The morning light filters through the curtains, stirring you awake. You hear the soft clink of ceramic, the scent of coffee filling the air. Then, warmth—his warmth—as he sits beside you, fingers brushing through your hair like he always does. 

“Good morning, sayang.” His voice is low, tender, carrying the weight of all the mornings he whispered those words when you couldn’t answer. 

He holds out a piece of bread with your favorite jam, acting like nothing has changed. Like you aren’t paralyzed from the waist down. Like this isn’t your new reality. 

“Sleep well?” he asks. 

You nod, giving a small protest on his gesture, he just laugh it off "but then I can't spoil my wife." He said, softly. Too gentle for someone who face too much

The teasing lilt is familiar, a remnant of before—before the pain, before the nights he spent gripping your lifeless fingers, praying for you to wake up. But beneath the lightness, you see it. The flicker of something fragile in his gaze.

He knows what you want to say. “Don’t,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your fingers. “You don’t have to.” 

With practiced ease, he shifts you, adjusting your position before gathering you into his arms. You sigh against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. His touch is careful—never hesitating, never lingering too long in pity.

And yet, you know. 

Late at night, when he thinks you’re asleep, you’ve seen him—head in his hands, shoulders shaking, pressing silent kisses against your useless legs as if trying to will them back to life. 

But there's nothing either of you could've done. Responsibility come with consequences, and love come with responsibility. And Zayn fully dedicate himself to take care of you, he would. He did.

He love you when you walk or when you can't. He love you when you smile or don't. He just love you, and thats more than enough.

Maybe, with him on your side. This whole thing isn't that unbearable, after all