Chapter 24: The Days Without You
The hospital room was quiet except for the soft, persistent beeping of the heart monitor. Kairo lay still, eyes closed, surrounded by pale sheets and the cold hum of machines keeping him alive. His body was broken, bruised, and fragile in a way Elián had never seen. The sight of him like this sent a shiver through Elián's spine every time he walked in.
It had been four days since the crash. Four days of silence.
Elián hadn't left. Not once.
He sat by the hospital bed with red-rimmed eyes, his head bowed, hands trembling slightly as he reached to wipe Kairo's pale forehead with a damp cloth.
"I forgive you," he whispered again, voice cracking. "I forgive you for everything… Just please wake up."
He held Kairo's hand—cold and limp—and laced their fingers together.
"I was going to leave. That night after the gala, I told myself I'd disappear and never let you find me again. I had my bags packed. But I never got the chance. You... you called me from the car, trying to apologize. I didn't pick up. And now—now you're here, and I can't even hear your voice."
His voice trembled. He buried his face in Kairo's hand and let the tears fall.
Outside, the world moved on. Flowers filled the hospital lobby from colleagues, friends, and media elites. News about the accident had spread like wildfire. Laurent Corporation's CEO in a coma. Speculation bloomed. Rumors. Lies. But none of it mattered here. Here, there was just Kairo, sleeping as if time had stopped for him.
Elián brought soup, books, and the cardigan Kairo used to drape around him when they were on the balcony. He read to him, even when the doctors said it didn't matter. He talked, confessed. He told Kairo how terrified he'd been the night he ran away, how broken he'd felt when Kairo defended his ex, how deeply he hated him and yet...
How deeply he loved him.
"I should hate you," Elián murmured one evening, fingers lightly brushing Kairo's. "But I don't. I'm still so stupidly in love with you. Even after everything."
A soft knock came on the door. Elián looked up to see Kairo's assistant, Jules, holding a bag of food and a thermos.
"You need to eat something," Jules said gently.
Elián shook his head. "I can't."
Jules placed the bag down anyway. "He'd want you to take care of yourself. You know that."
Elián nodded, but didn't move.
Jules lingered by the door. "I've known Mr. Laurent for years. He's... he's never looked at anyone the way he looked at you. Not even him," Jules added carefully.
Elián glanced up, surprised. "What do you mean?"
Jules sighed. "I think he was trying to protect himself. When people like him love, they love like fire—too bright, too fast, too dangerously. Maybe he thought if he pushed you away, it would hurt less."
Elián swallowed. "He almost died."
"He still might," Jules said, then quickly added, "But he's fighting. And so are you."
Elián turned back to Kairo's still body. "Then I'll fight with him."
—
Day six.
There was no change.
The doctor spoke gently, explaining brain trauma and coma stages. Elián nodded, but he didn't hear much. He only heard the doctor's last words: "If he doesn't wake up by the seventh day, the prognosis worsens."
Day seven.
Elián didn't sleep. He sat in the chair, holding Kairo's hand, whispering prayers, stories, and broken apologies into the night.
Morning came. The light filtered through the blinds, soft and silver.
Elián stirred, his head still resting on the edge of the bed. He blinked groggily, then jolted upright.
A twitch.
Fingers moved.
"Kairo?" he gasped, grabbing the hand. "Kairo!"
There it was again—faint, a flutter of movement.
And then—
A soft groan.
Elián stood up so fast the chair scraped across the floor. He leaned over the bed, heart hammering. "Kairo. Can you hear me? Please—open your eyes. Please."
Another groan. Eyelids fluttered.
"Come on, baby... come back to me," Elián choked out.
Finally, Kairo's eyes blinked open, unfocused and hazy.
"K-Kai..." Elián whispered, a tear falling.
Kairo's lips parted. "E...lián?"
It was barely audible, but it was him.
Elián burst into tears, clutching his hand. "You're awake. Oh my God—you're awake!"
A nurse burst in, followed by a doctor, alarms beginning to sound as monitors picked up the sudden spike. Elián stepped back to give them room, trembling from head to toe, covering his mouth with both hands.
Kairo was back.
He didn't remember much—not yet. But the first word on his lips was Elián's name.
—
Two days later, Kairo was stable but still in pain. He'd fractured three ribs, suffered a mild concussion, and undergone emergency surgery for internal bleeding. But he was alive.
Elián stayed at the hospital, helping him drink water, propping pillows, keeping his mind calm. It felt strange—almost domestic. A twisted version of how they might've been if things had gone differently.
"Why did you cry?" Kairo rasped one night, turning slightly to look at him.
Elián glanced up from the book he'd been pretending to read. "Because I thought I lost you."
Kairo's lips trembled. "I was trying to fix everything... but I only made it worse."
Elián looked away. "You didn't have to crash your car to prove you care, you know."
Kairo gave a weak laugh, then winced. "Noted."
A pause.
Then, quietly, he asked, "Do you still hate me?"
Elián shook his head. "No. I don't think I ever really did."
Silence.
Kairo reached out, his hand searching until Elián took it.
"I never wanted to hurt you," Kairo whispered. "But I did. And if you don't want to come back—if you want to leave after I recover—I'll understand."
Elián looked at him for a long moment.
Then he leaned in, brushed Kairo's hair from his forehead, and pressed a gentle kiss there.
"I'm not going anywhere."