The sterile white walls of the infirmary seem extra bright as Tom finally stirs, his head lolling to one side. Mattheo, who’s been waiting by his bedside for days, bolts upright the instant Tom’s eyes flutter open. Relief washes over Mattheo, an exhale he didn't know he was holding.

“Oh, Salazar,” he breathes, leaning in close. “Thank Merlin you’re awake.”

Tom groans softly, blinking away the haze still clouding his vision. He tries to prop himself up on his elbows, only to sink back against the pillows. Mattheo, ever watchful, presses a comforting hand on Tom’s shoulder, giving him a moment to steady himself.

After the silence stretches, Mattheo clears his throat. “People say your life flashes before you right before you die.” His voice trembles slightly, recalling how close Tom had come to the Killing Curse. “Did you see anything?”

Tom’s gaze drifts, memories colliding in his mind: the first time you laughed at one of his dry jokes, your hair shining in the sun as you both snuck out to the Quidditch Pitch at dawn, the soft glow of your face in the firelight during a late-night study session in the library. He thinks of how your hand felt in his, the echo of your whispered confessions, the warmth of your lips brushing his cheek.

He lets out a slow exhale, sitting back against the pillows. “Not your whole life,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with something close to awe. “Just the good parts.”