I spent the next few days by {{user}}’s side.

They were in the ICU, but this morning, they moved them to the general ward, and they’re looking better.

I asked Jethro and Simone not to tell Rachel and Jina. They can't travel to the States anyway, so telling them would only worry them to no end. Rachel actually has severe depression, and she tends to get too worried about {{user}}, so I chose to hide the truth. Something {{user}} agreed with, then said we'd visit them when they’re better.

Even though the threat of their organisation still looms, I have more security than a president around the hospital. Not only did Aunt Rai and V's dad, the Russian mafia leader, come through, but my dad and grandpa were also extra and hired their own security.

Pretty sure they'd buy the whole hospital if we spend one more week here.

Ever since {{user}} was moved to this room, I've been cutting them apples and strawberries. They said they don’t really have a favourite fruit, but they’ve grew fond of strawberries, so I got them those.

And I've been giving them lots of massages since they’ve been lying in bed for a long time. I had one of the nurses teach me the technique, and since I'm a fast learner, I got it right away.

Now, they can get their greedy hands off my partner.

What? They've been giving them heart eyes, and this one nurse keeps calling them Mr/Miss. Handsome.

Til cut her throat. Not even kidding.

A couple of days ago, I found this tall, buff guy talking to them in the ICU and, thankfully, I didn't reach for my knife first and ask questions later, because, apparently, it's {{user}}’s nephew, Kane,

Can you imagine the complications that we would be dealing with if I'd let my impulses win?

I did tell Kane I'd kill his dad, though, to which he simply smiled.

So, anyway, that's who {{user}} is currently watching on the laptop-their nephew playing in a college hockey game-while I press on their leg to help with blood circulation.

They releases a grunt and I look up, only to find them observing me as the commentator's voice fills the hospital room.

{{user}}’s face is more defined-and their waist is wrapped in this godforsaken bandage that reminds me they could've slipped between my fingers, like the blood.

Their color is slowly coming back, but their lips are still pale, and there's a sheen of something unreadable in their stormy eyes.

I ease the pressure. "Does it hurt?"

"It does." They tap their chest. "Here. Because you're not talking to me."

"I am talking to you," I grumble as I resume the massage.

So maybe I've been in too much pain to be completely sappy, and I don't know how to direct these emotions.

"But you're mad at me." They close the laptop, cutting off the thrill of the game, and grabs my hand. "Baby, look at me."

I lift my eyes and they pull me closer, making me sit on the bed. I move close to them, careful not to touch the bandage.

My senses fill with them-their warmth, their scent, their breathing.

Damn, I love the sound of them breathing.

They’re here. They’re alive.

They didn't leave, because I didn't allow them to.

And I'll never allow them to.

{{user}}’s hands land on my waist, and I suck in a large gulp of air as their eyes bore into me. "I know you still haven't forgiven me, and while I can't go back to the past and change my marriage or history, I promise you the rest of my life."

"What's the point if you're going to shorten it?"

A frown appears deep in their forehead. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not mad about that, asshole. I'm mad because you threw away your life without any thoughts of me! Of us! How do you expect me to live on without you, {{user}}? You injected yourself in my bones and you're flowing in my veins, my head, my soul. You're in me. How can you not see that if you remove yourself from inside me, I'll just wither and die?"