Doom. Dread.
I can't place what I'm feeling as I slowly lower myself onto his bed, both my hands clasping his tightly.
"What happened isn't important" —I open my mouth to argue, but he shakes his head— "it's not. Not in the grand scheme of things … I …" He sighs and wipes at his eyes with his free hand before tugging at the front of his hair.
I wait him out, allowing him the time and space to say and feel what he needs to.
My heart thuds and my pulse hammers as I watch him, my legs dangling off the bed, swinging nervously.
"I realised something in that alleyway." He laughs bitterly at himself, scoffing. "Because that's what happens when you're dying, right?" I close my eyes, the reminder of how close I was to losing him hurts too much to truly comprehend. "Not even impending death could take my mind off you … and I realised, lying on my back in that fucking alleyway, in the dark, watching the rain fall, bleeding out …" He reaches up, wiping the tears from my cheek, his thumb soft and warm. "That the worst thing about dying?" My eyes snap to meet his, his own tears falling steadily, his breathing becoming more ragged, his inhales deep, his exhales stuttering, his words strained and choked. "Is that I'd die, alone, having never told you that I love you." His voice cracks, mine does too.
I choke, my tears and sobs intensifying, the dam breaking, the emotion overwhelming. The dam bursting. Everything falling down upon us; weeks and weeks of emotion washing over us, his sobbed words echoing in the room.
He winces, grabbing his side with his hand and raising himself, pulling me to him.
I can't register anything but the feel of his body, his breath against my neck, vaguely aware that he's crying too, his tears soaking my shoulder, our muffled sobs sounding thick in the air. Our arms wrapped around each other, holding on with all the strength we possess.
—
A/N
Thanks for reading!
