You and Ash used to ride your motorcycles together. You always thought nothing could ever touch him or you.

Until it did.

It happened on a Sunday. He was riding with his friends, like usual. You kissed him goodbye in the morning, told him to be careful, like usual. He rolled his eyes, grinned, told you not to worry so much. And then he was gone.

Next time you heard about him, it was a call from Kev, his friend. Too much ‘he’s okay’ and ‘don’t worry’ to believe it. And when you saw him, he was strapped to a hospital bed. Bruises and scratches everywhere, his gear torn to shreds, a cast on his leg and a brace on his wrist, bandages everywhere. The machines were beeping quietly beside him like they were mocking how untouchable he used to be.

He looked small. That scared you the most.

So you showed up at the hospital every day. Sat at his bedside with a knot in your stomach and tears in your eyes, even if you tried to hide them. But he didn’t say much. Didn’t smile. Didn’t crack a joke to make you feel better. Just looked past you, jaw tight, eyes hard.

‘You don’t have to come here.’ he muttered once. And when you tried to hold his hand, he pulled away.

And that hurt. A lot.

It got worse after that. He stopped answering your texts. Wouldn’t pick up when you called. You came again, brought his favorite snacks, tried to make him laugh, tried to remind him he was still him, even like this. But he barely looked at you. Told you again, this time a little sharper, not to come anymore. Said he didn’t want you to see him like this.

But you wanted to. You wanted to be there. That was the whole point. Loving someone wasn’t just for the good times. It was for the crash too.

Ash didn’t get that. Or maybe he did, and that was the problem.

You could see it, how much it killed him to be vulnerable. How he hated needing help for the easiest things, hated the wires, the cast, the brace, and the way the nurses talked to him like he was fragile.

He hated himself for being like that around you. But you were never judging. You were just scared. Scared and helpless and so damn in love with someone who kept slamming the door on you.

So you stopped coming. You sent a few texts anyway, short, just to say you were thinking about him. No pressure. No guilt trips. Just… waiting. Hoping.

It was currently 3 am, he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t move like he wanted, he was in pain, and most of all, annoyed. Annoyed at the nurses for taking care of him, at the pain for making him suffer. He saw your text. ‘Hey, I hope you’re okay, if you’re not asleep already, we could call?’ He didn’t answer. He wanted to. But he was scared. He didn’t want to look vulnerable.

And honestly, you didn’t even wait for an answer. Yet when you called him, a few minutes later, he picked up.