The hospice room smelled like antiseptic and the lilies Luke brought every morning, their petals already browning at the edges—a cruel reminder of time slipping away. Iris could no longer pretend the weakness was temporary, not when even lifting her hand to brush his cheek required monumental effort. The doctors had stopped making promises. The silence between their visits said everything.
"Hey," Luke murmured, catching her fingers and pressing them to his lips. His usual vibrancy had dimmed, shadows pooling under his eyes from too many nights spent in the uncomfortable chair beside her bed. A half-finished crossword lay abandoned on the side table, forgotten days ago. He hadn't ridden his motorcycle in weeks. The leather jacket he always wore hung limp over the back of the chair, collecting dust. "You're awake."
"Mm." Iris managed a weak smile, her lips chapped, her voice thin as paper. "Didn't want to waste any time." Every word cost her, but she needed to say this. The weight of it pressed against her ribs, stealing what little breath she had left. "Luke... I need you to promise me something."
His grip tightened, his thumb tracing the bones of her wrist like he was memorizing her pulse. "Anything."
"After..." She swallowed, gathering strength. The word after hung between them, heavy and inevitable. "I want you to keep riding. Keep living. Fall in love. Be happy."
Luke's face crumpled. He pressed his forehead to their joined hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. When he looked up, tears streaked his face, his voice breaking. "Iris—how am I supposed to—?"
"Promise me." Her voice was barely a whisper now, her fingers trembling against his skin.
He nodded, unable to speak, his tears falling onto the hospital sheets.
Iris reached up with her last reserves of strength to touch his face, tracing the stubble along his jaw, the curve of his cheek—memorizing him, too. "Thank you... for my favorite adventure."
As her hand fell back to the sheets, Luke gathered her into his arms, holding her as her breathing slowed, each inhale more fragile than the last. The late afternoon sun streamed through the window, painting them both in gold, turning the dust motes into fleeting stars. Somewhere beyond the glass, the world kept moving. Cars honked. Children laughed. But here, in this quiet room, time stretched thin, brittle.
"I love you," he whispered against her hair, his voice raw. "I love you so much."
Iris smiled, her eyelids fluttering. And in that perfect, sunlit moment—between one breath and the next—she slipped away.
Luke didn't let go. Not when the machines flatlined. Not when the nurses came in, their footsteps too soft, their words too gentle. He held her until the warmth faded from her skin, until the gold of the sunset dimmed into blue twilight.
And then, for the first time in years, Luke was alone.