H E R M I A

My phone lay beside me on the plastic chair, the screen dim and untouched. For once, I had no desire to scroll. No texts to reply, no updates to post, no distractions strong enough to pull me from the ache rooted in my chest. I kept my eyes on the dull hospital hallway tiles, hoping that if I stared long enough, I'd forget how long I'd been sitting there.

He shouldn't have seen the look on my face. He should've kept walking. He should've just walked past. I could've pretended I never saw him, and he could've done the same. We were good at pretending. He should've spared us both.

But it was too late. It was all wishful thinking. He slowed down and turned. He had seen me.

I saw him in my periphery, walking out from the other wing, moving in my direction already.

When he stopped in front of me, I didn't look up. I couldn't. I was afraid he could see through my facade already.

The way his feet hesitated, the way his head tilted slightly told me he caught the flicker of emotion I thought I had hidden. My stomach turned as he started toward me, and every instinct told me to run. But I didn't move. I just sat there, stiff and exposed, as though I owed the universe this moment.

If I did, he'd know. He'd read me like he always did. And God, I didn't want him to see through me, not here. Not now.

I had acted like I didn't care what he meant when I saw him at the door but here I was, burning with jealousy at the sight of the nurse who was openly flirting with him. I thought I had outgrown that feeling over the years. I'm surprised at the discomfort I felt deep down when I tried to ignore that I didn't see the act going on right in front of me.

I kept my gaze low, like the dull linoleum had something interesting to offer. But my ears caught everything. His footsteps. The tiny hitch in his breath. And that nurse. The one who was still giggling like a high schooler.

It shouldn't have bothered me. I was done with this. With him.

I had a fiancé. A life outside of Aaron.

But jealousy crawled up my spine like an old friend, bitter and familiar.

"I thought you left," he said finally. His voice was low and even. Too gentle.

I met his eyes, reluctantly. There was no hint of mockery in them. Just weariness.

"I was with my grandma," he added as if realising my silent question.

I nodded, my tone clipped. "Hmm... Of course." I didn't ask further questions. Of course I knew his Grandma but I didn't want to be too familiar.

Eventually, I spoke when the silence crept in.

"How's she?"

"Thank you. She's very well. I'll inform her you asked after her—"

"Please don't." I cut in sharply.

The silence that followed was sharp and tense.

Without an invitation, he lowered himself onto the chair beside me. Not too close. Not too far.

I stared at the space between us and arched a brow.

"I didn't invite you," I muttered, my voice low and cold.

"How's Cameron?" The question sucker-punched me.

It was the last thing I expected.

If it were me. If I saw Courtney from the I.T. sprawled across a hallway in tears, I wouldn't have asked either. I'd feel bad, sure. But it wouldn't be my place.

I narrowed my eyes. "It's none of your business."

He exhaled and shifted just a little closer. I tilted my head back sharply, discomfort rolling off me like heat as I looked away to avoid his scorching gaze.

"What do you think you're doing?"

He ignored the sting in my voice. "I heard he's in surgery. Internal bleeding, right?"

My heart stalled. I turned to him, surprised. "You were there?"

He nodded slowly. "I saw it happen."

I blinked. "You... saw it?"

"Yeah. I was in my car. I got the plate number."

A beat passed. Then another. I swallowed hard.

He knew. He had known all along. While I was falling apart and while I was frantically pacing the hospital lobby, he had known.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugged, eyes locking with mine. "Would it have mattered if it came from me?"

His words struck deep. I looked away, pressing my lips together to stop the trembling. Right. I might not have believed him.

He added, softer now, "I'm sorry. He'll make it."

I nodded, but the movement felt robotic. I didn't believe it. Not yet.

"I hate this place," I muttered. The words slipped out before I could stop them.

"Me too."

There was a pause. I could feel everything unraveling. The wall, the silence, everything I'd been holding together since the call that came telling me about Cameron's accident.

"I can't do this again," I whispered, barely audible.

And then I broke down.

My chest heaved, my breath catching as the first sob escaped. One became two. Then it all poured out. Years of confusion, guilt, anger, and heartbreak.

He didn't speak. He just opened his arms.

I should've pulled away. But I didn't.

I leaned in, chest shaking, my face buried into the warmth of his shoulder. His scent hadn't changed. He still smelled like pine and something deeper, like a memory.

And all I could think was that he was still the one I fell apart with. I didn't know how long we sat like that.

The hallway faded and the world faded. For a moment, it was just him and me.

But, moments don't last forever. Eventually, I pulled back. Not all the way but just enough to breathe.

Aaron's hand hovered near my shoulder, unsure.

"You don't have to say anything," he said. "I just... wanted you to know you're not alone."

His voice cracked slightly. I wondered if he hated hospitals as much as I did. I wondered if he thought about that night too. The blood, the sirens, the sound of my voice screaming his name.

I inhaled shakily and commented. "This feels like déjà vu."

He smiled weakly. "Except this time, it's not me in the hospital bed."

It hit deep and I gave a small, sad laugh. "Would it be better if it was?"

"Maybe," he answered. Too fast.

I stared at him. He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Sorry. I didn't mean that. I just... I hate that it's him. Not because it's him, but because you're hurting... Again."

I closed my eyes, tears threatening again.

"Look, I don't know what to feel anymore."

He looked at me for a long time. "Okay. Then don't. Not now. Just breathe."

I didn't want to breathe. I wanted to scream. I wanted to rewind time. I wanted to forget the image of Cameron's body on that stretcher and how small he looked. How helpless.

But I didn't move. I just stayed there, between heartbreak and the one man who always knew how to find the cracks in my armor.

I stared at the hallway and the path that led to the I.T.  My chest became heavy.

In a few minutes, someone would come tell me something. Maybe good, maybe bad.

But right now, I had the warmth of his shoulder, the ache of memory, and the knowledge that even if the world was cruel, it had once been kind enough to give me him.

And maybe, just maybe, that still meant something.
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