Will squeezes my shoulder before following them out. The door clicks shut, and the room feels suddenly too quiet—just the beeping monitor, her breathing, and the weight of everything we haven’t said yet.
Eve’s still holding my hand, her knuckles white, her eyes fixed on mine like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she blinks. Then, slowly, she lets go only to step closer.
Her hands come up to my face, tentative at first, as if she needs to make sure I’m real. Her palms are cool against my skin, her touch trembling.
When our eyes meet, hers are shining.
“I love you,” she whispers.
The words hit harder than anything else has… not because they’re unexpected, but because they’re the first thing that makes complete sense.
She takes a shaky breath. “I’ve spent nearly every hour since you got here sitting right in this chair, waiting for you to wake up. I told myself that if you did, I’d say it. So I’m saying it.”
Her voice cracks on the last word.
For a moment, I can’t speak. My throat’s raw, my head’s still foggy, but I lift my hand—slow, careful—and cover hers where it rests against my cheek.
I try to smile, but it comes out small. “You just made waking up worth it.”
A week later, I’m home.
It doesn’t feel quite real yet. The world still moves a fraction faster than I do, and even the short drive from the hospital has left me tired in a way that doesn’t make sense.
Will and Eve guide me carefully into the flat, one on each side like they’re afraid I might vanish if they let go. They get me to the sofa. Eve fusses with the cushions until she’s satisfied I’m comfortable, then tucks a blanket overmy legs. I want to tell her I don’t need it, but I like the way her hands linger just a second longer than necessary.
Will stands back, surveying the situation like a man finishing a job. “Right,” he says, “that’s you settled.” He glances at Eve. “You’re sure you don’t need another pair of hands? I can stay the night, help out.”
Eve shakes her head, calm but firm. “We’ll be fine.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes,” she says. “Go home, Will. You’ve done enough.”
He looks between us, then sighs. “All right. But if he gives you trouble, just say the word. He’s meant to be resting, not reorganising the furniture.”
That earns the faintest smile from her and a quiet snort from me.
“Go on,” I rasp. “Before you start fluffing the cushions too.”
“Behave, both of you,” he grins and heads for the door.
When it shuts behind him, I lean back against the cushions, the effort of the day catching up with me. “Sorry,” I say quietly.
Eve glances over. “For what?”
“For making you come all the way to London,” I say. “For scaring you like that.”
Her expression softens, the corners of her mouth lifting just slightly. “I think I’d go anywhere for you,” she says simply.
For a second, I can’t speak. The air feels thick with all the things I want to say and can’t find the strength for.
Before I can try, she clears her throat and reaches for her bag. “Actually,” she says, a little shyly, “I brought you something.”
She hands me a small parcel, wrapped neatly in brown paper and tied with string. I look at it, then at her. “You didn’t have to—”
“Just open it,” she says, trying not to smile.
I do, unravelling the string slowly. Inside, cushioned in tissue paper, is a soft toy—small, pink, ridiculous. A stuffed pig.
