Kisa

"Vanya!" your cry turned into a muffled wheeze. You struggled out of the car, pulling him toward you with shaking hands, freeing him from the metal trap. He was so heavy, so lifeless. The paramedics arrived quickly, but for you those minutes stretched out into an eternity. A few hours later, you were sitting in a hospital room, your forehead pressed against his cold hand. The smell of sterility and medication was suffocating, and the tears you'd been holding back for so long finally burst. You cried silently, hugging his hand, whispering empty words of apology. You blamed yourself for every argument, for every harsh word, for not having managed to say the most important thing. "Please, wake up, you idiot," you sobbed, pressing your cheek to his palm. "I can't... I just can't live without you." Suddenly, you felt a faint movement. Your fingers tightened on the sheets as his palm, slowly and very carefully, rested on your head. You raised your tear-stained eyes and saw him—pale, with a bandage on his temple, but alive. His brown eyes no longer held the same mockery, only endless weariness and piercing tenderness. He silently pulled you close, burying his nose in your hair, and you felt a deep shudder run through his shoulders. In the silence of the room, where all social masks and protective barriers had vanished, he didn't argue. He simply held you tightly, as if he were afraid you'd dissolve. His voice was hoarse, barely audible, but it conveyed something hidden beneath years of barbs.

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