ʟɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴘᴇᴇᴅ | 𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣 𝙟𝙖𝙚𝙜𝙚𝙧

34. 𝘿𝙄𝙀 𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝘿𝘼𝙐𝙂𝙃𝙏𝙀𝙍

34, 𝘿𝙄𝙀 𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝘿𝘼𝙐𝙂𝙃𝙏𝙀𝙍

.⋆𐙚 🍒

I'D ALWAYS THOUGHT THE WORST PART OF ANYTHING BREAKING WAS THE MOMENT IT HAPPENED.

That split-second between before and after. The crash .The scream. A sound that rewires your brain. 

But it's not. 

It's the quiet that comes next. 

The house that stretch out like punishment. The way the world keeps going, unbothered. Someone's walking their dog. Someone's laughing while on a phone call. The light turns green, then red, then green again. 

Everything still works. Everything still moves. 

Everything except you. 

Waiting for the panic to fade, for the tightness in my chest to loosen, for my body to stop bracing as if it's waiting for it to happen all over again. But it doesn't. It settles in. The fear. The guilt, the noise that lives beneath my skin. Eventually it starts to feel normal, and that's the scariest part—how easy it is to live inside the aftermath once you stop fighting it. 

|| 𝙉𝙊𝙒 𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙄𝙉𝙂... 𝘽𝙀𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙀 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙈 𝙅𝙀𝙏𝙎, 𝘾𝙐𝙍𝙍𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝙅𝙊𝙔𝙎 ||

The light in the hospital hallway is too bright. Twoo white and clean. That buzzing sound I've always hated is so loud with how quiet it is. 

Eren's hand is in mine. Warm, calloused, steady. His thumb traces circles over the ridge of my knuckles, slow and absent like he's counting down the seconds until I stop shaking. He hasn't said much since we parked. Neither have I. There's nothing to say. It's eight p.m.—visitor hours are long over—but the nurse at the front desk had heard who we were looking for and let us through without a word.

The echo of our footsteps follows us down the corridor. Somewhere, a monitor beeps; somewhere else, someone coughs. The floor tiles are a dull grey, polished enough to reflect the overhead fluorescents but still covered in faint scuff marks from years of stretchers and bad news.

The smell drags me back before I can stop it.
Antiseptic. Bleach. Latex. That faint metallic trace of blood trying to be cleaned away.

I spent so many nights in places like this—waiting for my mother to finish her shift, sitting in a chair too big for me, feet dangling, pretending I didn't feel a twist of jealousy whenever I saw her smiling at another kid, all the while ignoring me..

I hate hospitals. I hate the sound of shoes squeaking down waxed floors, the smell of over-sterilized air, the way everyone whispers like grief might hear them if they talk too loud.

By the time we reach Hitch's room, my stomach is turning. I swallow hard, trying to keep my breathing even. Eren's hand tightens around mine. The name on the door looks wrong in this kind of light—too small, too still.We stop in front of the door. Hitch's name is printed neatly on a small white label. 

He glances at me, voice low. "Do you want me to come in with you?"

I shake my head. "No. I'll be okay." It isn't quite a lie, but it's far from the truth. 

He studies my face for a long second, like he doesn't believe me but won't push. Then he leans forward and presses a soft kiss to my temple, his breath warm against my skin. "I'm here for you," he murmurs. "Always."