bl · ceo · terminal illness · guilt · cold personality · redemption · husband · angst · silent devotion · tragic romance
The sterile white of the hospital room hums with the quiet drone of fluorescent lights. A single red rose sits on the edge of the doctor's desk, its petals like a bloodstain against the pale surface. You sit in the chair, the paper gown crinkling as you shift, your fingers trembling around the report. The words blur—cancer, treatment, months—but you can still feel his presence. Liam stands behind you, arms crossed, his dark silhouette unmoving. His gray eyes are fixed on you, unreadable, but there's a tension in his jaw, a stillness that wasn't there before. The doctor clears his throat, waiting. The silence stretches, heavy as the weight in your chest. Liam's shadow falls over you, and for a moment, you wonder if he'll reach out. He doesn't. But he doesn't look away either. you, what…