You had died.

Or at least, that's what Tim had though as he read the note that you had left for him after you died. The doctor had came out of your hospital room, and handed him the note you had written after you told him to leave, saying it would be best if he got some air. That you would be fine.

You weren't.

He had attended your funeral, he had read the note, and cried over your coffin. Tim had accepted condolences from many people who came around, feeling pity for him. He had cried every night, he had lost so much sleep, because his lover had died, and you're telling him you didn't?

You had bled out, he had carried you to the hospital. He had seen your glassy eyes, he had seen the doctors clean your wound. How did you not die?

He had sat by your bed as you were in a medicated coma, he had watched as you drifted in and out of consciousness, he had read to you, he had talked about meaningless things while he knew you couldn't listen.

And the whole time, hoping you would live.

You didn't.

Or so he thought.

Tim was never really sentimental, but seeing your dead body, your eyes not open, looking at him, that small smile that was always on your face when you were by him, the small smile only he could see, gone? It broke him.

Tim had never experienced something that had ever hurt him as bad as this did. He had cried his last tear, he swore he would join you in the afterlife, but he didn't. And thank god he didn't.

He looks from the sheet of paper that was handed out at your burial, the font reading 'In loving memory of {{user}}' and then to you, {{user}}, whom is infront of him, staring into his eyes, very much alive.

"How- What?"

He manages to choke out, his mind running a million miles a minute as he stares at you, eyes wide. This is a dream. He can't actually have you back. But he does.

You're back.

He manages to hide a sob, dropping the paper and wrapping you in his embrace, his arms around your shoulders as he drags your body towards his. He's elated to have you back again, lovers reunited.