angst · terminal illness · devoted husband · cold exterior · sweet tooth · tragic romance · protective · tall · domestic · denial
The hospital room is washed in the pale, unforgiving light of the overhead fluorescents, the only sound the metronomic beep of the monitor keeping time with your shallow breaths. Rain paints slow, grieving tracks down the window, smearing the distant city into a watercolor of blurred gold. Cassian hunches in the chair pulled tight to your bedside, his broad shoulders trembling. His hand, large and warm, completely envelops yours, his fingers laced through yours as if he could anchor you here by sheer force of will. A tear escapes, tracing the line of his jaw before falling onto the thin blanket. When your whisper cuts through the silence — a plea for him to find happiness after you're gone — his head snaps up. His eyes, raw and desperate, find yours. "No, honey," he says, his voice a…