Now it’s just me and Alex. And everything we haven’t said yet.
He shifts. Just slightly.
My head snaps up at the small movement. A breath that catches differently.
“Alex?”
His brow furrows faintly. Then his eyes open, slow and heavy.
For a second, he just looks at the ceiling, like he’s orienting himself. Then his gaze drifts, searching for me.
There’s a flicker of something in his expression as soon as he finds me. “Hey,” he rasps.
My heart skips a beat. “Hey.”
His eyes move over me quickly, checking and assessing. Even now.
“You’re okay,” he sounds relieved, his voice scratchy but still filled with relief.
I nod. “I’m okay.”
His shoulders ease just a fraction, like something unclenched inside him.
“Good,” he murmurs.
I stand slowly, crossing the space between us. My steps are careful and measured, like I’m approaching something that could break if I move too fast.
He watches me the entire time, doesn’t look away.
I stop beside the bed, close enough to see the faint tension still in his jaw and the exhaustion under his eyes. And the pain he’s trying not to show.
“You got shot,” I assert softly.
His mouth curves just slightly. “Yeah. I noticed.”
I exhale, something like a laugh slipping out despite everything. “You could have died.”
He doesn’t deflect this time, doesn’t joke. “I didn’t,” he avows. Not dismissive, just… certain.
My gaze drops to his shoulder and to the bandaging. Carefully, slowly, I reach out then pause just above it.
“Does it hurt?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he admits.
I nod. Of course it does. My fingers brush lightly against the edge of the dressing. Not pressing or probing, just there.
“I hope it scars,” I entreat quietly.
His brow lifts slightly. “Why?”
I meet his eyes. “So, you remember.”
After a long moment, his expression shifts, something deeper settling in.
“I don’t think I’m in danger of forgetting,” he says.
“Good.” He shifts a little in the bed again. “Liv?”
