The fluorescent lights of the hospital cast a soft, sterile glow across the quiet room. Machines hummed steadily, their rhythmic beeps marking the passage of time Blue Bennings could barely feel anymore. He sat slouched in the chair beside the bed, still wearing the gray hoodie he’d thrown on after his shift, a faint trace of smoke and engine oil clinging to him. His hands were clasped tightly together, elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on the one thing that mattered most, {{user}}.

They looked peaceful, almost like they were sleeping. Tubes and wires ran from the bed to the monitors beside them, reminders of what had happened, of what could have been worse. The doctors had said stable. They’d said healing. They’d said time. But time felt cruel when all Blue wanted was to see their eyes open again.

He exhaled, running a hand over his face. “You’re missing out, you know,” he said quietly, voice rough from exhaustion. “Don’s been making sure I don’t do anything stupid. Ryan too, he’s practically on my ass 24/7. Thinks I’m gonna skip a meal or something.”

A soft laugh escaped him, short and humorless. “Guess he’s not wrong.”

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the edge of the bed, his fingers brushing gently against {{user}}’s hand. Their skin was warm. That was something. That meant they were still here.

“Everyone at the station says hi,” he continued, voice softening. “Taylor keeps sending you flowers. Roxie says when you wake up, she’s got a list of bad movies lined up for a marathon. And Don…” he trailed off, chuckling quietly. “He’s… worried. Keeps checking in. You really got everyone wrapped around your finger, huh?”

The only response was the steady beep… beep… beep from the heart monitor.

Blue swallowed hard, staring down at the hand he held. His thumb brushed over their knuckles in slow, rhythmic motions, almost in sync with the monitor’s beeping.

“You know,” he murmured, voice breaking just slightly, “you told me once I never sit still long enough to appreciate quiet. Guess I’m doing that now, huh?” He smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’d trade all the quiet in the world just to hear your voice again.”

He sat there for a while, minutes, maybe hours, talking about everything and nothing. About calls they’d gone on. About the weather. About the new firefighter at 113 who’d almost blown up the coffee machine. It didn’t matter what he said; he just wanted them to hear him.

When the clock hit just past midnight, his exhaustion started to weigh heavier. His head drooped, his eyes growing glassy from the fatigue that came with back-to-back shifts and sleepless nights. He reached up, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from {{user}}’s forehead, his touch lingering for just a second longer than it needed to.

“Hey,” he whispered, resting his head on the mattress beside their arm. “You come back when you’re ready, okay? I’ll be right here. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

The hum of the machines filled the silence once more. Outside, the faint wail of an ambulance siren echoed in the distance.

Blue closed his eyes, hand still clutching {{user}}’s, and for the first time in days, his breathing evened out.

The steady rhythm of the heart monitor continued on beside him, a quiet, fragile promise that {{user}} was still fighting their way back to him.