[BXBXB/POLYAMOROUS]
Oliver knight loves reading fiction stories no matter how cliché they are. Although he never understood why the main character never chose both of the romantic choices; leaving one of them with a broken heart.
So, when he has a...
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Ethan sat beside Blaze in the starkly lit waiting room, the scent of antiseptic and quiet murmurs settling heavily around them. The world outside seemed distant, out of reach, reduced to the anxious thrum of his pulse and the sound of Blaze's uneven breathing beside him. Every moment felt stretched, painfully slow, and each tick of the clock was a reminder that they didn't know how Elijah was, not really, not until the doctor said so.
Blaze hadn't said much since they arrived. He just stared down at his hands, wringing them in his lap, his eyes glassy and haunted. Ethan felt a pang of helplessness watching him; he wanted to reach out, to say something, but he knew there was nothing that could make this easier. They'd both seen Elijah fall. They'd both felt his pulse, shallow and fragile. It was a miracle he was even here.
Finally, the doctor appeared, clipboard in hand, a calm expression softening his features. Ethan straightened, his body taut, his heart hammering in his chest. Blaze tensed beside him, his gaze snapping to the doctor with a hope so fragile Ethan could practically feel it.
"Is he..." Blaze's voice was barely more than a whisper, raw and unsteady. "Is he going to be okay?"
The doctor offered a reassuring nod, though his face held the professional neutrality Ethan had come to recognize in doctors who had both good and bad news. "Elijah's condition is stable. He's suffered a few fractures and a mild concussion, but his vital signs are good. He's... lucky." The doctor hesitated, his eyes shifting between the two of them. "He's still not awake yet, but he should be soon."
Relief flooded Ethan, strong and overwhelming. His shoulders slumped as he let out a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding. Blaze's hand gripped his own, their fingers entwining as if grounding each other through the waves of emotion.
"Can we see him?" Blaze asked, his voice barely holding steady.
The doctor nodded. "Yes, of course. He's in a private room, resting. Just be gentle with him; he'll likely be disoriented when he wakes."
They followed the doctor down the corridor, each step bringing them closer to Elijah. Ethan's mind swirled with a jumble of relief, fear, and a desperate need to see Elijah, to see him safe with his own eyes. The doors to Elijah's room opened, and there he was, lying pale against the hospital sheets, his white hair a stark contrast against the white pillow. Wires and tubes connected to him hummed with soft, reassuring rhythms, proof that he was alive.
Ethan moved closer, his breath catching at the sight of him. Elijah looked so still, his face peaceful but unnaturally pale, as though he was caught somewhere between sleep and waking. Blaze sat down carefully at his bedside, reaching for Elijah's hand, squeezing it gently as if urging him back to consciousness.
"We're here, Eli," Blaze whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "We're right here. Come back to us."
Ethan placed a comforting hand on Blaze's shoulder, his own voice barely above a murmur. "He's going to be alright," he said, more to convince himself than anything. The relief was still sinking in, fragile and tentative, but for now, for this moment, seeing Elijah safe was enough.
