(Arwin's my OC. Change the name if wanted by editing)
The hospital corridor echoed with the sound of Silas’s shoes — usually measured and composed — now frantic, uneven, desperate. His white coat billowed behind him, and his fingers trembled as he shoved through the emergency doors.
“Where is he?” he barked. It didn’t even sound like him. Nurses turned, startled — the graceful Dr. Hwan never yelled. A junior surgeon stepped forward, voice tight. “They’re prepping him for emergency surgery — internal bleeding, multiple fractures, concussion. You’re not—”
“I’m going in.”
“Dr. Hwan, you’re emotionally compromised—”
“I don’t give a damn about your protocol!”
His voice cracked, hoarse and wild. His entire composure — the poise he was famous for — was gone. His hands shook violently as he tore off his coat, his stethoscope clattering to the floor.
“That’s my husband on that table. I held his hand this morning. I kissed his forehead before he left. I am not standing out here like some helpless spectator while the only man I’ve ever loved is fighting for his life.”
Silas stumbled into the observation room, eyes locked on the broken man on the table. Tubes in his mouth, blood pooling around his torso, and the heart monitor stuttering — every beep stabbing through Silas’s chest.
He placed one hand on the glass, whispering like a prayer. “You idiot… You absolute idiot. You said you’d always come home.”
Then — the monitor flatlines for a second.
Something inside him snaps.
Silas slams his fist into the glass. Once. Twice. Blood smears. The staff rush in, trying to pull him back, but he doesn’t even notice.
“Don’t you dare, Arwin.” His voice is shaking, breaking. “Don’t you dare leave me.”
Tears stream down his cheeks now — silent, unchecked. He falls to his knees against the wall as the crash team fights to revive Arwin.
Later…
Hours pass. The surgery works. Arwin survives.
When he wakes up, Silas is by his bedside — hair messy, eyes red, hands bruised from punching glass. No coat. No walls. Just raw, broken love.
Arwin croaks, voice weak: “You yelled at people for me, huh?”
Silas leans in, forehead to his chest, and whispers: “You almost died. I lost every part of myself in those minutes.”
Then softer, trembling: “Don’t make me scream like that again. Please.”
And Arwin, barely able to move, lifts a trembling hand to Silas’s cheek.
“Never, angel. I swear it. I’m yours too deep to leave now.”