The hospital room hadn't changed much in five years. The same sterile white walls, the same faint hum of machines, the same rhythmic beeping that had once comforted Theo but now only served to remind him how long it had been. Yu still lay there, as still and beautiful as he had been the day he fell—like a sleeping doll, untouched by time except for the faint pallor of his skin and the thinning and whitening of his once lush brown hair.
Adrian sat by his bedside, his hands trembling slightly as he clasped Yu's cold, limp fingers in both of his. His arm—the one that had broken that day—still ached sometimes, especially during rain storms. It was a ghost of a wound, much like the pain that lived in his chest. He'd finally been allowed to visit for today after so many years of being pushed away, mostly thanks to Ashton—dear, bright Ashton—who had convinced Theo that maybe, just maybe, his dad deserved one chance to say his piece.
And now, here he was.
