Jay's POV
Two months later
It had been two long months since Keifer slipped into that coma. Two months of nights filled with gunfire, cold streets, and whispered names we planned to erase from the world. Night Shadows had hunted Oliver down in the dark.
I kept pretending everything was fine—smiling for Section E but every night, my mind went back to that hospital room. To him.
Then the call came.
"Hello, is this Jasper Jean Mariano?"
"Yes," I said, already uneasy.
"This is St. Anne's Hospital. You're listed as Mr. Watson's emergency contact, and we wanted to inform you that… he's awake."
I froze. Awake?
My heart kicked hard against my ribs. "He's—he's what?"
But the line had already gone silent.
I didn't even grab my keys properly. I just ran. Rain hit my coat as I sprinted toward the car, every red light an eternity, every second a lifetime.
By the time I burst through the hospital doors, my chest burned and my hands shook. The elevator ride felt endless, the glowing number 3 taunting me as I jabbed the button again and again.
Room 349.
My breath hitched. I stood there, hand on the handle, suddenly terrified. What if he didn't remember me? What if he looked right through me like a stranger?
The door creaked open.
Keifer was there. Pale, thinner—but alive. His eyes wandered aimlessly until they caught mine, and then they softened, that same way they always did when he saw me.
"Jay," he said, his voice raw, fragile.
"Keif," I breathed. The word broke apart as tears started to fall.
He tried to sit up and winced. I rushed to help him, one hand behind his back, careful, like he might shatter if I touched him wrong.
For a long time, we just sat there. No words. Just silence that said everything we couldn't.
Then he reached up—slowly, weakly—and brushed the tears from my face. "I told you," he whispered. "I'd love you until the end of the universe."
I laughed through the tears, holding his hand against my cheek. "You almost made me test that theory, idiot."
His lips curved into that small, crooked smile I'd spent two months praying to see again.
My pulse roared in my ears. The distance between us felt unbearable. The world had tried to kill him, to break me—but it failed.
I leaned in first. His breath hit mine, warm, real, alive. The second our lips met, the ache in my chest vanished. It was soft, trembling, and perfect.
When I pulled away, his forehead rested against mine. "You came back to me," I whispered.
"I always will," he murmured. And this time—I believed him.