The word hangs between us. Love. Neither of us has ever dared say it aloud for them. Now that it’s out, the truth reshapes the air.
Theo presses a hand to Liam’s hair, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. There’s no shame in it. No apology. Just devotion.
“Thirty minutes,” he says finally. “Then I’m kicking you out so you can get some rest.” He slowly disentangles himself from Liam’s arms, guiding Liam’s head down onto the pillow with a tenderness that stings my eyes. His movements are careful, practiced, afraid of disturbing even a dream.
Liam groans as Theo stands, a muddled, sleepy sound. I rise to inspect the IV bag, watching the clear liquid drip through the line into Liam’s bruised arm.
“What did they give him?” I ask.
“Morphine. He’s… a bit out of it.” Theo chuckles softly, shaking his head. “So prepare yourself for whatever nonsense he says. Earlier he was convinced he had twelve toes.”
He presses a kiss to Liam’s temple, quick but aching, and then squeezes my arm before heading toward the door. His footsteps fade into the corridor, leaving the room wrapped in a hush that sits soft on my skin.
I lower myself beside Liam again and pull the black notebook from beneath my shirt. The sketches spill across the pages, each one more intimate than the last. Full scenes, half-finished expressions, fleeting glances captured with impossible precision. It feels like looking into someone else’s memories, memories of us, seen through eyes that study more than they speak.
“Whatcha got there?” Liam slurs, his voice rough and fogged by pain and medication.
The sound of him conscious again punches the breath out of me. I move toward him immediately, pressing myself intohis side as gently as I can. My arms wrap around him, careful to avoid the worst of his injuries.
“Hey, kiddo,” he murmurs, patting my hair as if he’s the one who needs to comfort me. He pulls himself upright, scooting over to give me space, and I climb onto the edge of the bed. Shoulder to shoulder, we open the notebook between us.
“How do you feel?” I ask, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.
“Like I died,” he mutters, squinting as though his eyelids weigh more than he can lift.
He taps the cover with a clumsy finger. “What’s this?”
“I found it under Sebastian’s bed,” I say, opening the front page again. “He’s been sketching us. All of us. I had no idea.”
Liam’s eyes widen, then soften, then narrow in sudden amusement. “You never knew he saw us like this,” he murmurs. “So… angelic.”
He trails his fingers over a sketch of my face, then drags them down to the bottom of the page. His pupils dilate in surprise, and suddenly he lets out a laugh, a brief, airy sound nothing like the exhausted groans from earlier.
“What?” I ask, brows furrowing.
“Harper… Sebastian didn’t draw these.”
“Yes, he did,” I insist. “I pulled it out from under his-”
“He doesn’t know how to sign his name like this,” Liam interrupts, tapping the signature in the corner. “I helped him with his writing last semester. He can barely manage cursive.”
He flips to the back cover, quicker than his coordination should allow, stopping on the embossed initials.
A.P.
I blink. “A.P…?”
“Ares Parker,” Liam sings, collapsingback into the pillows with a boyish grin that has no business being this bright after dying earlier today.
The notebook slips from his hands and falls open on the floor.
I scramble off the bed, my pulse fumbling through my veins as I kneel beside it. The page it landed on is one I hadn’t seen yet.
A sketch of me. A single flower tucked behind my ear. My smile soft, unguarded. Eyes bright, looking directly at someone. Looking at him.
And then the inscription.
It never came as a surprise your favorite color was green. It never fails to brighten the violet in your eyes.
