Even more richpez one shots

Every second counts

Nearly three days of sitting by his bedside not knowing if he was going to wake up. The sounds of his heartbeat through the EKG are all she can hear but she keeps reminding herself the beeps mean he's still in there and that the sound is better than not hearing its rhythm. His family had been there with her earlier in the day but they already left for the night leaving her alone with him once again.

She looks down at their connected hands on the hospital bed; hers with a slightly ruined manicure from her horrible nail-biting habit but flashing the sparkly new engagement ring, while his white from lack of use, with IVs and other needles coming out from the backside. She was normally a very squeamish person but if these needles stood between death and getting the love of her life back she would happily stare at a thousand.

She had seen him die on stage a dozen times and it wasn't her favorite but she knew he would always pop back up and when the shows were over they would go home and he would hold her, kiss her on the forehead, and tell her that he loves her. What she would give to hear him say I love you or hell even just a random string of words as long as she could hear his voice again. She also wanted desperately to slither in and curl up on his chest but all the tubes were in the way. She wanted so many things right now but mostly she just wanted him back.

She spent these past three days working through all stages of grief and she was at a point of overwhelm and exhaustion leaving her delirious and she would forget where she was until she looks down at her sleeping fiancé. He looks so innocent with his face so still. His eyelids peacefully closed, eyelashes long, lips slightly parted and dry from how still they have been, and a five o'clock shadow coming in, something she knew if he were awake he would be furious with.

She had so many things she wanted to say and feelings she wanted to share but she did know how, he was always the romantic one. She loved him and he knew that but she was never going to serenade him or buy him flowers, she could barely write a sentimental birthday post on Instagram. She remembers that it's part of what made him so amazing in the first place. She never had to say anything, he could still read her mind and they went from there.

She thought, for not the first time that day, if only she had kissed him one more time it would have slowed him down just enough that he wasn't near the traffic light and that other car would have just driven through the intersection. Maybe if she hadn't finished all the eggs in the first place or if she hadn't insisted he go out and buy more they'd be curled up on the couch watching something bad on Netflix, he'd lean over and kiss her on the- No. He wouldn't want her wallow. He would say "Baby, please stop worrying. I would do anything for you and I'm a big boy who decided to go on my own."

Still, she couldn't help herself leaning over and running her fingers through his hair again for what had to have been the 13th time this hour. Speaking of time, she glances down to her phone flooded with notification but she is far too drained to check them when she notices the time; 20 minutes short of three days since the initial call.

Whispering his name, his hair curling around her fingers, her throat feels dry. Words feel foreign coming from her lips realizing it had been a few hours since she has spoken because she felt foolish talking at his sleeping form. She lets out a sigh and leans back in her seat. She realizes tears are falling from her eyes, something she had not truly allowed to happen yet. She doesn't make any move to wipe them rather basks in how silent the room, and her world, seems without him. She adjusts her body to fall asleep in the chair beside him- her new home away from home.

Although, as she settles in, she reminds herself of those dumb signs white mothers have in their kitchens that say "home is where the heart is" and chuckles because while cliche and basic the signs are true and she was home here, at his side with their fingers intertwined.

She catches wind of herself in the mirror through the half cracked-open bathroom door, realizing she's still crying, the tears falling rapidly leaving lines that shine under the fluorescents of the small hospital room. She hasn't moved to clean herself up much since she got to his side nearly half a week ago, leaving her to look fairly ravaged to society.

She looks down at him again to the feeling of him adjusting his hand ever so slightly and she fantasizes it is him trying to squeeze and comfort her. She calmly and swiftly moves to the call button needing to alert a nurse of progress and then leans her head back closing her eyes before the nightshift nurse enters. She knows he isn't gonna leave the hospital or even going to open his eyes today but he is somewhere in there, he is going to get better, and he loves her. And that's enough for now.