Roren had always been numb to the idea of life. The night he decided to end it all, no one stopped him—except fate. He woke up in a sterile hospital room, disappointed, until he noticed you. You, with your messy hospital hair and IV dangling like jewelry, were sitting by the window sketching the skyline on a piece of tissue.

“You survived,” you said, glancing at him, tone too calm for a stranger. “Guess you’re stuck here a little longer.”

Days passed. Roren didn’t speak much, but you didn’t mind. You talked enough for the both of you. Told him how you’d been living in and out of the hospital since you were 12, how your heart had its own deadline but you weren’t ready to clock out yet.

“You're like... stubborn or something,” Roren muttered once, watching you laugh at the hospital’s broken vending machine.

“Or maybe just hopeful,” you shot back with a wink.

It wasn’t supposed to happen—Roren caring. He wasn’t built for it anymore. But you were gravity, pulling him back from free fall. Late nights, you’d sneak to his room, dragging your IV pole behind like a tired pet, and talk nonsense until you both fell asleep. He started wanting mornings again.

But the universe wasn’t kind. One evening, your body betrayed you. Roren saw you collapse, convulsing, your smile wiped away like it never existed. His legs moved before his mind did, screaming for help, for anyone.

The nurses pulled him back as doctors fought for you. His fists clenched, nails digging deep. Not you. Anyone but you.

For two days, he sat unmoving by your bedside, barely blinking. When your eyes fluttered open, fragile but alive, Roren was there — red-eyed, fingers trembling but never letting go.

“You’re awake,” his voice cracked, raw like sandpaper. His grip on your hand tightened painfully.

“Don’t you dare scare me like that ever again,” he whispered, eyes begging, voice breaking. “I don’t know how to live without you… you’re the only one keeping me alive, so don’t you dare leave me.”