Between the pages

Chapter 24 Fragments of her

~ His Pov ~

The day stretched on endlessly. I wandered aimlessly through the streets, my feet dragging as I walked, pacing like a restless soul trapped in the motions. The benches in the park seemed to mock me with their stillness, their quiet comfort a stark contrast to the chaos inside my head. Every step, every turn, every breath felt like it belonged to someone else.

I kept glancing at my phone, each time expecting something to change, hoping for a text, a call, something to break the silence. But there was nothing. The screen remained blank.

I didn't know why I kept checking it. It was like a reflex, the same way I found myself retracing the path I knew I would walk. My legs, guided by an invisible force, led me back to her.

I ended up in front of her hospital room door. I stood there for a moment, the weight of the space between us settling on my chest like a stone. It was a familiar door, but it felt foreign now, like it was locked with an unspoken barrier that I didn't know how to cross. I knocked three times—softly, but the sound felt louder than I intended. Hesitant, I opened the door.

"Hey Y/N, I came—"

I froze as I stepped into the room. The usual calmness was disrupted by the scattered petals on the floor, their soft colors a stark contrast to the cold white of the hospital walls. And then, as if on cue, Lucine dashed over to me, tugging at the hem of my pants with his little paws, His little paws were frantic.

"H-Hey bud, what are you—"

Before I could kneel down to comfort him, I heard the unmistakable sound of a cough from the bathroom, and my heart jolted in panic. I rushed to the door, my chest tightening as I pushed it open just in time to catch her as she crumpled to the floor.

"Y/N! Are you—?"

Her eyes, usually so warm and full of life, were clouded with frustration and something darker. She looked up at me with wide, hurt eyes, and in an instant, her voice shattered the silence.

"Where were you?! W-where the hell were you?!"

Her words hit harder than anything I expected. It was so unlike her—so unlike the Y/N I knew. The Y/N I knew was always the one who smiled through the pain, who hid her hurt with a laugh or a soft joke. My body went still, the world around me fading as her anger rang in my ears. She had every right to be angry.

This was someone hurting in a way I couldn't hide from. She had every right to be angry.

I couldn't speak. The lump in my throat felt too big, too suffocating to push past. I just stayed there, frozen, watching as she clung to me, the tremble in her hands echoing through my chest like a desperate prayer.

She didn't say anything else for a long moment. She just cried. Soft, broken sobs that hit harder than her outburst. I held her close, my hand gently brushing through her hair, wishing I could take her pain away. We stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, the weight of our silence filling the space between us.

I wanted to say something, to apologize, to explain, but the words wouldn't come.

—-----------—

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I gently helped her back into bed. My hands were shaking as I cleaned the bloodstains on her arms and face, as I wiped away the remnants of the struggle she'd fought alone. I didn't dare look at her—couldn't meet her eyes, not yet.

Once I was done, I took a breath and paused, my eyes drawn to her hands. They were trembling, the fingers unsteady as she gripped the sheets. It was like watching her break apart in slow motion, and I couldn't stop it.

With a sigh, I removed my jacket and draped it over her shoulders, hoping it would bring some comfort just like those times before. The moment was heavy with unsaid words, and I found myself fighting back the guilt that threatened to drown me.

"I'm... really sorry," I whispered, my voice was strained, thick with regret. "I swear I tried to visit, but every time I did... I just—"

"...You were scared of getting attached."

Her words hit me like a jolt of ice water. There was no anger in her voice now, just a quiet understanding. I blinked, trying to process what she said. She wasn't wrong. I'd been avoiding her, pretending it was for her sake when it was really my own fear holding me back.

"Yeah," I said quietly, "Nice guess..."

"I wasn't guessing..." She paused, the vulnerability in her voice thickening as she spoke. "I know getting attached will hurt... not for me... but for you. I know it'll hurt when you get attached, so I can't blame you for distancing yourself." 

Her words were like a punch to the gut. Even now, even after everything, she was still trying to protect me. She was still trying to carry the weight of it all alone, even as it tore her apart. She was still putting me first. Even when she had every right to be angry. Even when she had every reason to push me away.

Her voice wavered, and I felt the weight of her words sink into me, like a slow ache spreading through my chest. The Y/N I knew—strong and resilient—was crumbling in front of me, and I couldn't stop it. She was fighting to stay composed, but I saw the cracks forming, the rawness behind her mask.

"I'm sorry if I let my anger slip out... I didn't mean it. I... I didn't want to hurt you," she whispered, her voice cracking. Her eyes were filled with tears that refused to stop. And that's when I couldn't take it anymore.

The moment I couldn't hold back anymore. I stood up abruptly, my hands trembling as I moved toward her. Before she could say anything else, I cupped the back of her head gently, pulling her towards me. Her soft sobs filled my ears as I held her, pressing her close to me.

I didn't care if she hadn't finished what she wanted to say. I didn't care if she was still angry, or if she still had words left to say. I didn't care if anyone else saw us.

What mattered was that she wasn't alone anymore.

"It won't happen again," I whispered, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. "You're not going to be alone again, Y/N. I promise."

I could feel her hands clutching at my jacket, her body shaking as she let the tears fall. And I held her, not as the person I was a week ago—lost and afraid—but as the person I was now. Someone who wouldn't walk away.

Not again. This time, I won't break my promise.