𝐄𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 | g. w

65. i can live without you

Now

Mia

"Rune? Can you hear me?"

...

"You need to wake up, okay?"

...

"Do it for me, okay? Because I don't know what I'd do without you... And with everything that's happened, I just don't think I can go on living if you left."

...

"Rune, just remember I love you. If nothing else, then hold on to that, because it is the only thing I'm certain of. I love you so much. Please..."

...

"Rune, love. Can you open those beautiful eyes for me? Please, love. I'd give anything, I'd gladly serve my own heart and soul to the devil on a silver platter if it meant that you would open your eyes and come back to me. So please, I'm begging you. Just give it one more go. Just try one more time."

...

I can feel the weight of a warm and soft hand holding mine. Slowly, sounds start to permeate the fog in my mind. There's a voice, distant and slightly distorted, as if traveling across a vast distance to reach me.

The voice sounds sad but the familiarity of it beckons me. I want to hear it always. Want it to fill the silence in my mind that has me feeling lonely in a way I've never known before.

It's soothing, comforting; like a melody I've known all my life. It has been has whispered in my ear in better times, laughed with me on sunny days, and consoled me through storms. A voice I've missed more than I've allowed myself to acknowledge.

It's not until I dare pry my eyelids open and my vision clears completely, that I realise to whom the voice belongs. Why the melody seemed so familiar I could probably recall it even in death.

"Mia? Love? Can you hear me?"

My eyes roam, finally settling on a face that strikes a chord so deep within me it's as if a missing piece of my soul clicks back into place.

George.

His features are etched with worry, his eyes brimming with unshed tears that speak of nights spent in silent vigil by my side. Seeing him like this—so vulnerable, so human—my heart clenches, and an overwhelming sense of love floods through me.

"Yes. I'm here, love. You're okay, you're safe now, I promise. Nothings ever going to hurt you again", he murmurs, his voice breaking as if each word is a struggle against the dam of his emotions. His declaration pulls a smile out of me, wide and uninhibited, and I realise I've echoed his name out loud. The reality of my situation—how close I came to never seeing him again—doesn't matter. Not now. Not when he's here with me. I couldn't care less about the fact that I don't even know how long I've been asleep or how bad of a condition I must have been in for him to be crying.

There are tears on his face now. I'm not yet sure if they are tears of happiness, exhaustion, relief or a combination of the three, and I can't really bring myself to care about the reason now. Because he's here. He's here and I'm awake and it's beautiful.

"I love you", I let the words escape me before I even have a chance to think about it. All I can really seem to care about in this moment is the fact that he's looking at me with those eyes and he's smiling, and I'm crying now, and I love him. The past doesn't matter that, nor does the time we spent apart, because we have this, right now. "I love you so much."

And then, laughter bubbles up between us. We laugh because it's all we can do, because it's too much to process all at once, because we're together and that's enough to make joy overflow where there was once only pain.

"I love you", the sentiment is returned and warmth fills my insides.

My laughter has faded into a contented sigh, and I look at him with all the seriousness I can muster. "I know now that I can live without you, George." His eyes search mine, clouded with confusion, perhaps fear, at my words. But before he can voice the panic surely rising in his throat, I continue, "Yes, I know I can live without you, because I already have. But now that I know what that's like, I find that I don't want to."

George's gaze softens, understanding the depth and vulnerability in my confession. The room is quiet, filled with a charged energy as he leans forward. Our breaths mingle in the small space between us, and then his lips meet mine in a tender, healing kiss. It's not just a kiss; it's an affirmation, a reconnection that rekindles the deep bond we've always shared. His lips move against mine with a gentleness that reassures and comforts, sending waves of relief through my tense body.

As we part, the hospital room door creaks open, and another familiar face peers in. Fred stands hesitantly at the threshold, his eyes darting between George and me, a tentative smile breaking across his face when he sees me awake and responsive.

"Mia, you're awake!" Fred's voice cracks slightly, the usually composed figure overwhelmed by the moment. He approaches quickly but stops just short of the bed, giving me space. His eyes scan my face, a silent way of confirming I am truly okay.

Relief floods his features as I offer him a weak but genuine smile. He moves swiftly to my side, enveloping me in a careful hug, mindful of my condition but unable to contain his relief.

"I am, Fred. And feeling better seeing you here," I say, my voice steadier than I expect. He exhales a laugh mixed with a sigh, the tension visibly leaving his shoulders as he reaches for my hand and squeezes it gently.

"I was so worried," he murmurs, his voice muffled as he presses his cheek against my shoulder. "We both were."

I reach up, patting his back with my free hand, comforted by his presence. "I'm okay, Fred. Really, I am now," I reassure him, and I feel him exhale heavily, his tension unwinding.

"You gave us quite a scare," Fred says with a weak chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. His eyes seem to never quite leave my face, as if confirming over and over that I'm truly alright.

"I guess I did," I reply, my eyes switching back and forth between the two.

His eyes roam over to George and then back to me, a knowing smile forming on his lips. "So, this one barely left your side. Took persuasion just to get him to eat something. " His tone is teasing, but his appreciation genuine.

George chuckles, a blush creeping up his neck, visible even to me. "I wasn't going to be anywhere else," he replies, giving my hand a gentle squeeze, affirming his unwavering presence beside me.

Fred pulls up a chair with a scrape against the linoleum floor and sits, and soon conversation shifts as if nothing has happened, the mood lifting as Fred recounts tales of the neighborhood and updates from friends, bridging the gap my absence had created.

But even as we laugh and catch up, I feel anchored by George's presence, his hand holding mine, a reminder of the choice I've made never to face the world without him by my side ever again.