The Way You've Changed Everything (A "Five Feet Apart" scene comparison)

The Way You've Changed Everything

Author's Note

It should definitely be restated, that this is a fic directly inspired and written to be applied to a scene in "Five Feet Apart." Several lines of dialogue, and the concept as a whole has been taken from said moment for the purposes of exploring its outcome as it's presented between Charles and Samara in the Let's Play universe. Let it be known, that plagiarism is not my intention, and that the overwhelming majority of credit for this fic traces back to the film "Five Feet Apart." Disclaimers out of the way, I hope you all enjoy! Thank you so much for reading!
-Alby

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An anomaly, a thing borne of a numbing twist in their story. That was today. It was a shift. A distinction. Something that couldn’t shape itself into the shrill, unforgiving caress of frigid air that settles on the floor of every hospital. Couldn’t have been framed upon the moment as it was, consisting of a panicked Samuel, a despondent son. A horrified family, both Ruth and Samantha sunken beneath an almost unreadable plight of foreboding, broodful thoughts. Charles’ goosebumps. A pit, now recessed into the median of his core. His broken heart. It was all a mere list of products to be gleaned from every event and realization of the subsequent afternoon.

Samara almost died today.

Charles shuddered per request of the macabre reminder, vision observing the swarm of his Bunty's loved ones before promptly falling to the ground, once more. Eyes glaring with a certain guilt, that even he couldn't explain. Another maddening incongruity. Please, please make it through this, Samara...

“Samuel Young?” 

With movements comparable to that of a machine’s, they operated as a whole. The overwhelmingly large party, throwing their heads up and around in sync, the waiting room’s darkened atmosphere supporting a cacophony of gasps. A collection of hope-ridden flickers. Some stood, others gripped whatever portion of their chair lay closest to their palms.
The young nurse watched a large array of people react as she addressed her patient’s father, some familiar faces stark against that of a few she’s never seen. Charles’ included. She approached Samuel without an ounce of trepidation, a warm reassurance in her gaze that’s become a rarity for her on nights such as these, treating people in as fragile a condition as Samara’s.

“We expect your daughter to make a full recovery, Mr. Young.”

Collectively, sighs laced themselves together between parties, those of joviality, relief. Yet, if the instance were to be cited by the carefullest of subdued, moderate details, then it’s fact that the purest of meanings behind that simple sentence, was its most unassailable within Charles. Charles, as his surprised, swollen heart battled the urge to unabashedly weep with gratitude where he stood. The side of one, trembling fist pressing into his lips on a firm exhale, eyes squeezing shut. Knees, prepared to buckle in support a full fledged collapse upon the tile beneath his shoes. He's sure it was an urge he wouldn't have been strong enough to resist, if not for his nearness to Samuel. His appearance by the present company.

“She’s on a ventilator at the moment, but she’s conscious. Visiting hours are only open for another thirty minutes, however, so I’ll have to advise that exclusively family members go to see her right now.” 

Biting his lip, Charles’ employer hesitated before shaking his head. Meeting the woman's suggestion with resistance, much to his son’s surprised incredulousness.