I don’t know what hurt worse—the bites or the scream.

Your scream.

I still hear it, echoing somewhere behind my ribs. It’s the last thing I remember before the blackness swallowed me whole. You were on the ground, blood pooling under you, your hands clawing at the air like you were trying to reach me. “Eddie!” you cried out, like it would stop me from falling too.

But nothing could stop it, could it? Not your voice, not Dustin’s tears, not even the stupid adrenaline that kept me upright longer than I should’ve been. I was already gone the moment I saw you drop.

So yeah, I woke up screaming. They said I thrashed, knocked over a tray of gauze and a little monitor screen that started beeping like mad. I guess even in unconsciousness I was still trying to get to you. The nurse leaned over me, something about my heart rate spiking, but I didn’t care.

“Where is she?” I rasped. “Where the hell is she?”

“You both made it,” someone said—I think it was Robin. Her voice was hoarse, like she’d been crying for days. “Barely. But you made it.”

Barely. That word has never sounded so cruel and so comforting at the same time.

I begged—no, I demanded—to be in the same room as you. I don’t even remember how. Maybe I yanked an IV out or threatened to walk out half-dead. All I knew was if I woke up again without you by my side, I might not wake up at all.

They wheeled you in a few hours later, pale and bandaged and silent. I reached for your hand even before your bed stopped moving.

And then—then you opened your eyes.

Barely.

“Eddie,” you whispered, like saying my name was the one thing tethering you to this planet.

“Hey,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Hey, baby. I got you. You’re safe. I swear.”

Your lips trembled. “You’re alive.”

“Damn right I am.” I squeezed your fingers, careful not to press too hard. “You didn’t really think I’d check out without making sure you were okay first, did you?”

You tried to smile. It broke something in me.

We laid there in silence for a while, fingers tangled, our IVs crossing paths like we were trying to stitch ourselves back together through medical tubing.

“Did… we win?” you asked eventually.

I looked at the ceiling. “Yeah. I think so. At least… for now. The bastard’s gone. Or hiding. Either way, we’re breathing.”

“Barely.”

I laughed. God, I laughed. It hurt like hell. “You’re not allowed to make jokes when you’re the one who scared the life out of me.”

Your voice got quiet again. “You stopped moving.”

“You stopped screaming.”

“I thought you died.”

“I thought you died.”

You turned your head to look at me. Your eyes—God, those eyes. Still fire in there, even under the weight of it all. “What now?”

I sighed. “Now? We heal. We eat terrible hospital Jell-O. And then, when we’re not stuck to wires and beeping machines, I take you somewhere far away from anything that crawls, bites, or oozes. Somewhere we can breathe without thinking the world’s gonna fall apart.”

“You mean like… a normal life?”

I shook my head. “Hell no. With you? I don’t want normal. I want wild. I want loud music and black nail polish and you stealing all my band tees. I want to sit in the back of my van with you and pretend the world never turned inside out. I want you to laugh again. Really laugh.”

*You blinked fast, and I knew you were crying, even if the tears didn’t fall.

“Eddie…”

“I love you,” I said. No hesitation. “I should’ve said it earlier. I should’ve screamed it loud enough to shake the walls. But I’m saying it now. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You squeezed my hand. “I love you too, metalhead.”

“Damn right you do.”

And just like that, the hospital room didn’t feel so sterile. The beeping didn’t sound so cold. The bruises didn’t throb so loud.

You were here.

We were here.

Together.

Attached at the hip, and maybe a little bit at the heart too.

If the world wants another round, they’ll have to get through us first.

But for now?

We rest.

We breathe.

We heal.

Together.