Angel.

I will never stop loving you. I promise you that.

-

We sat in that waiting room for an eternity.

I tried to distract myself, tried to sleep, tried to talk, but in the end, I just ended up staring at the hands of the big clock on the wall go round and round and round.

It was like all my reasons for living were being slowly squeezed out of me, minute by minute. There were so many things I wanted to know, like what they were doing to you, where you were, whether you were still breathing. But at the same time, I didn't know if I'd be able to live through the answers.

Andy and Joe stayed on the other side of the room, and I swear to god Joe never looked up from the floor. Andy just sat there, an arm round Joe's good shoulder, occasionally throwing worried glances at me. He could see I was falling apart.

I'd memorised the number of diamond patterns on the far wall of the waiting room, counted all the chairs and mentally ordered them by the direction they were facing, and calculated the exact amount of seconds we'd been here. There was no peace, I felt like I'd never breathe without pushing back sobs, never blink without holding in tears.

People came and went from the room, some going to speak to doctors and coming back with smiles, others talking cheerfully to each other as if there weren't people dying behind those doors. They just went about their normal lives, whilst we sat there, frozen with anxiety, as we waited to see whether or not the trigger was gonna be pulled on our whole world.

After a very long while of deep breaths and fidgeting minds, Andy sighed and finally spoke.

"Uh...shall we – shall we go get some coffee or something?"

Me and Joe both looked at him with offended confusion, "No," we snapped in unison.

He held his hands up, "okay, okay, I just – I can't stand this."

I ran my fingers through my hair, pulling so hard it hurt. "I know. I can't do it."

"It's fine, Pete, it's gonna be fine." But I could tell he didn't believe himself. My fingers coiled up and my eyes fell shut."Uh...okay well I'm gonna go get something. You want anything at all?" Andy looked at each of us, but we just shook our heads.

I watched him disappear from the room, before covering my face with my hands.

A few moments of silence passed. I heard someone take a breath.

"I'm so sorry, Pete."

I looked up again. This time, it was Joe who'd spoken. He was gazing at me, guilty and defeated. I gazed back. Then I realised something that hadn't quite dawned on me before.

This was all his fault.

"You're sorry?" I said, tilting my head to one side without breaking eye contact.

Joe raised his eyebrows in shock at my retort, blinking at me. "I...uh..."

"Your best friend might be dead because of you!"

"I-"

"But oh, it's okay because you're sorry. Sorry doesn't fix his fucking ribcage!"

I suddenly found myself standing up, my hands shaking in fists at my sides and my breaths ragged. Joe shrunk away from me.

"Don't act all fucking scared. You were fine talking shit about me behind my back, weren't you? So why don't you say what you think of me to my face?"

He didn't speak, but I saw his jaw clench and his fingers curl up.

"Come on, then! You know you fucking want to! You seem to enjoy hurting your friends, so-"

"You filthy hypocrite!" Joe suddenly yelled, jumping up and staring me straight in the face, his voice shaking."You're the one that's been abusing him! You're the one that beats the hell out of him every fucking night! You've-"

"That's not true! The only times I've hit him are the ones you know about, I'm not like that any more!"

"Oh, so you're just magically better now are you?"

"Don't turn this on me! This is about you, and that fact that this is all your fault! If it wasn't for you, he wouldn't be having heart surgery, he wouldn't be nearly fucking dead!"

"It was an accident! Do you think I meant for any of this to happen?"

"I don't give a shit if you meant it or not! It doesn't change the fact that I might have lost the love of my life!" My voice cracked as I said it.

"Oh so you love him now, do you? 'Cause it sure as hell didn't look like it when you were choking the life out of him on your lounge floor! Sure as hell didn't look like an accident, either!" His face was inches from mine, spitting crumpled words at me.

"Uh, gentlemen, would you mind keeping your voices down? There are families around." The sweet little lady at the reception desk was watching us, looking scared.

We huffed at her, and lowered our voices from distraught screaming to distraught shouting.

"Of course I love him! You know I never meant any of that stuff!"

"Okay, so when you pretended to kill yourself as a joke, you were just conveying your undying love for him, were you? When you faked getting back together with him then kicked him and threatened him, you were simply expressing your affection?"

"I-"

"When you raped him, it was purely out of fucking loved-up passion, was it? You're a fucking psychopath! You keep hurting him and I can't stand it, he deserves better than you!"

That stung. I felt the tears gather in my eyes, but stared into Joe's face all the same. My voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "I never stopped his heart, though."

His eyes widened, and horror crept into them. He held my gaze for as long as he could, but he had to blink some point, and when he did, he sent tears trickling down his cheeks. I felt the crippling grief flare up inside me again.

"What in the name of fuck is going on?!"

Joe glanced over my shoulder as I turned in alarm at the voice. It was Andy. He held a paper coffee cup in his hand and an expression of knowing shock in his eyes.

"You're yelling at each other? Again?"

Joe and I took a deep breath. "We just-"

"No! You know what, I don't wanna hear it!" He yelled, striding over and standing in front of us. The receptionist opened her mouth to say something, but decided against it and sighed heavily.

"All you two ever do is argue all the fucking time! You used to be friends, for god's sake! Do you realise that without this fucking feud, we wouldn't even be here?" He turned to Joe, "You'd never have crashed the fucking car if you hadn't been shouting about Pete, and Patrick would be alive and well and not in some room getting cut open!"

Joe closed his eyes, and a few more tears slid down his face.

Andy's expression softened. "Look, I know you didn't mean to cause any of this, and I know you care about him. You only want to help him, but the thing is, this is not helping! Pete loves him, and believe it or not, he loves Pete too. You've gotta accept that, stop trying to push them apart, it's their relationship, they need each other."

Joe gave a small nod, and cast his gaze down to the floor. Andy turned to me.

"Pete,  Joe is one of Patrick's best friends, he needs Joe as much as he needs you. You need to stop being so protective, Joe is entitled to be worried. You've done some despicable things to Patrick in the past, and Joe's only trying to stop them happening again. He cares about him as much as you do, Patrick doesn't belong to you. He needs his friends too. And blaming Joe for the accident is not fair, it could just as easily been you, in that car, yelling."

I sniffed and nodded too.

"Guys, I know you both have the best intentions. But you're hurting him more than you're helping him. He's not some trophy to be squabbled over. You're so focussed on getting one up on each other that neither of you ever seem to stop and think what Patrick might be feeling. You're ruining things for him, just look at what happened on his damn birthday, poor kid. He might be dead behind those doors, do you realise that? Dead. Gone." His voice started to break up, "and all you can do is fight about it. Please, just stop this! Stop making him choose between his best friend and his boyfriend. He loves both of you, and right now, he sure as hell needs both of you."

He cast a glance towards the white doors, and sunk into a chair, running his fingers through his hair and blowing out a slow breath. His words bounced around my skull.

Joe looked at me with wide eyes, biting hard on his lip. Then he broke down.

Grabbing my shoulders and pulling me into a tight hug, his body shook, sobs spilling from his lips. I put my arms round him tentatively. I'd never seen Joe like this. Hell, I'd never even seen him cry, I just assumed he didn't have tear ducts, he's just not a crying kinda guy. But then neither is Andy, and could hear his strangled sniffs from where he sat, head bowed.

So I cried too. Because during all that arguing, I'd forgotten that you were lying somewhere behind those doors. And I couldn't lose you. I just couldn't do it. I couldn't let myself think about what I'd do without you.

You can't be gone. I kept telling myself that. It wasn't possible, there's no version of my life that doesn't include you. But the doctor's words just rang around my head like a bell, it's not looking good.

And the look in her eyes. It was all sadness. She knew there wasn't much hope for you, she knew you were dying. She knew I'd lose everything on that operating table.

So I just kept sobbing into Joe's shoulder, wishing that when I opened my eyes, I'd wake up, in my own bed and covered in sweat, and crawl out the covers and run to you, to your flat and bang on your door and you'd open it, standing there with your hair all fluffed up and your adorable pyjamas on, and you'd hug me and kiss me and tell me that everything was gonna be okay, and I'd snuggle up with you and tell you about my horrible dream and you'd tell me not to worry because you were here and smiling and alive.

But when I opened my eyes, I was in the same waiting room, the same white doors staring at me. And you weren't here, or smiling. I didn't want to think about the other one.

I didn't want to think about anything. I just wanted to drown myself in darkness, saving all my memories of you, wrapping them up tight and keeping them safe forever, along with my future with you, all the dates we'd never have, all the kisses I'd never feel. I was gonna marry you someday.

-

Through the small round windows of the double doors, I saw a doctor approaching.

It was her.

No. No.

I let go of Joe and turned my back on the doors, burying my face in my hands and sobbing harder. I can't. I just can't do this.

I heard the doors open. Andy stood up quickly, grabbing Joe's arm.

I started to pray more desperately than ever. Please. Please let him be okay. He has to be okay. He doesn't deserve any of this, it should have been me, let it be me, he has to be okay, please, please.

Please.

"Friends of Mr. Stump?"

No. Please no.

"Ah, yes. If you'd like to follow me?"

I shook my head, curling up into a ball on the chair and screwing my eyes shut.

I felt arms hook underneath my own, pulling me roughly to my feet. It was Andy.

"We gotta know, Pete." he said softly, guiding me towards the room the doctor had disappeared into. The one we'd gone to before.

But the thing was, I didn't want to know. I didn't wanna know anything. I just wanted to stay in the darkness of my eyelids, not thinking or feeling or breathing. I buried my head in Andy's shoulder and he held me close. We stepped inside the room.

The doctor shut the door behind us.

Joe slumped into one of the chairs, and we followed suit. Andy didn't let go of me, so I was pretty much sitting on his lap, wishing prayers at his collar. He held onto my wrist. His knuckles were white as paper.

I heard the doctor take a breath.

This is it.

Please.

"The surgery revealed no significant internal damage."

No, no, no, this isn't happening, you can't leave me, you can't, I can't do this, I-

Wait.

My head snapped up.

"Wha – what?" Joe breathed.

The doctor smiled. "He will make a full and fast recovery."

We stared at her.

My heart skipped a couple beats.

I looked at Andy. He looked right back.

And in the same moment, our faces split into the biggest smiles we'd ever felt, the relief coursing through us like a river, cascading in waterfalls and sparkling in our eyes. It was like taking a breath after being slowly suffocated, or, or tasting bread after being starved, I couldn't even comprehend it, it washed away all the blackness in my brain and spilled from my lips in joyous gasps.

He hugged me so tight, laughing breathlessly into my ear and slapping me on the back. "I told you, I told you he'd be fine, it's gonna be fine, he's fine, oh my god he's fine!"

Because you were gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay. Oh my god.

"Oh my god!" Joe practically screamed, jumping up from his seat. He clapped his hands together and punched the air, looking up towards the ceiling as if to thank whatever greater power had seen fit to bring you back to us.

My smiles grew into laughs as me and Andy rose from our seats and grabbed Joe, trying not to crush his shoulder as we threw our arms round him and made a Joe sandwich, putting our heads together and letting our happiness ring around the room.

You're gonna be okay. I couldn't quite process it, I just felt this elation, because a voice in my mind was running around like a headless chicken and screaming that I'd get to see you again, see you smile, hear you sing, feel your lips, you weren't gone, you were here, in this building, alive. You'd listened to me, you'd been strong, you'd got through it, and now I have no idea why I doubted you in the first place, because of course you'd live, the light in your eyes is too bright to be extinguished. You'd come back to me, like you always do. You said you'd never leave me, and you always keep your promises.

We were all a mess of smiles and sobs, tears still running down our faces, but this time for very different reasons, all huddled up in the small room but making enough noise for a whole football stadium.

I was breathing hard when we finally broke apart; I ran round the desk and grabbed the doctor, squeezing her tight. "Thank you, thank you so much, thank you, oh god thank you..." I repeated over and over, before letting her go and wiping my eyes.

She beamed at me, laughing along with us, "we're simply doing our jobs, sir."

"Well you did a fucking good job, oh my god, you saved him, thank you, you kept him here for me, thankyouthankyouthankyou!" I scooped her up in another massive hug, the happiness tingling right to my fingertips.

I think I nearly passed out, because everything started to go a bit blurry and I was breathing so fast I could hardly think straight.

But soon I was engulfed by either Joe or Andy, I think it was Andy because he smelt cleaner, and it felt like this would be a really good time to drop streamers from the ceiling and crowd-surf.

Once we'd all managed to calm down a little bit, if only outwardly, the doctor coughed slightly and we turned to face her. I tried to make the permanent smile on my face look a little less creepy.

"He is currently being transferred from recovery to the ward. You may see him now, if you'd like."

And we did like. "Are you serious?" I asked, bouncing up and down on the spot.

"He is asleep at the moment, as the anaesthetic hasn't quite worn off, but he'll wake up very soon."

Obviously you're asleep. The things you'll do for a lie-in.

She beckoned for us to follow her, and walked out of the room, through the waiting room and off down a corridor. I resisted the urge to cheer as we finally, finally got away from that awful place.

We probably looked like idiots to everyone, skipping alongside the doctor like we were in some kind of nursery rhyme, but it didn't matter because we were going to see you, and you'd still be breathing and maybe I could talk to you or hug you or kiss you and that song that goes celebrate good times was playing real loud in my head.

"So how's he doing? When will he be better?" Joe asked excitedly as we got into a lift.

"He's doing well," she said, as she pressed buttons and they lit up, "he gave us quite a scare, but sustained no heart or lung damage from the crash. His ribs have been re-aligned, and will take around two months to heal fully. He did, however, sustain severe bruising, which may mean that he, uh, looks worse than he is. They will fade soon enough, though."

The lift went ding and the doors opened, and now there were even more corridors. Ugh, I wanna see you already. But it was fine, we're getting there, we're getting to you and we'll be there soon.

When we walked through one last set of double doors, there was a reception desk, and a load of people rushing around and trying not to bump into each other.

"Three visitors for Mr. Patrick Stump," the doctor stated as we walked past, smiling at the receptionist. I like the doctor, she seems like a nice person. Although, to be honest, with the news I'd just gotten, I'd probably treat Attila the Hun like he was a nice person.

Everything was so brightly lit that I got a bit of shock when we walked past a window and I saw that it was dark. On the horizon, there was a faint glow of the rising sun. We'd been here the whole night. I hadn't slept in a while. Before, I'd been too petrified, and now, I was too excited. I had no idea what time it was.

"It's technically before visiting hours, but given the circumstances..." the doctor mused as she stopped outside a door. "He's just in here."

She opened the door and beckoned us inside. "I'll give you some privacy. If you need anything, press the button at the end of the bed."

We nodded quickly, stepping inside one after the other. Joe went in first. I heard his breath catch.

He reached out a hand and grabbed my wrist, stopping dead and pulling me into the room.

When I saw you, my breath caught too.

You were lying there, perfectly still, your head propped up by pillows and your arms lying next to you, outside the pale blue covers. I now understand the full meaning of severe bruising.

The right side of your face was almost unrecognisable. Furious black marks spread over your cheek and eye, swollen and purple around the edges. They were so dark, it was difficult to believe it was skin and not paint. They'd poisoned your neck, too, disappearing under your collar and creeping out from your sleeve and down your arm. Patches of red interrupted them here and there, the scraped skin spitting blood so dark, it was hardly distinguishable from the bruises. Even on the left side of you, there were patches of purple, and little cuts peppered your skin all over. A bigger one ran along your eyebrow, done up with those little white plasters like Joe had, and another spilled from your lip to your chin. Fuck.

I swallowed, breathing deeply and slowly. I felt Andy put an arm around me. Suddenly I didn't want to be here any more. I wanted to run away to the past where everything was okay.

But then, I realised that it could have been so much worse. Instead of lying there, all beat up, you could be lying in a mortuary. Instead of putting bandages on you, I could be putting you in the ground.

We all stood there for a bit, just staring, until I decided that this was stupid because you were right there and you were sleeping but you were okay and you'd get better and up until half an hour ago, we'd thought you were dead, so I shook off the shock and stumbled to your side, planting myself in one of the chairs and scooting it closer to the bed.

Slowly and carefully, I reached out, stroking my thumb across your cheek and feeling your feathery skin. I felt my heart lift when I touched you because you were warm, your lips were pink, and as I cupped your face I could feel your pulse, and your chest was rising and falling slowly because you were alive.

Andy came and sat beside me, and Joe the other side, both still staring at you as if you were an expensive guitar with a broken string. But strings are fixed easy.

I ran my fingers along your un-bruised arm, gently lifting your limp hand and clasping it between both of my own, stroking your fingers and thinking that of all the hands I've ever seen, yours are the prettiest, even with all the bumps and bruises.

I was just about to lean down and kiss you on the cheek when Andy spoke.

"Listen..." he whispered, raising his head and looking around at nothing.

Me and Joe exchanged confused glances, wondering if maybe all that healthiness had caused Andy to have a breakdown, but we listened anyway.

At first, I didn't hear anything, just my own breathing, but then I began to hear the sound of the beepy heart rate machine thing. I hadn't even noticed it before, but now it cut through my thoughts and became the only thing I could hear. Until Andy's voice sounded again.

"He's waking up!" He said, a smile tugging at his lips. And sure enough, as I listened, the beeps got a little bit quicker, and your breaths got a little bit faster.

I squeezed your hand lightly, as if to drag you from the weird anaesthetic void, and watched your face for any sign of movement. "Come on, Patrick, baby," I whispered, "wake up, sweetheart." Apparently in times of crisis, my pet-name fetish really comes to the forefront.

Your other hand twitched, the one with the needle thingy in it, and Joe grabbed your fingers, patting them as if to encourage them to do it again.

Suddenly, your eyebrows rose slightly, and you took in a deep breath, your nostrils flaring and your lips parting. Then, you opened your eyes.

They were so blue, the bright lights shimmering through them like sunlight through a swimming pool, and my god, I'd forgotten what they could do to me. You blinked a few times, your gaze on the ceiling, and I could see your brain trying to work out what the hell was happening.

I smiled at you and clasped your hand a bit tighter, watching as you figured everything out, occasionally blinking slowly like a cat does when it's sleepy. I couldn't help but let out a little aww. How can you be cute even when you just nearly died?

"Hey, dude, how're you feeling?" Andy said gently, peering at you as your eyes flitted around, looking for something to focus on. They managed to follow Andy's voice, and rested on him steadily as if trying to translate what he'd said.

You opened your mouth to say something, but only breath came out. Slowly, your eyes shifted to me, studying my face like you'd never seen it before. I grinned at you, and my heart leapt when I saw you lips curve up in the same way. Not that this was a competition or anything, but I got your first smile.

Then, as if you'd suddenly remembered you had a mouth, you tried to speak.

"H – hello," you croaked, glancing at each of us and earning a laugh from Joe.

"Hello," he said back, playing with the covers of the bed.

"Which – which one of these is mine?" You mused, looking down the bed at our hands, still firmly entwined. I felt your fingers move a little, and raised them off the sheets gently.

"This one," I giggled, lifting your hand to my mouth and kissing it softly.

Your eyes lit up, and another of those smiles tugged at your lips.

Wriggling your fingers again, I could tell you probably wanted freedom for your hand, so I let go. You didn't lower your arm, though, instead, you reached out and poked my cheek, before running your fingers over my face, over my lips and nose, each of my eyebrows, and finally lingering on the skin under my eyes.

"Why are you crying?" You asked, your eyebrows knitting together as you felt the tears from my eyes between your fingers.

I smiled sadly. "Because I thought I lost you."

"Why, where did I go?"

You looked so genuinely confused, and it was so sweet, it made my heart ache. I glanced at Joe, silently asking whether we should tell you or not. He sighed.

"You – you were in a car crash, Patrick." he said, as if each word was painful.

You gazed at him for a bit, before closing your eyes again, humming quietly under your breath. "...long live the car crash hearts..."

Andy let out a little disbelieving laugh as we all stared at you, still softly singing, as if you weren't covered in bruises or made of broken bones.

"Uh...Patrick, are you okay?" Joe said, patting your arm lightly. You stopped singing, opening your eyes again and staring at him as if he'd just asked you the meaning of life.

"That's a strange question," you marveled, lifting your hand again and floating it towards Joe. "Why do you have things on your face?" You pointed at the little white plasters and the cuts.

Joe laughed weakly. "I was in a car crash too."

"Snap!" you giggled, patting his nose with your little finger.

He smiled briefly, then took your hand away from his face and put it back on the bed. "It – it was the same car crash."

You smiled. "Okay then. Is that why my arm's purple?" You looked down at it curiously, as if you'd just discovered a new species of arm.

"Uh...yeah." Joe mumbled, gazing down into his lap.

He was snapped out of his reverie, though, when we heard a knock at the door.

It opened, and the doctor stepped in, holding a clipboard, smiling at each of us as she approached the bed. "Welcome back, Mr. Stump. How are you feeling?"

You shut your eyes thoughtfully, as if puzzling over the answer, then hummed, "sleepy."

She started fiddling with some of the machines, pressing buttons and picking up wires. "That's perfectly normal after being anaesthetised."

"Is it normal for him to be talking complete crap?" I asked, 'cause I was getting kinda worried that the operation had mangled your brain.

But she laughed. "Yes, it's normal. The effects vary from person to person, some get dizzy, or nauseous. He's had a rough night, he's undoubtedly feeling quite confused."

"I'm confused!" you exclaimed, like a kid shouting out an answer in class. I couldn't help but laugh at you, it was like you'd morphed into a four-year-old.

You heard my laugh and gazed at me, as if trying to read my thoughts. It was funny, the look in your eyes seemed so distant, as if you were trying to see me from a mile away. You sighed briefly, then reached out for my hand, wriggling your fingers as if you were trying to summon it with magic. I took your hand and squeezed it, and you kept staring at me.

"Your face is nice," you said absent-mindedly, your gaze wandering over my features.

I smiled. "It's got nothing on yours."

At that, even through the bruises, I saw your cheeks turn pink, and you smiled so wide, the cut on your lip split. A drop of red oozed out of it, but you hardly seemed to notice, humming contentedly and shutting your eyes.

I reached out a hand and gently dabbed away the blood, running a thumb over your lips. Fuck, I wanted to kiss you so bad.

"Well, everything seems to be in order. We'll talk more about your situation and recovery when you've had some rest, Mr. Stump." She gave us all a kind smile and headed for the door. "I'd recommend you three to go and get some sleep, too, especially you, Mr. Trohman. He'll still be here in the morning."

Joe nodded, but didn't budge.

"Does – does that mean I can sleep now?" You asked, looking at me with wide eyes.

"Yeah, sweetheart, you can sleep."

"Pete," you said quickly, patting me on the arm, "we – we should call the next record something French."

I laughed. "Okay. Why French?"

"Because they have the baguettes."

Obviously.

"I like soup."

"I know, Patrick."

"Spoons are useful for soup."

"Yes they are."

"What's French for spoon?"

"I don't know."

"Okay. That's okay, don't feel bad about it." You patted me again, and I swear to god your adorable-ness was getting more than I could handle. I wish you were in this good a mood when you woke up normally. "I'm tired." You mumbled, screwing up your eyes.

"You can sleep now, baby, the doctor said."

You held my hand a bit tighter. "If I sleep, will you be here when I wake up?"

I nodded, "Of course. I'm not gonna leave."

"Thank you." You breathed, your eyes fluttering shut.

"I love you." I whispered, hoping you'd heard.

"I love you too." The last words were lost as your lips stilled and the sounds died in your throat.

I smiled again, feeling my chest swell and my heart fill. I'm so glad I got to hear you say those words again. Lifting myself out of the chair a little, I leaned over and kissed you, ever so gently, on your perfect lips, stroking your face with my hand and tracing circles on your cheek.

I heard Andy cough. Oh yeah. I'd forgotten they were even there.

Tied between blushing and not giving a shit what they thought, I sat back down, sinking into my chair and just thinking things over. I couldn't believe how much had happened in a matter of hours. I also couldn't believe that you were lying there in front of me, and you'd just said you loved me, which makes me feel so good no matter how many times you say it. And you were gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay.

Joe shifted in his seat, watching me as I gazed at your sleeping form.

"You really do love him, don't you?" he said gently.

"More than anything in the world."

He smiled. "Okay. Okay," he held out his good hand, "truce?"

I grinned, taking his hand and shaking it. "Truce."

-

They went home about an hour ago. Joe said he wanted to stay, but Andy and I knew he needed the sleep more than any of us, he could barely stay conscious in the end. He needed someone to drive him home, so Andy went too. He also said he'd go get some of your stuff from your house, clothes and toothbrushes and stuff. They'll be back when they've had some actual rest.

I should probably sleep too. I can feel the night catching up with me, my eyelids weigh a tonne. I'm still sitting here, next to you, just listening to your heartbeat and watching you breathe. It's really peaceful, actually, it's like that Zen stuff. I'm still holding your hand, too. It makes it kinda difficult to write, but I don't care. I don't wanna ever let go.

You're alive. I keep repeating it to myself, and letting the relief flood through me all over again. I can't believe how close I came to losing you forever.

I want to just say, if there's any kind of god up there, thank you. Thank you so, so much. But also, thank you to the doctors and nurses who worked to keep you alive. The people who aren't up there in the heavens, but down here, cutting you up and putting you back together. They saved your life, and mine too. Thank you for bringing my baby back to me.

I didn't think I'd write another of these. I thought I'd be crying over your body. But I'm not. Because you fucking survived. You were strong, you didn't fade like they thought you would, you didn't leave. You're not up there with the angels, you're down here, being my angel.

Thank you.

Sleep tight, baby.

From Pete

xxx