Maybe I shouldn't push her away so much. Look where it got us.
She woke at noon.
The hospital room was quiet—just the steady hum of the monitor and the drip of IV fluid.
Liana blinked her eyes once.
Then again.
Then slowly turned her head and looked at him.
Her voice came out hoarse. Fragile.
"You're here…"
He looked up.
Their eyes met. She looked so small in that bed.
Pale. Drowned in blankets.
The shadows under her eyes darker than usual.
"Of course I'm here," he said quietly.
Then forced a smile. "You scared the hell out of Alex."
"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to—"
"Don't."
He cut her off gently.
"You don't need to apologize for being sick."
She blinked again.
Her lips parted like she wanted to say more.
But didn't.
He poured water into the paper cup beside her bed.
"I should sit you up a bit."
She didn't argue.
He adjusted the pillow behind her back, hand brushing her shoulder, careful—too careful.
She winced slightly, then settled.
He held the cup to her lips.
She drank slowly.
Then, after a moment, whispered, "You look tired."
"You were the one with a fever of 104," he replied.
Tried to sound light.
But his voice cracked halfway through.
Her eyes stayed on him.
"I had a dream," she said.
He stilled.
"You were calling my name," he said softly.
"In your sleep."
"I remember."
Her voice dropped.
"I couldn't find you."
His chest clenched.
"I was looking everywhere and… it was raining. And I thought maybe I did something wrong again."
She looked down. "Like I messed everything up."
Elias said nothing.
He didn't trust himself to speak
Her hand moved slightly on the blanket.
Then, almost without thinking, it reached toward his.
She touched the back of his hand.
Not a full grasp.
Just a brush.
But it was enough.
His entire body went still.
Her skin wasn't burning anymore.
Just warm. Steady.
Alive.
He didn't move.
Didn't pull away.
His eyes dropped to where her fingers met his.
So small.
So trusting.
So damn easy to break.
He told himself to pull back.
Just a little.
Create space. Remember who you are to her.
But he couldn't.
Not today.
She leaned her head against the pillow, eyes fluttering again.
The medicine was pulling her back down.
Still, her fingers lingered on his.
"You don't have to stay," she murmured.
"I know."
She didn't let go.
And neither did he.
Elias sat there long after she drifted off again.
His free hand clenched in his lap.
This wasn't right.
It wasn't wrong either.
That was the worst part.
It was something else.
Something terrifying and real.
She trusted him.
And he was starting to feel things he'd buried so deep he didn't recognize them anymore.
He looked at her.
At the line of her jaw.
At the soft rise and fall of her chest beneath the blanket.
He brushed her hair back from her forehead.
Then whispered,
"I'm not going anywhere."
Even if he knew—
Eventually, he might have to.