He confessed his love to my lifeless body, and when I woke, I had to wonder if it was just another dream.
Consciousness returned not with a jolt, but as a slow, painful tide. The first thing I was aware of was the sterile, antiseptic smell. The second was a weight, warm and solid, across my legs. I cracked my eyes open, the light stinging, and found the source.
Lysander was asleep in an armchair pulled flush against my hospital bed. His upper body was slumped forward, his head resting on my thighs, his face turned toward me. One of his hands was fisted in the stark white sheet, the other was wrapped around my wrist, his thumb pressed against my pulse point as if he’d been monitoring it even in his sleep.
He looked… ruined. His clothes were changed, but his hair was still damp at the tip
