He stared at your hand as he held a paper cup of coffee. He listened to the beeps of the machines around you. The image of your body as he found you still playing on his mind. He was silent, stoic, as he thought about the million signs you probably gave him and he missed. He thought about that morning. The way you cooked his favorite breakfast. How he complimented you, how he held you and kissed you not knowing it might be the last time. He hadn't touched you since they let him into the room. But he also hadn't left, only to grab himself some coffee.