The hospital room was quiet except for the faint hum of machines and the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. You sat in the chair beside the bed, your fingers curled loosely around Nicholas' hand, tracing small circles along his knuckles. His skin was cold despite the extra blankets piled over him, but his grip, though weak, was steady.
"Did I ever tell you about the first time I saw you?" His voice broke through the stillness, hoarse but tender.
You blinked back the tears that had been building since you walked into the room hours earlier. "No," you whispered, not trusting yourself to say more.
He gave you a small smile, his lips barely curving upward. "It was at that coffee shop near the studio. You were sitting by the window, wearing that chunky grey sweater. It was, like, way too hot for a sweater that day, but you didn't seem to care."
A faint laugh escaped you, though it caught in your throat. "It was my favorite sweater. Still is, actually."
"I know," he said softly. "You wear it all the time."
The conversation lulled, and you looked at him—really looked. His usually vibrant eyes, the ones that always seemed to hold a spark of mischief or wonder, now seemed distant, as though he was looking past you, beyond the room. His face, once so full of life, looked fragile in the harsh fluorescent light.
"You're thinking too hard," he said suddenly, his tone almost playful.
"I'm just—" You hesitated, searching for the right words. "I'm just trying to memorize this moment. You. Us."
His hand squeezed yours gently, grounding you. "You don't have to. I'm not going anywhere—not really."
You swallowed the lump in your throat, fighting back the wave of emotion threatening to pull you under. "Don't say that. Please."
"It's true, though," he replied, his gaze steady on yours. "Even after I'm gone, I'll still be here. In the places we loved. In the things that remind you of me. In your heart."
The tears you'd been holding back finally spilled over, streaming silently down your cheeks. You wiped them away hastily, but he caught your wrist, stopping you.
"Don't hide it," he said gently. "You always try to be so strong, but it's okay to feel. It's okay to cry."
Your chest ached at his words, at the thought of a world without him in it. "I don't know how to do this without you," you admitted, your voice barely audible.
He smiled again, that same soft, knowing smile. "You'll figure it out. You're stronger than you think. And besides, you've got so much to look forward to. So much to live for."
You shook your head, the tears falling freely now. "I don't want to look forward if it means leaving you behind."
"You're not leaving me behind," he said firmly. "You're carrying me with you. Every step of the way."
His words settled over you like a blanket—warm, comforting, and heavy all at once. You knew he was right, but it didn't make the pain any easier to bear.
The hours passed in a haze of quiet conversations and long silences. He told you stories you'd heard a hundred times before, as if he wanted to make sure you remembered them. You shared your favorite memories of him, your voice trembling but full of love.
As night fell, the room seemed to grow colder, the shadows stretching longer. His breaths came slower now, each one a little shallower than the last. You clung to his hand, your heart breaking with every passing moment.
"I need you to promise me something," he said suddenly, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"Anything," you said immediately.
"Promise me you won't let this stop you from living," he said, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that took your breath away. "Promise me you'll keep chasing your dreams, loving with your whole heart, and finding joy in the little things—even when it's hard."
"I promise," you said, your voice shaking. "I promise I'll try."
"That's all I can ask," he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
The silence that followed felt heavier than before, filled with the weight of everything left unsaid. You wanted to tell him a million things—that you loved him more than words could express, that you weren't ready to let him go, that the world would never be the same without him.
But in the end, all you could manage was, "I love you."
"I love you too," he murmured, his voice so soft you almost didn't hear it. "Always."
The beeping of the heart monitor slowed, the spaces between each beat growing longer and longer. You held his hand tightly, your tears falling onto the bed sheets as you whispered his name over and over again, as if the sound of it could keep him here.
And then, the beeping stopped.
The room fell silent, the kind of silence that felt deafening in its finality.
You stayed there for a long time, your hand still clutching his, your heart breaking and healing all at once. You thought about everything he'd said, about his promise to always be with you, and you clung to it like a lifeline.
Eventually, you stood and walked to the window, looking out at the city lights twinkling in the distance. The world outside carried on, oblivious to the loss you'd just endured. But as you stood there, you felt a strange sense of peace—a quiet assurance that he was still with you, just as he'd promised.
And as you looked up at the night sky, a single firework lit up the darkness, its vibrant colors fading into the night.
It reminded you of him—brilliant, fleeting, unforgettable.
And in that moment, you knew you'd carry him with you, always.
