Romancing the Beat – "Final Step: Declaration/Grand Gesture")
(Theme: "Real strength comes from facing what you fear most—with the people who see the real you.")
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Okay, confession time.
Being brought back from the dead? Not as glamorous as it sounds.
My entire body felt like it had been trampled by a stampede of regret and sarcasm. My brain? Still trying to remember if I'm a superhero, a victim, or the universe's favorite punching bag.
And the worst part?
No coffee.
Not even a lukewarm cup of hospital-grade battery acid.
What's the point of surviving if you can't caffeinate?
Anyway.
They tell me I was out for three days. Apparently, nearly frying your nervous system while trying to override a doomsday countdown triggers something called "temporary neural collapse." Which is code for: I flatlined. Gabe lost it. Elia slapped him. Twice. (I only wish I'd seen that.)
Now I'm back. Weak. Wired up like a science project. And definitely not emotionally stable enough for what's coming next.
---
The door creaked open.
I pretended to sleep. Because if I had to make small talk with another nurse named Carol about my blood pressure, I might actually code again.
But it wasn't Carol.
It was him.
Gabe.
Hair messy. Stubble like he forgot razors existed. Dark circles under his eyes that screamed I haven't slept in 72 hours because I'm emotionally constipated and terrified of losing you.
He just stood there for a second.
Then muttered, "You always gotta be extra, huh?"
I opened one eye. "Well, I couldn't let you hog all the drama."
His lips twitched. That almost-smile I'd learned to look for.
He walked over, pulled the chair closer, and sat like it physically hurt him to be that close.
"You scared the hell out of me," he said.
"Yeah. That seems fair. Considering you stuck the wires in my brain and told me to 'trust the process.'"
"I didn't think you'd actually die."
"Neither did I, fun fact."
Silence.
The kind of silence that hums with all the things we aren't saying.
Finally, I cleared my throat. "You stayed?"
"Of course I stayed."
"For three days?"
"Yeah. I wasn't going anywhere. Not after... everything."
He reached into his coat and pulled out the locket. The one my father used to keep locked in his safe. The one with the photo of me as a kid—smiling, before all the mess.
"I found this," he said. "It was his. But it's yours now."
He placed it in my hand like it weighed everything we'd lost.
Everything we could still gain.
"I thought I hated you," I whispered. "Back in the beginning."
"I was hateable."
"You were a jerk."
"And you were a brat."
"But... we made it, didn't we?"
"Barely."
"Still counts."
---
Later, Elia barged in with a tray of questionable soup, a stack of flowers she definitely didn't buy, and the kind of energy that made nurses whisper behind clipboards.
"I leave you two alone for five minutes and suddenly it's The Notebook: Lab Edition in here," she teased.
I raised an eyebrow. "We kissed one time."
Gabe coughed. "Actually, twice."
She dropped the flowers. "OH. MY. GOD. Spill."
"No," Gabe and I said in unison.
Because here's the thing: we weren't there yet. Not fully. Not in the ride off into the sunset on a motorcycle kind of way.
But something shifted.
---
Two weeks later.
The scars had started to fade.
Physically, I looked okay. Internally? Still a mess. But not the same mess.
More like... organized chaos.
Gabe met me outside the hospital gates with the world's ugliest bouquet (he said it was "aesthetic," I said it looked like roadkill) and one really serious look.
"Come with me," he said.
I blinked. "To where?"
He didn't answer. Just walked. And I followed, because that's what you do when the guy who helped save your life finally gets his act together.
We ended up back at the old train station. The one where this whole thing started. Before the secrets. Before the chaos. Before him.
"I used to come here when I needed to think," he said, staring out at the rusted tracks.
"I came here to run away."
"Figures. You always run."
I opened my mouth to argue. Then stopped.
Because he was right.
But I wasn't running anymore.
"I stayed," I said. "Even when it hurt. I didn't run from the truth. Or you."
Gabe turned toward me, eyes raw.
"You didn't just stay. You fought. For everything. For me."
And there it was.
Not a grand gesture. Not fireworks. Just truth.
"I love you, Gray," he said. "I tried not to. God, I tried. But I'm done pretending I don't feel it every time I look at you."
I took a breath.
Felt the weight of his words settle into the space between us.
"I love you too," I said. "Even when I hated you. Even when I thought you'd walk away."
He smiled. Soft. Real.
"Guess I'm staying, too."
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And that, dear reader, is how you end a disaster of a love story—with a declaration, a kiss in a broken train station, and a promise not to run.
At least not alone.