"You are worth something." She whispered between sobs. "You're worth everything."
"Then stop apologizing for loving me." I held her gaze. "Because that's what you're really sorry for, isn't it? For caring enough to be here. For getting close enough to get hurt."
She was silent for a long moment. Then, very quietly: "I'm terrified of losing you."
"I know. I'm terrified of hurting you." I smiled, and it hurt, but I smiled anyway. "Seems like we're both terrible at this."
"The worst," she agreed, but she was smiling now, too.
"Charlotte." I waited until her eyes met mine again. "I spent five years pushing people away because I was afraid of exactly this. Afraid of being a burden. Afraid of dragging someone into my mess." I took a breath. "But lying in this bed, the only thing I can think about is how much I want to get out of it so I can hold you properly. So I can kiss you without these tubes in the way. So I can make you breakfast and probably burn it and have you laugh at me anyway."
"You always burn the toast," she murmured.
"I do. It's consistent." I squeezed her hand. "Stay with me. Not because you feel guilty or obligated. Stay because you want to. Because this…" I gestured weakly at the space between us. "...is worth fighting for. Even when it's hard. Even when I'm a disaster in a hospital gown."
She was quiet for so long, I started to worry. Then she leaned down and pressed her lips to my forehead, soft, gentle, lingering. When she pulled back, her eyes were bright but steady.
"I'm not going anywhere," she said. "Not now. Not ever. You're stuck with me, Miles."
"That sounds like a threat."
"It's a promise." She smiled, and even through the exhaustion, it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. "Now shut up and rest. Doctor's orders."
"You're not a doctor."
"I'm a nurse. Close enough." She settled into the chair beside my bed, her hand still wrapped around mine. "Sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."
I wanted to argue. I wanted to keep looking at her, keep talking to her, keep convincing myself this was real. But my eyelids were heavy, and the pain was seeping back in, and her hand in mine felt like an anchor holding me to everything good in the world.
"Charlotte?"
"Hmm?"
"I love you." The words came out slurred with exhaustion. "In case that wasn't clear."
Her laugh was soft, warm, exactly what I needed to hear. "I love you too."
I smiled and let my eyes close. The monitors beeped their steady rhythm. Her thumb traced circles on my palm. And for the first time since I'd woken up in this hospital, the fear felt smaller than the hope.
I was almost asleep when I heard her voice, low and wondering, like she was talking to herself.
"The doctor said something strange when I came in. He said your memories seemed intact, but..." She paused. "Miles, what year did you say it was?"
I was too tired to open my eyes. "2024. Why?"
The silence that followed was heavy. Something was wrong.
"Miles." Her voice was careful now. Too careful. "It's 2026."
It didn't make sense. Couldn't make sense. I forced my eyes open, found her face, and saw the fear dawning there.
"What?"
"You've lost two years." Her hand tightened on mine. "Miles, you've lost two years of memories. Are you sure..." She swallowed hard. "Are you sure you’re okay?"
The fog in my brain turned to ice.
"You do remember, right?" Her voice was barely a whisper. "The reunion. The coffee dates. The cooking. You spoke about us just now."
