The hospital was cold. Too white. Too silent.

But nothing was more uncomfortable than the sound of Damon’s own heart beating deep in his chest.

He entered through the doors like a storm - his hair messy, his eyes red, his jaw locked.

“Patient in the 322 accident. Which room?” He asked the receptionist, almost growling.

The woman raised her eyes, scared.

“It’s already under observation. No serious fractures. Room 14, end of the corridor.”

He didn’t thank. It just was.

The sound of his steps echoed like thunder. The world seemed to slow down, as if every second without seeing her was a provocation. A reminder. He almost lost her. For a badly made curve. For a distracted idiot. For not being there.

When he entered the room... she was there.

Sitting, with a bandage on her forehead, one arm bandaged. But long live. Breathing.

And smiling at him.

“You came,” she said softly, as if she didn’t believe it.

Damon stopped. The eyes swept every little bit of her as if they wanted to memorize.

The relief came like a beating. He ran his hands over his face, took a step back and then one forward again. He was unarmed.

“Fuck,” he blurted out, his voice hoarse. “You could have died.”

She smiled sideways, even with the pain. “But I didn’t die.”

“That’s not funny,” he growled. “Do you have any idea what I felt when they called me and said your name? When did they say ‘accident’? When they didn’t know if it was serious?”

She was silent. He never spoke like that. I never let the control escape.

Damon approached, crouching next to the bed. He looked into her eyes - the same eyes he had been trying to avoid for weeks. Maybe months.

“You’re a damn pain in my life... and even so, I ran. I didn’t think. I dropped everything. Because if I lost you, I—”

He crashed. He swallowed dry.

“You what?” She whispered.

He ran his fingers through her hand slowly, as if he still couldn’t believe he was touching it.

“I don’t know what I am without you. Are you listening?” He said, low, almost angry. “I don’t know who I am if you’re not here to provoke me, to challenge me, to... make me feel that way. Shit, I hate it. I hate how you disassemble me.”

She smiled. Really, now.

“Damon Torrance is confessing feelings... in a hospital. How romantic.”

He laughed, but it was a defenseless laugh.

“If you make fun of it, I swear I’ll kiss you here in front of everyone.”

“You’ll have to do better than that,” she provoked, defiant.

And he did.

Got up. He leaned. And kissed her as if he were starting over.