done too much, too fast. That I pushed my body too hard.
"I can't breathe," I say, my voice shaky, and I don't even know if I'm saying it out loud or just thinking it, but it's enough to make Miras' expression shift, something even darker flashing in his eyes.
"Cherish," he says, his voice sharp, but there's a tremble in it now, like he's barely holding it together. "I need you to focus on your breathing, okay? Deep breaths. Just breathe for me."
But I can't. It feels like the air is slipping through my lungs, like I'm suffocating and there's nothing I can do to stop it. The panic surges, and my vision starts to blur at the edges. I feel the world tilting, everything spinning too fast, too much.
"Help me," I whisper, and my body feels heavier with every word.
Miras' grip on me tightens, his voice coming in a rush now. "Help is coming, Cherish. Just stay with me. Please, stay with me."
I close my eyes, trying to follow his instructions, trying to slow my breathing, but the panic doesn't let up. I just feel… wrong.
I don't know what's happening, but I feel like I'm losing myself again.
Miras' grip on me tightens, his touch warm and steady as he holds me close. But I can feel the tremble in his hands, the way he's trying to keep it together despite the panic in his eyes. "Cherish, stay with me," Miras murmurs, his voice strained. His forehead pressed against mine, and for a second, it's just the two of us, his breath quickening with mine as we try to hold on to each other in the chaos.
"What does it say?" My voice is just a rasp. Miras looks over at the screen, but he doesn't say anything. "Miras, what does it say?"
No answer.
"BID," I call out, not sure if my voice is strong enough for it to hear me. "Read it to me."
"Heart rate 210 BPM. Rising."
The numbers barely register. Everything feels far away. My vision dims at the edges, static creeping in, swallowing up the room.
"She's going into tachycardia," Imani says, his voice too tight, too urgent. "If this keeps up—"
I know what happens if this keeps up. My heart isn't meant to beat this fast. It's burning itself out, spiraling toward collapse.
I sway. Miras catches me before I hit the ground, his arms wrapping around me, lowering me carefully. "Cherish, look at me. Stay with me."
I want to. But my body isn't listening anymore.
"She's not stabilizing," my dad mutters. I hear the panic in his voice now. "We have to reset her heart."
Miras tenses. "No. Find another way."
"There is no other way," Imani snaps, already grabbing the defibrillator. "She's going into cardiac arrest. Do you want that?!"
Miras flinches, torn between terror and helplessness. His grip on me tightens. "Cherish—"
I can't respond. My body locks up, and then—nothing.
For one terrifying moment, I think I'm gone.
Then—
"Charging." BID's automated voice barely cuts through the static in my mind.
"Clear!" Imani's voice. Sharp. Unrelenting.
A violent shock rips through me.
My back arches off the floor, my body seizing as pain explodes through my chest. My vision whites out—pure, blinding agony that steals the breath from my lungs.
Then—nothing again.
"Still too high!" my dad shouts. "Again!"
"Charging."
Miras' voice is ragged, almost pleading. "Wait—"
"Clear!"
Another shock. Another violent jolt. My body convulses, the pain stealing whatever fragile awareness I had left. It feels like I'm being torn apart.
I want to scream, but I can't.
Then—
The pain vanishes.
My heart stumbles, an erratic flutter—then slows. Finds a rhythm.
I gasp, air rushing back into my lungs all at once. My chest heaves, my whole body trembling.
"Heart rate decreasing," BID reports. "140 BPM… 120 BPM…"
Miras is right there when I finally manage to open my eyes. His hands are cupping my face, his expression wrecked. There's a wild, terrified look in his eyes—like he's barely holding himself together.
"You're okay," he breathes, his voice rough. "You're okay."
I don't feel okay.
But I nod anyway, because the way Miras is looking at me—like he almost lost me—hurts more than the electricity still lingering in my bones.
I don't think he's going to let go of me for a long, long time.
They're arguing.
Even through the haze of exhaustion, I can hear them. Miras' voice is the sharpest, cutting through the walls like a blade, raw with barely-contained fury.
"You pushed her too hard!" His voice is ragged, strained with something deeper than anger. "You knew she wasn't ready, but you just had to be right, didn't you?"
Imani's reply is muffled, but I can still hear the defensive edge in his voice. "I was trying to help her—"
"Help? You almost killed her!" Miras snaps. "She flatlined, Imani! Her heart stopped! You think that's helping?"
The words slam into me like a second shock to the chest. My fingers twitch against the sheets, and a sharp tremor runs through my body.
I can still feel it.
The electricity ripping through me, forcing my body to convulse. The searing, unbearable pain lighting up every nerve, sending fire through my limbs. The way my body wasn't mine, how I had no control, no choice, no escape—
Dr. Amar's voice echoes in my head, a cruel whisper beneath the ringing in my ears.
"Higher voltage. Again."
I suck in a shaky breath, my chest tightening, locking up. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.
The walls feel too close. My skin feels too tight. I can still feel the restraints against my wrists, the cold press of metal against my temple, the wires hooked into my body—
"The pain you have felt won't even compare to what you will feel over the next few days."
I gasp, but the air doesn't come fast enough. My pulse is racing again, pounding against my ribs, but it's wrong—it's all wrong. My body isn't listening to me. The panic is sinking its claws into my chest, winding tighter, choking—
The door slams open.
"You don't get to act like you care when you've been too busy drowning yourself in alcohol to actually do something!" Miras shouts.
I flinch.
I barely register my father's voice, something lower, worn with exhaustion, layered with regret. "Miras—"
"No, fuck that!" Miras cuts him off, his voice thick with something deeper than rage. "You're the only doctor here, Maurice. The only one! And instead of stepping up, you're sitting in the corner feeling sorry for yourself while your daughter—" His voice cracks, and he doesn't finish the sentence.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I just need to breathe. I need to breathe, but I can't.
I'm still strapped to the table.
I can still feel the volts tearing through me.
I can still hear the machine powering up to suck my life out of me.
My breath comes in shallow, desperate gasps, but it's not enough. My lungs won't work right, my vision is tunneling, and all I can feel is—
A hand touches mine.
Warm. Solid. Here.
"Cherish."
Miras' voice, this time right next to me. Close. Real.
I try to focus on him, but everything is tilting, spinning, suffocating—
"Hey, hey, I got you," he murmurs, his voice dropping to something softer, steadier. His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing my cheeks. "You're here. You're not there, you're here with me."
The panic is still clawing at my ribs, still trying to drag me under, but Miras won't let it. His forehead presses against mine, grounding me.
"I need you to breathe," he says, his voice shaking just a little. "Just breathe with me. Please."
I try. I try so hard.
Miras exhales shakily as I finally pull in a full breath, though it still feels like I'm breathing around shards of glass. His hands are still cradling my face, his thumbs smoothing along my skin.
"Good," he murmurs. His voice is softer now, but there's something raw in it, like he's barely keeping himself together. "That's good, Cherish."
But it doesn't feel good. It feels wrong.
The shocks are still there. Not real—not anymore—but I can feel them, crawling under my skin, sinking into my bones. My hands tremble where they grip at Miras's sleeves, too weak to push him away, too desperate to let him go. My heart pounds against my ribs like it's trying to break free.
The room is too bright. Too small. The voices outside are muffled but sharp, cutting through the static in my brain.
"She needed a doctor, and you weren't there," Miras is saying. His voice is shaking, but it's hard with anger. "So don't you dare act like you care now."
I gasp in a breath, but it catches, like my lungs have turned to stone. The walls feel closer, the air thinner.
I can't breathe.
Not again.
The memories claw their way to the surface, faster than I can shove them down. The Cube. The restraints biting into my skin. The searing pain. Amar's voice, clinical and detached as he discussed how much my body could withstand.
Miras isn't here.
No one is here.
I am strapped to a table, a machine whirring beside me. My back arches violently as electricity rips through my body. It isn't just pain—it's agony, fire burning through my veins, my nerves screaming, my body locking up so tight I think my spine will snap—
No, no, no—NO!
A sob wrenches from my throat before I even realize I'm making a sound. My body jerks, my chest tightening, the panic surging faster than I can stop it.
"Cherish?" Miras's voice breaks through the haze, but it's too far away, too distant. Hands grip my arms, steady but firm. "Hey, hey—look at me. Stay with me, okay? You're safe. You're here."
I shake my head frantically, barely able to process his words. My breath stutters—too fast, too shallow. I can't slow it down. I can't breathe.
"Her heart rate is spiking again!" Imani's voice cuts through the chaos. "She's panicking—if it gets too high, she could arrest again."
"Then do something!" Miras snaps.
"I am!"
But I barely hear them. My head is spinning, my vision blurring. I clutch at Miras, nails digging into his arms. If I let go, I might fall back into the Cube. If I let go, I might not come back at all.
"Miras," I rasp, my voice barely there.
"I'm here," he says instantly. His forehead presses against mine, his breath shaky but real. Warm. Solid. "You're not there, Cherish. You're here—with me."
I let out a broken sob, my entire body trembling. The phantom shocks still linger, but Miras is here. His arms tighten around me, grounding me, keeping me from slipping too far into the past.
"I c-can't—" I squeeze my eyes shut, my breath still coming in short, painful gasps. "I c-can still feel it."
"I know," he whispers. "I know, but it's not real. Amar isn't here. You're not in the Cube. You're safe."
I shake my head. It doesn't feel safe. It feels like the walls are caving in, like my body isn't my own anymore.
"Look at me," Miras says, his voice low but firm. I force my eyes open, barely able to focus. "You're going to breathe with me, okay? Just follow me. In for four, out for four."
He takes a deep, exaggerated breath, and I try to follow, but my lungs won't cooperate. I choke on it, my whole body locking up again.
"Shit," Miras mutters under his breath, his grip tightening. "Okay, okay. Just hold onto me. I got you."
I do. I hold onto him like he's the only thing keeping me tethered to this world.
Seconds pass. Maybe minutes. I don't know. But slowly—painfully slowly—the panic starts to recede. My breathing evens out, though my chest still feels raw, my limbs still weak.
Miras doesn't let go. Not even for a second.
Neither does Imani. He's still watching me closely, his expression grim but relieved. "Her heart rate's coming down," he says after a long moment. "She's stable—for now."
I don't look at him. I don't look at my father. I just keep my gaze on Miras, grounding myself in the way he's looking at me like I'm the only thing that matters.
I swallow past the lingering fear in my throat. "Stay."
Miras doesn't hesitate. "I'm not going anywhere."
The room is quiet now. Too quiet.
The kind of quiet that feels like an echo of something terrible, lingering in the air, refusing to leave.
I still feel it—the phantom shocks in my bones, the ache in my chest from breathing too hard, too fast. The panic sits just under my skin, waiting, like it's not done with me yet.
But Miras is still here.
He hasn't moved, hasn't let go of me, even though the others are gone now. It's just us, sitting on the bed, his arms still wrapped around me, his forehead resting lightly against mine like he's trying to pull me back into the present just by staying close.
I breathe him in—warmth, steadiness, something safe—and it helps, a little.
"You're still shaking," he murmurs.
I am.
I don't know how to stop.
I try to loosen my grip on his shirt, but my fingers don't want to cooperate. I'm clinging to him like I need him to keep me anchored. And maybe I do.
He doesn't tell me to let go.
Instead, his arms tighten, just a little.
"Talk to me," he says, low and gentle. "What do you need?"
I swallow hard. I don't know how to answer that.
I need to forget.
I need to feel like my body belongs to me again.
I need to not be afraid of closing my eyes.
I don't say any of that. Instead, my voice comes out small. "Just stay."
Miras exhales, slow and steady, like he's letting go of something heavy. "Always," he says, and I don't think I've ever heard a promise sound so sure.
I let my forehead drop against his shoulder, my breath unsteady but slowing, just a little.
Miras shifts, and for a second, I think he's going to move away, but then I feel his hand slide into my hair, fingers threading through it with such careful tenderness that my throat tightens.
"I hate seeing you like this," he murmurs, voice rough. "I hate that it still hurts you."
I squeeze my eyes shut. "It's not—" My voice catches. "It's not just the pain. It's… the way it feels. Like I'm back there. Like I'm her again."
His whole body tenses.
"You're not," he says fiercely, pulling back just enough to look me in the eyes. His hand cups the side of my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek, grounding me. "You're here. With me. And no one—no one—is ever going to do that to you again."
His voice shakes, just a little, but the fire in his eyes makes it feel like a vow.
My breath hitches. "Miras…"
He doesn't say anything, just holds my gaze, his touch impossibly steady. Like he knows I need this moment to be slow. To be real.
I don't know who moves first, but suddenly, our foreheads are pressed together again, and his breath is warm against my lips. It's not a kiss, not yet, but it's something close. Something just as intimate.
His hand moves, tracing softly over my arm, then down to my fingers—easing them open from their death grip on his shirt, but only so he can lace them with his own instead.
I let out a shaky breath. My heartbeat is still too fast, but now it's for a different reason.
He squeezes my hand. "You're safe."
I nod, my voice barely above a whisper. "I know."
Miras stays close, his fingers still entwined with mine, like he's afraid to let go. His grip isn't tight—it's just there, steady, something I can hold onto if I need it. I do.
The silence stretches between us, but it's not heavy like before. It's softer, filled with the quiet sound of our breathing, the faint hum of the machines in the room. My body still feels like it's trying to crawl out of itself, the memory of electricity burning beneath my skin, but with Miras beside me, the terror doesn't feel as suffocating.
I shift slightly, pressing closer, my forehead resting against his collarbone. He lets me. His free hand moves, trailing slowly up my back before settling there, warm and careful. The weight of it steadies me, keeps me from floating too far away.
"You should be resting," he murmurs after a while.
I huff a breath that's almost a laugh. "Can't."
I don't say why. I don't have to. He already knows.
His fingers move absentmindedly against my back, tracing light patterns over the fabric of my shirt. "Do you want me to get your dad? Or Imani?"
I shake my head immediately. "No. Just you."
His breath catches, just a little. Then, quieter, "Okay."
I close my eyes, focusing on the feeling of his heartbeat, the slow and steady rhythm of it against my cheek. It's grounding in a way nothing else is.
"Talk to me," I whisper. "About anything. Just… keep talking."
Miras hesitates, then exhales. "Alright."
For a second, I think he's going to say something heavy, something about what just happened, but instead, he surprises me.
"Do you remember," he says, voice low, thoughtful, "when we won the decathlon back in Washington?"
I blink, caught off guard. Of all the things I thought he'd bring up, that wasn't one of them.
A soft huff of laughter escapes me. "I remember you panicking before the last event."
Miras groans. "I was not panicking."
"You kept pacing."
"I was thinking."
"You were muttering under your breath like a lunatic."
He scoffs, but I can hear the warmth in his voice. "I just didn't want to mess up. You had everything memorized—you were so confident. Meanwhile, I was pretty sure I was going to cost us the whole thing."
I shake my head against his chest, closing my eyes for a second. "You didn't, though. We won."
Miras' fingers brush lightly over my back. "We did. Because of you."
I tilt my head just enough to glance up at him, brow furrowed. "It wasn't just me, Miras."
He hums, but there's something unreadable in his expression. "I don't think you ever realized just how incredible you were that day." His voice softens, like he's remembering it in vivid detail. "I was stuck. I couldn't figure out the last question, and you just—you just knew. Without hesitating. Without second-guessing. You solved it in under thirty seconds."
I don't know why my throat tightens at that. Maybe because it feels like a lifetime ago. Maybe because it's been a long time since I thought about the kind of person I used to be before everything went wrong.
Miras keeps going, his voice a quiet murmur. "I remember watching you, thinking—how does she do that? How does she make it look so easy?" He lets out a breath. "I knew you were smart, but that was the moment I realized you were brilliant."
A faint heat creeps up my cheeks, and I shift slightly. "It wasn't that impressive."
"It was," he insists, and when I look up again, his expression is so genuine that I can't brush it off. "You don't give yourself enough credit. You never have."
I don't know what to say to that.
Miras watches me for a moment longer before shaking his head slightly, like he's still amazed by it. "When they announced we won, I didn't even care about the trophy. I just remember thinking—God, I hope she knows how incredible she is."
I swallow hard, my fingers tightening slightly around his. "I didn't," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't think I ever really let myself believe it."
Miras' hand moves from my back, tilting my chin up slightly so I have to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, steady, full of something I can't quite name. "Then let me believe it for you."
Something in my chest aches.
I close my eyes, exhaling slowly, trying to let his words settle into the parts of me that still feel raw, that still don't quite believe I'm anything more than a girl who's been broken too many times.
****
At some point, exhaustion pulls me under. I'm not sure what time it is—all I can focus on is Miras. He's spooning me, still refusing to sleep under the covers. His fingers are pressed lightly against my wrist, feeling for my pulse even though I'm connected to a monitor.
His touch is careful, barely there. Even in sleep, he's tense—I can feel it in the way his body stays rigid behind me, like he's ready to react at any second. Like he doesn't trust that I'm safe, even with BID tracking my vitals
I shift slightly, testing how much energy my body has left, and Miras' fingers press just a little firmer in response.
"You're awake," he murmurs, his voice rough with exhaustion.
"Barely," I whisper. My throat feels dry, my body still sluggish from everything that happened. "You should sleep."
"I will," he says, but we both know he won't.
I exhale, sinking further into him, letting my head rest against his arm. His warmth is a comfort I didn't realize I needed so badly. I let my fingers brush against his, tracing the lines of his knuckles.
Miras lets out a quiet breath, his lips brushing against the back of my shoulder.
"I can feel you overthinking," he murmurs.
I almost laugh, but the sound gets stuck in my throat. "I could say the same about you."
He doesn't argue. He just tightens his hold on me, his fingers slipping between mine. We stay like that, the steady rhythm of my heart against his palm, the quiet hum of the machines around us.
"I hate this," he admits after a moment. "Feeling like I can't do anything. Like I almost lost you, and I still don't know how to stop it from happening again."
"You didn't lose me," I whisper. "I'm still here."
Miras exhales, but I can feel the tension still wound tight in him. "For now."
I turn slightly, just enough so I can see him over my shoulder. "Hey," I say softly, reaching up to touch his face. "I'm still here."
His eyes meet mine, and for the first time in a long time, I see something raw in them—something unguarded. Fear. Helplessness. Love.
Miras swallows, and for a second, I think he's going to argue again. But then, finally, he leans down, pressing his forehead against mine.
"I know," he whispers. "I just… I need you to stay."
I close my eyes, letting the weight of his words settle between us.
"I'll try," I promise. It's the only thing I can give him.
I last about five minutes before the dryness in my throat becomes unbearable.
Carefully, I start to shift, trying to ease myself out of Miras' hold. His arm is still around me, his fingers still resting lightly against my pulse like he's memorizing every beat. I move slowly, trying not to wake him, but the second I lift my head, his grip tightens.
"Where are you going?" His voice is thick with exhaustion, but it doesn't make him any less sharp. His body tenses behind me, suddenly more alert.
"I just need water," I murmur.
"I'll get it."
I shake my head. "Miras, I can do it."
"No, you can't."
I feel his hand press against my hip, a silent but firm request to stay put.
"I walked earlier," I reminded him. "I can—"
"Yeah, and then you nearly died." His voice is flat, but there's an edge underneath, a barely restrained frustration laced with something else. Something raw. "Stay in bed, Cherish."
I turn over to face him, frowning. "It's just a few steps."
Miras exhales sharply through his nose. "I don't care if it's just one step. You're staying put."
His jaw is tight, his dark eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that makes my chest ache. He looks exhausted, but more than that, he looks like he's still carrying the weight of everything that happened.
I don't want to fight. Not after everything. But I also don't want to be treated like I'm going to shatter if I move an inch.
"Miras—"
"No." His fingers curl slightly, like he's holding himself back from physically making me stay. "Please, just let me do this."
The "please" is what gets me.
It's quiet, almost desperate.
I watch him for a moment, the way his hands tremble just slightly where they rest against me, the way his breathing is just a little too controlled, like he's holding everything together with sheer force of will.
I sigh, sinking back into the pillow.
Miras watches me for another second before finally—reluctantly—pulling away. He slips out of bed, moving with quick, stiff steps toward the pitcher of water on the table. I watch him pour a glass, his back still rigid, still too tense.
I want to tell him he doesn't have to hover. That I'm okay. But I know he won't believe me. So instead, when he comes back and hands me the glass, I take it without protest.
"Thank you," I say softly.
"I'll text Imani," Miras says, pulling out his phone. His voice is steady, but his eyes are still on me, like he's making sure I'm not about to collapse on him. His thumb hovers over the screen for a moment, before he types out a message.
I sip the water slowly, my throat burning slightly as I swallow. It's not much, but it's enough to quiet the hunger gnawing at me.
"You should eat," Miras adds, glancing up from his phone.
I look at him, not sure how to respond. The idea of food feels… foreign right now. My stomach churns at the thought, but I can see the way he's watching me, like he won't let me get away with ignoring it. Like he won't let me fall apart again.
"I'm not really hungry," I murmur, setting the glass back on the nightstand.
His eyes narrow. "Doesn't matter. You need to eat." His tone is firm, like he's commanding it, but there's still that underlying tenderness. Like he's trying to protect me from myself.
I'm about to argue, but before I can, Imani's voice filters in from the hallway. "She doesn't have to eat if she doesn't feel up to it, Miras."
Miras doesn't look up from his phone, fingers quickly typing as he responds to Imani. But his jaw tightens slightly. "She hasn't eaten enough, Imani."
I can feel the tension between them, thickening the air in the room. It's not new. Imani and Miras argue more than I'd like to admit, especially when it comes to me.
"Cherish needs to listen to her body," Imani continues, his footsteps growing louder as he enters the room. "Pushing her too much isn't helping."
"I'm not pushing her," Miras snaps, not looking away from his phone. "I'm making sure she doesn't slip back into this—whatever this is."
I feel like I'm caught in the middle of something I can't control. I open my mouth to say something, but the words get lost. Instead, I reach out for Miras's hand, my fingers brushing against his. He pauses for a moment, glancing down at me, the tension in his face easing just a little when he meets my gaze.
"Okay," I whisper. "I'll eat. But not a lot. Just enough to make you stop worrying."
He exhales, finally giving me a small, relieved smile. But I can tell he's still on edge, still waiting for something to go wrong.
"Good," he says softly. "I'll bring you something light. Maybe just some soup."
Miras sets his phone down once Imani leaves the room.
"My aunt wants to know if it's ok for her to come to see you? She wants to make sure you're ok—but if you aren't ready I'll tell her no."
Aunt Nayley's talk with me while I was in my coma is still fresh in my mind, a sentence in particular.
"That if you need to go, if it's too much for you… Miras won't blame you."
"I don't know how much closure I'll give her," I let out a sad chuckle. "But I would like to see her. Just please don't let her see me looking like this."
"You don't have to hide from her, Cherish," he says quietly, reaching out to brush a stray curl from my face. His touch is light, careful. "She's not coming here to judge you or pity you. She just wants to see you."
I swallow, suddenly feeling smaller under the weight of it. "I know, but…" I hesitate, struggling to find the words. "I don't want her to see me like this and think I'm not trying. Or worse, to look at me and just see how broken I am."
Miras exhales slowly and shakes his head. "She won't," he says with quiet certainty. "And you're not broken, Cherish. You survived things that should've killed you." His fingers slip down to my wrist, pressing lightly where my pulse still races under his touch. "You're still here."