His eyes flicked to mine, and for a heartbeat, I saw the life we used to have. Easy laughter, shared space, stolen kisses between classes and shifts. We’d built something once, brick by brick. Then I’d let the walls crumble.
Was it possible to build it back stronger this time?
We ate in silence for a while, the kind that didn’t hurt. The movie started—something familiar, one we’d watched too many times to count—and about halfway through, Eli said quietly, “I dreamed of this.”
His serious expression said he didn’t mean last night. We were talking about the accident. The brief but cataclysmic minutes he’d walked the other side of life.
I muted the TV, though neither of us had been paying attention to it anyway.
“What do you remember?” My voice came out rough because talking about his brief death always rattled me to the core.
Eli traced the rim of his bowl with a finger, eyes distant. “It wasn’t a dream, exactly. It was… snapshots. Like a reel of all the best parts of us. When you taught me to drive your truck. That stupid hike where we got caught in the rain. The time you burned the pancakes but still made me eat them.”
He set his cup down and leaned into the couch, shifting ever-so-slightly toward me.
“I saw us in the café the day we met. Your smile, your laugh. Our first date at that Italian place. We talked all night about I don’t even know what, but I couldn’t stop listening and watching your mouth move. Just staring at your face was enough to make me smile.”
Heat flashed in my gut. These were his core memories, the things about me that stuck with him. Even in his last moments, he’d chosen me. A rush of tears pooled in my eyes, and I blinked them away, leaning into him. Listening.
“What else?”
Eli licked his lips and swallowed. “This, the ramen, my dorm room. The first night we?—”
His words died off, but I knew what he wanted to say. That night was a memory I’d carry with me in my final moments as well.
I tried for levity. “I was that memorable?”
His blush was intoxicating. I had no idea I could still make him flustered.
“It was my first time,” he admitted.
The look we shared was magnetic. It took all my willpower not to reach for him.
He looked down, smiling as if embarrassed by his own honesty. “I remember how nervous I was. I didn’t know what I was doing, but you made it easy to forget that.”
“Good,” I said softly. “You never had anything to prove.”
Eli’s gaze met mine again, and I swear I could feel the air shift. The room itself was holding its breath. Every line of him, every scar, every trace of vulnerability was all a map of where we’d been and what we’d survived.
He smiled warmly. “I saw the house on Decatur. It was a bit of a shithole, but God, I loved it. Lovedus.”
I struggled to swallow. If only we could go back and do it all again. I’d get it right this time. I’d remember he was my priority.
Instead, I said quietly, “I loved that house too. The leaky faucet, the draft in winter—it didn’t matter. We had everything we needed.”
Eli looked at me with glassy eyes. “I remember themornings. You always made coffee before you showered. You’d kiss my forehead on your way out the door, even when we were mad at each other.”
I laughed under my breath. “That was self-preservation. You’re scary when you wake up.”
He smirked faintly, then his voice softened again. “And the nights… I saw those too. The movie marathons, the rainstorms, that ridiculous blue blanket we fought over.”
He paused, blinking fast. “All the best parts of my life were with you, Adrian.”
The words hit like a fist and a balm all at once. I wanted to tell him he didn’t have to remember just the good, that he was allowed to be angry, that I was still sorry—so sorry—but what came out instead was, “You’re my best seven minutes, too.”
Eli stilled. “What?”
“Every highlight, every memory I’d want to relive,” I said, the words tumbling out. “You’re in all of them. Every single one.”
