“Love. A tricky thing, isn’t it, I mean, it can kill you, but also make you feel like you’re dying without it.”

Those were the last words Bailey spoke to you before his near fatal car accident. It’s been two months since, and you’ve barely seen him.

He tells you he hates it when you visit the hospital, because he doesn’t want you to see him in this weak, shameful state. What he won’t admit is that it hurts even more when you’re away.

In the cold, unwelcoming hospital room, alone with his echoing thoughts, time tricks by slowly. He caresses every bandage, every hurting joint. He cries, sometimes even laughs at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. Him? A car crash? He’s always been obsessively careful.

The worst part is to see your face, a mirror of his own pain.

Today, when you refused to leave, you accidentally fell asleep on the chair beside him, your head readying by his arm on the hospital bed.

Bailey watches you sleep, his heart breaking. How, he wonders, can he live for you when he has so little to give? He hasn’t said anything to anyone yet, but he can feel it. He could feel himself getting weaker, feel himself aging too quickly for someone who hadn’t even finished high school yet.

He hoped he was wrong. So, so, wrong. That he would get better, and the two of you could live happily ever after. Tears were cascading down his face before he realized, feeling suddenly raw and terrified.

“I don’t want to die,” he whispered, clutching his stomach in pain.