A Different Script

The First Calm

His breathing evens out more. Like he knows I'm still there.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours. Time loses shape.

A nurse eventually enters quietly, apologizing with her eyes more than her words, checking his IV and heart monitor with the gentle precision of someone who's seen too many families break in rooms like this.

When she's done, she turns to me. "He's stable. Very stable. Rest is the best thing for him now."

I nod, whispering, "Okay."

She leaves with the same softness she came in with.

And then it's just us again.

Aqua sleeps deeper now, his face turned just slightly toward me, his lips parted in the smallest, softest breath. He looks young like this - younger than he allows himself to look when awake. Vulnerable in a way he never lets anyone see.

I watch him. Not like a scene partner. Not like an actress analyzing her co-star.

Like someone witnessing a miracle she didn't think she'd get.

My eyes burn. Not with panic this time. With relief.

Slowly, carefully, I rest my head on the edge of the bed near his arm - close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him.

I whisper again, even though he can't hear me:

"I'm not going anywhere."

The room hums quietly. The sun shifts higher. His breathing stays steady.

And for the first time since everything shattered, I let myself believe in tomorrow.The hours slip into each other, soft and slow.

At some point, the harsh hospital brightness eases into that gentler afternoon glow - warm, golden light spreading across Aqua's sheets, his skin, the metal railing beside him. It makes everything look softer. Makes him look almost peaceful.

I pull my head up a little, stretching my neck. I hadn't realized how long I'd stayed like that. My hand is still near his, almost touching but not quite.

He shifts again - a small movement, barely a twitch - but enough to make my heart jump.

Then, for the first time since falling asleep, he murmurs something. So quiet I can't tell if it's a word or just a breath escaping wrong.

I lean in slightly. "Aqua...?"

He doesn't wake. But his eyebrows pinch just a little, like he's caught somewhere between dreaming and remembering.

His fingers move - slow, hesitant - just enough that they brush the back of my hand.

I freeze.

And then... he doesn't pull away.

Instead, even unconscious, he curls his fingers in the faintest way - not gripping, not holding, just... staying. Like part of him recognizes me even in sleep. Like part of him refuses to let the space between us widen again.

My breath stutters. Everything inside me tightens, softens, breaks, heals - all at once.

I let my fingers shift just enough to meet his. Not fully interlaced. Not dramatic. Just contact. Just warmth.

It's enough.

A soft knock breaks the moment - again - but this time it's quieter, like whoever's behind it sensed the shift inside.

The door opens a crack, and Ruby slips in.

She stops immediately.

Her eyes go straight to our hands, then to Aqua, then to me. Her face goes from relief to jealousy to relief again - a mix only Ruby can make look natural.

She doesn't speak at first. Doesn't want to wake him. Doesn't want to break whatever gentle thing is happening here.

When she finally whispers, it's barely sound. "He looks... better."

I nod. "He is."

Ruby steps closer, hugging her hoodie sleeves around herself. Her voice trembles, but she forces a small smile.

"I was gonna take him home," she murmurs. "Like... I wanted to. I thought... if I stayed with him... maybe..."

She stares at him for a long moment - long enough that her eyes glisten. But she blinks it away instantly, the way Ruby always does when she thinks vulnerability makes her weak.

"I just wanted him safe," she finishes, almost too quietly.

I swallow. "We all did."

Ruby's gaze flicks to our hands again, and something in her expression softens. Not approval - Ruby doesn't give that easily - but acceptance. Something like you're okay for him. Even if she won't say it.

She nods slowly. "You should... stay a bit longer. Before the doctors come. He'll want you here when he wakes up again."

I blink, caught off guard. "Ruby-"

"It's fine." She waves it off quickly, like she's embarrassed she said something kind. "I'm... glad he's not alone."

The words land softer than she probably intended.

Ruby backs up a little, heading toward the door. "Just text me if he wakes up again. I'll bring him something sweet later. Uh... if they allow it."

She pauses at the doorway, looks at him once more, and whispers - barely sound - "Don't disappear again, idiot."

Then she closes the door behind her.

And I'm alone with Aqua again.

The room settles back into that quiet, that stillness. His fingers are still touching mine. His breathing is slow, steady. The kind of steady that eases something deep in my chest I didn't even know was clenched that tight.

I shift a little closer - not touching more, just letting myself be here without guilt, without fear of breaking.

Minutes pass. Then an hour.

Quietly, half-asleep, Aqua moves again - and this time his fingers curl fully around mine. Soft. Weak. But intentional.

I suck in a breath. My heart stutters.

His eyes don't open, but his voice drags itself out of sleep like a whisper that barely knows it's sound:

"...stay."

A single word. One syllable. Barely audible.

But it's enough to unravel me.

My voice trembles when I answer, "I'm here."

His breathing settles again, deeper this time, like he heard me. Like that word was all he needed to fall back into a safer sleep.

I squeeze his hand gently - a promise, a grounding, a quiet vow.

And in that golden half-silent room, with Aqua's hand in mine and his breath steady against the hush,

I whisper again, not because he needs to hear it,

but because I need to say it:

"I'm not going anywhere."