Beep. Beep. Beep.
The beeping was a testament to his survival. But it wasn't his body lying in the bed he was standing next to. He stared down at the person, his other.
"Stay with me," he whispered, reaching for England's hand. England grasped it again, vowing never to let go.
"Forever, Oliver."
He took the red, scratched hand in his smooth, soft hand. How was it he was not hurt? How was it, he was standing there, beside Oliver's bed, looking down at him?
"Look, Arthur..."
He looked.
"Look..."
He saw a cold, near lifeless body lying next to Oliver. He didn't recognise it.
"Look at it..."
He walked forward, coming closer to the body.
Going closer to his own body.
The body he was no longer a part of.