Don't Put Your Life at Risk for Me

Chapter 3

Javier never asked to fall in love.

It made him warm and fuzzy, tingling his spine with voluminous happiness. It also made his chest hollow and lungs constrict with the need to breathe. His love was pure and bliss, but it was also fire that burned thoroughly throughout his entire body.

Loving someone you could never have was the worse pain imaginable by any person's standards. One second you're smiling and feeling millions of flowers blooming all inside your body, and the next you're deep in a pit of scorching pain with the nightmare of a face you'll never be able to call your own. Love was a torture and a sacrifice.

No one was safe from the reaches of love.

Love is Steve Murphy, and Javier Peña just couldn't stop falling.

Javier must be in Heaven. It has to be.

The first thing he notices is how bright it is. He can't open his eyes without the burning vision of white. The second thing he notices is how lethargic and heavy his body feels. He tries to move his arms and sit upright, but it's like his entire body is being weighed down. The third thing he notices is the warmth encompassing his body. It seeps into his bones, calming every nerve, and delights him in an overwhelming serenity. The last thing he notices is the smell of bergamot and vanilla. It's right under his nose, pleasant and persistent, and gives him the feeling of just coming home to run into Steve's arms.

Javier blinks a few times before he's accustomed to the brightness of wherever he is and focuses on his surroundings. The entirety of the room is white - the walls, the ceiling, the chair in the corner, even the door - and be realizes he's laying on a small and uncomfortable bed. He tries twisting his body but immediately stops when a sharp pain shoots through his stomach.

"Fuck," he chokes out. His voice is hoarse, making him realize just how damn thirsty he is. Sudden visions of teary blue eyes and the faint taste of copper in his mouth makes Javier remember what the fuck is going on.

He was shot.

This isn't Heaven. It's the fucking hospital.

A small weak smile creeps its way over Javier's face. He's not dead, and he kept Steve safe. That's all he ever wanted.

Something twitching against his hand steals Javier's attention from the ceiling. He lifts his head from the bed to look down the length of his body and lets out a soft whimper. Steve is there, sitting on a chair pulled up to the very edge of bed. His head is laying over Javier's collarbone, and one of his arms is thrown across his chest. He feels his fingers clutching at his side, pulling him closer, and feels his breath hitch when he realizes one of his hands is in Steve's. He tilts his head so his cheek is pressing against the soft golden strands of his hair and shivers at the tickle of Steve's nose and mustache against his neck.

A sudden swell in his chest causes a shaky gasp to escape Javier's mouth, and he's not surprised at the hot tears spilling from his eyes only moments later. He keeps them quiet to not wake Steve, but feels his body shaking with the terror of never seeing his partner's face again. He doesn't think as he presses a kiss to the top of Steve's head and wipes the tears from his face. His eyes start to droop as a wave of exhaustion washes over him (probably from the pain medication) but tries focusing when someone walks into the room.

"Oh, you're awake." Her voice is soft, and Javier can vaguely make out that she's a nurse. "That's some worried friend you got there," she says motioning at Steve. Javier put his cheek back against his head as she continues. "He hasn't left the room since you got here."

Javier frowns and lightly squeezes the hand threaded in his. "How long was I out?" His voice is still scratchy, but he doesn't want to jostle Steve by clearing his throat.