A voice.
“Hey… hey, easy, baby. You’re okay. You’re right here with me.”
Adrian.
The world stuttered. My pulse kicked up hard enough that I felt it against my ribs. If this was another dream, it was the cruelest one yet. I’d stopped letting myself dream about him, about that voice saying my name like it was the most important word in the world.
He was close. I could feel his breath when he spoke again, low and rough and soothing.
“Eli, it’s me. You’re safe. You’ve got a tube helping you breathe, so don’t try to talk, okay? Just… squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”
I tried. God, I tried. My fingers twitched, a barely there movement, but the way he gasped—as though I'd dragged him out of hell with me.
“There you go,” he whispered. His voice broke on a laugh that sounded half like a sob. “That’s it. That’s my boy.”
Tears stung behind my eyes, but they didn't fall. Everything inside me was both too much and not enough. The light shone too brightly. The air tasted metallic. Buthe’s here.
Adrian’s here.
My lashes fluttered. The ceiling above me swam into view—white, tiled, strange. My throat burned around the tube, my body quaking with the effort of remembering how to be alive.
Adrian’s hand held mine, warm and shaking. I focused on that. On him. His voice kept me tethered to the surface when everything else threatened to pull me back under.
“Welcome back,” he murmured. “You scared the shit out of me.”
If I could smile, I would. If I could speak, I’d tell him I heard him. Every word. That I kept following his voice through the dark because it was the only thing that felt like home.
But all I could do was blink. Once. Slow.
And hope he understood.
The room clarified in fragments—shadowsmoving, voices overlapping.
“Dr. Hawke—he’s responding.”
“Let’s prep for extubation.”
“Watch his O2.”
The words meant nothing and everything at once. I heard them through cotton. My throat spasmed when they touched the tube, and panic seared through me, but Adrian’s hand stayed firm around mine.
“Hey. Hey, look at me.” His tone dropped low, the voice I knew from every fight and every apology. “It’s okay, Eli. Breathe with me. One… two…”
I tried to follow, chest jerking, lungs learning again. The world spun. Air rushed down my dry throat, the ache of it raw and real. A nurse counted. Someone said,“Ready,”and there was pressure, a pull, a burn—then the tube was gone, and I choked on the suddenfreedom.
My eyes flew open. The ceiling swam as the light cut sharply across my vision. Adrian’s face filled my view, tear-streaked and desperate, his smile fighting through the wreckage.
I’d never seen anything so beautiful.
“That’s it. You’re okay. You’re breathing on your own.”
The first breath hurt. The second hurt less. The third?—
The third was his cologne and the lingering sweetness of coffee on his breath and the sound of him whispering my name like a benediction.
I wanted to tell him I was sorry. For the crash. For the fights. For everything I said and didn’t say. But my throat was flayed, voice barely registering.
“... Adrian.”
