The first thing I noticed was the smell of antiseptics and disinfectants. The low pounding in the back of my skull was next, but it was quickly overshadowed by the feeling of a large, warm hand wrapped around my own.
My eyes shot open. The room was dark aside from a sparse light source somewhere out of sight, bright enough to make out my surroundings.
I turned my head.
Killian's large frame was parked on one of those uncomfortable plastic hospital chairs, right next to my bed. His chin was tucked to his chest which was rising and falling evenly with every breath. He held my hand, his arm lying on the mattress.
As if he could sense my gaze, his eyelids fluttered, and he stared at me wide-eyed.
A bruise discolored his right cheek, but, to me, he'd never looked better. He regarded me with an open, almost vulnerable look on his face. That was new.
His presence here could only mean one thing. He really had shown up, which meant Angie was fine. But I had to make sure...
"Is Angie okay?" I croaked out. "And Sofia?"
A crease formed between his brows. There was an edge to his voice as he spoke, "Angie's fine. Sofia's fine. Everyone's fine. Except you, of course."
I let out a breath. "And the guy?"
"Police got him," Killian replied curtly.
That was good. But... I took in the tension in his shoulders, the hard set of his jaw, his narrowed eyes...
"Are you mad?" I asked, slowly sitting up.
"Mad?" Killian ground out, getting to his feet and right in my face, his hands dipping into the mattress on either side of me. "Of course, I am!"
The sudden close proximity was distracting, and it took me a moment to reply, "Because...I broke the promise? Or because of what happened a month ago..."
"Because you never look out for yourself," he said, eyes flashing. "Why don't you ask me if you're okay, Tay? Because you're not. Your neck is freaking blue, your back is bruised, and you nearly got a fucking concussion!"
Well, that explained why my voice sounded off. I touched the back of my head, feeling a small bump. There was no pain though. Aside from slight drowsiness, I felt good.
"I heard that sleep is a great cure for these—"
Killian silenced me with a look. Someone wasn't in the mood for jokes. Noted. Bit hypocritical but sure.
"And before you get some weird thoughts again. I'm mad about a lot of things. But not that you dumped me."
"You're not?"
"No—okay, yes. But we both didn't handle it very well. You were sick and you reacted the way you thought was best for everyone. I'm mostly mad at myself. I should've fucking skipped that stupid exam when you finally came to talk to me."
"You can't skip an exam," I said, trying to sound stern.
"Watch me," he snapped. He sat on the edge of the mattress, running his hand through his already messy hair, and continued in a less angry manner, "I knew something was off about your stalker. I should've known that some random person would behave differently. I mean, the signs were all there."
"You're acting like me. Which means you're acting stupid. Stop taking responsibility for stuff that's not your fault."
"You were damn lucky I cut the exam short anyways and saw your text!" He paused looking distraught. "But then I find you getting strangled on the floor with blood all over your face..."
Yeah, that definitely wasn't how I pictured our reunion either.
We fell into another silence.
My arms twitched. I wanted to touch him so badly... but I owed him an explanation first.
"Kel..."
He lifted his head, meeting my gaze.
"I... I know I should've handled it better, but whenever I get a flare like that, I don't know how to deal with it, and it feels like I'm losing my identity. Everything suddenly revolves around my skin. It makes me feel like a burden and insecure and I hate it.
"And you're, well, you. Sometimes that can be intimidating because you're so sure of everything. I don't expect things to just go back the way they were or anything, I just wanted to say I'm trying to do better. And I know my feelings." God, this was hard. "What I'm trying to say is..."
Killian watched me stumble over my words with a blank expression before he leaned toward me and said, "I know."
"You know what?" I asked confused.
His gaze softened. "I love you too."
My heart stopped. My breath stopped. Maybe the hit on my head was worse than I thought and now I was hallucinating.
"I-I didn't say anything yet," I finally said.
He gave me a disarming smile. "I know you do."
My voice rose. "How can you say you know when we didn't talk for over a month?"
"One month, two weeks, three days, and a few hours. Not that I'm counting. But you wouldn't have come back to me if you didn't."
"But—"
"And also, you already woke up two hours ago and told me the same thing just to pass out again."
"Can you stop being so self-satisfied?"
"No."
"Fine," I huffed. "I take it back then."
"Too late," he replied smugly. "It's engraved in my brain."
"It doesn't count if I don't remember. Therefore, I haven't said it yet."
Five minutes with this guy and we were already bickering. He had a knack for pushing my buttons.
"I love you," he whispered again, sending my pulse into a frenzy.
I had pushed him away over and over again and yet, he said it so easily as if there was no doubt in his mind. There probably wasn't which flashed me even more. How the hell had I landed this guy?
Acting all nonchalant as if he hadn't just made my insides dance tango, he leaned back. "See, now you can pretend I said it first."
"I don't believe you."
With a long sigh, he got up and dropped back into his chair. "Because you just want to argue with me, or is there actually a reason?"
I eyed the distance between us. "Because...I didn't get a hug yet."
He froze. "You're hurt."
"I want a hug."
"You're hurt everywhere."
"I feel fine." I scooted to one side, apparently too close to the edge for his liking because he shot forward to catch my waist. I patted the admittedly small space next to me.
"Because they pumped you with painkillers," he muttered. Still, he discarded his shoes and slid in next to me, carefully drawing me into his arms. My own wound around his middle, and I threw my leg over his. Even with me lying half on top of him, we barely fit onto the bed, but I didn't care. I pressed my nose into the skin on his neck and inhaled, feeling like a drug addict that finally got her fix.
I was so comfortable I nearly forgot that we still had to talk. So, instead of just sinking into him like I wanted to, I braced myself, silently gathering my thoughts. Exposing myself would be hard but I had to explain myself in a way he'd understand, or it would just bite me in the ass later.
"I'd been through a similar thing at my last university," I started, trying to ignore the panic at lying myself bare. "I was in a relationship, and I got a really bad flare and it was just too much. The judging, the constant telling me not to scratch—as if I had a choice in that matter—the micromanaging."
Killian gave me a light squeeze which I took as an indication that he was listening. So, I continued, the words just tumbling out of my mouth,
"I have to cancel plans since there's barely a restaurant I can eat at, and I can't go to the swimming pool because chlorine dries out my skin and salt water isn't any better 'cause it burns if I scratched before, and I always have to explain myself."
His hand began rubbing my back.
"The guy I was with before Chris—we were like that golden couple and there was so much pressure. It was hard when I didn't fit that image anymore. That's why I wanted the relationship with Chris to be a secret. But then my skin got bad again and I felt like I was being punished for not making the right decision. So, I refused to admit that it could dictate my life."
Killian's touch on my back was careful, almost light as his fingers started drawing loose circles over my lower back. Closing my eyes, I pressed my head in the crook of his shoulder, soaking up his body heat.
"I didn't want it to become an issue between us as well," I mumbled into his shirt. "I never know how long the next flare is gonna last and when it hit me out of nowhere, I was scared it would end like all the other relationships I was in. I mean, I know from experience people usually don't stick around when you suddenly can't do normal things like going to parties and drinking and so on anymore.
"I don't even leave the house whenever I get a flare 'cause it looks so bad and I hate people staring at me or dropping comments. I tried and went to the hospital that day but I couldn't deal with it."
"I know," he said in a low voice. "My sister told me about what Alicia had said to you and I had a little talk with her, reminding her that she didn't have a right to tell you these things."
The fact that he had had my back even when we didn't speak warmed my chest and I tightened my arm, squeezing him harder.
"You don't think it's silly?" I asked. "Caring about other people's opinions?"
He shifted on his side, gently lifting me higher so we were face-to-face. One arm held me securely while his other hand cupped the back of my neck.
"I'm not expecting you to not give a shit about other people's opinions just because I don't. I get that that would be kinda hard with your condition and all that. I'm here to remind you it doesn't matter as often as you need. Because I'm not going anywhere."
Hearing those words did something to me. If they were coming from anyone else I wasn't sure I would have believed them but since it was Killian I knew they were true. If there was one thing I learned, then it was that he wasn't going anywhere.
"I'm sorry for shutting you out... I mean, I'm used to people walking away, but I don't think I could've handled it from you..." I sucked in a shaky breath before I continued, "Not from the person I love."
Killian twitched. "Do you know why I love you? It's not because you're pretty but because you're genuinely nice, hella smart, and dependable. It's effortless to care for you."
"But I let you down..."
"Everyone has their baggage to carry but my life is better with you in it. You may think you haven't been there for me, but you've shown me what true support means. I could tell you anything about me and I know you'd never judge me for it. Which by itself is amazing because when we first met, I let my sister's circumstances cloud my judgment. But you never did. Not when you found me after that fight or when you heard those guys talking shit about me. And when I apologized for acting like an ass you just accepted it. You never held it against me—not even when we were arguing—nor did you let it affect your friendship with Cody."
The care in Killian's words sunk under my skin, melting the tension in my limbs. I had never looked at myself from that perspective. It was amazing how well he knew me by now—how patient and understanding he was.
How did I get so lucky?