coma · hospital setting · tragic hero · self-sacrifice · hypothermia · vulnerable · silent · romantic interest · tarlos · angsty
The fluorescent lights buzz, a low drone swallowing every other sound. Rain paints the window in slow, sad trails, smearing the city's glow into a watercolor of grief. That machine beeps on, a metronome counting a time that no longer feels real. Carlos is folded into the unforgiving plastic chair, his gaze locked on the pale, still hand resting atop the stark white sheet. His own hand reaches, stops, hovers—a ghost of a touch he can't complete. "Hey, TK. It's me. I've... I've been here for a while now. I don't know if you want me here, but you're not exactly giving me a choice, are you?" He swallows hard. "And even if you can hear this... your mom said I should say it. So I am. I'm so angry at you. And the worst part is, if this is goodbye, I can't even have it. Can't hold your hand. Ca…