MY LOVE

MY LOVE
Adam's Pov

We walk in. Inside, the smell of antiseptic is overwhelming. Everything is too bright, too clean. People move around us, nurses, visitors, a man in a wheelchair, all of them blurring together in their rush.

“Excuse me,” Ivy says breathlessly to the woman at the front desk. “We’re looking for Emerson Beckett. He was brought in maybe an hour ago?”

The receptionist types something into her computer, her face unreadable. “Are you family?”

“Yes, we are,” I blurt before Ivy can speak. The woman hesitates, then nods, giving us a room number.

We walk and limp down a hallway that actually seems to stretch forever. My heartbeat matches the rhythm of my uneven steps: thud, limp, thud, limp. Each door we pass feels it shouldn't be there. They're dud, if they don't hold Emerson within.

When we reach his room, Ivy stops short. Her hand hovers over the handle for a moment, trembling. I reach out and cover it with mine, offering the miniscule support I can give.

“You ready?” I whisper. I know what I'm asking. He could be in any state. We don't know what we'll find in there, but I'm hoping it'll be good.

She nods, but her eyes are glassy. She pushes the door open. The world narrows to one point in time.

He’s here.

Emerson here.

The first thing I check is the rise and fall of his chest to make sure there is breath in his body.

And there is.

He’s alive.

I mean, I knew it. I knew he couldn't just be gone but the peace that descends upon me when I confirm is akin to a dip in the pool after just being in hell.

He's laying in the bed, pale, still, a line of IV dripping blood into him. He's in his underwear so I can see the bandages that wrap his thigh, stained faintly pink at the middle. Machines beep softly beside him, steady, rhythmic.

He’s okay.

I let out a sound that’s half laugh, half sob. My legs almost give out from the shaking, and it's not even like both of them are working well right now.

Emerson opens his eyes at that.

He stares at us for a full minute, as if he can't believe what he's seeing, like we're apparitions from his mind.

“Em?” Ivy calms softly. But then eyes water and he starts to cry, which is our cue to go to him.

“I. . . I thought y'all were the nurse again,” he says amidst tears. “That woman is always in here, convinced I'm fucking dying.”

Ivy’s already by his side, brushing his hair off his forehead, as she laughs, her tears falling on his dirty shirt, when I get to him. I stand frozen for a moment, deathly afraid that if I touch him I'll realize this is all a mirage. That I'll be back in my hospital room waiting to hear news about him.

“Ivy,” he calls thickly, through a stuffed nose. “Adam. Fuck, it's wonderful to see you. I thought—”

That finally gives me the guts to touch his hand. It’s warm, there, real.

The relief is so sharp it hurts. It hits me, an earthquake-level aftershock from the fear — a massive wave that leaves me shaking, gasping.

My chest tightens again, but this time it’s from something different. Something deeper. And then, like a blow, as I watch him reach for me too, the realization slams into me.

I love him.

Not just as a friend. Not just because he’s been the one steady thing in my life when everything else descended into chaos.

I love him in a way that makes me want to come out of my shell to meet him. I love him and I'm smarter for it, kinder, yet more bold, ballsy. I love him because he sees me for the fucking mess I am and decides to still get into bed with me for a cuddle session. I love him in the way that makes my heart hurt, that makes my hands tremble.

I love Emerson.

And I almost lost him before I even had the chance to say it.

Suddenly, I'm crying, harsh tears that have me crumpling in front of him. The weight of everything that happened these last few days just hits me all at once and I just can't control it.

And again, even though I'm a snotty mess, the man I love reaches for me yet again. Like he has, over and over again.

“I love you so much,” I whisper, the words flowing out of me.

Silence. My own sniffing and sobbing are the only sounds that follow my proclamation until Ivy says, “I, uh, think I should go find that nurse you were talking about Em.”

She walks out of the room, shutting the door behind her, and the words tumble out of me.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry for everything. You were just trying to help me, trying to protect my future like I was. I was giving you a hard time for not letting me be a coward, for not letting me take harmful shortcuts.”

I press his hand between mine and close my eyes. His pulse beats faintly under my fingertips; proof, promise, miracle.

“I think you fucking shocked my heart so bad it paused, Adam,” Emerson starts, his hands tightening around mine. “I love you too and I'm everytime I've imagined you saying it back it just seems so impossible I want to cry,” he sniffs.

“It's not impossible,” I whisper, looking into green eyes I itch to paint again. “I love you.”

He chokes out a laugh. “I love you too, so fucking much. And I'm sorry as well.”

“No—”

“Yes, Adam, I am,” he sighs, “listen to me please.”

I nod, sniff, waiting for him to continue.

“You were right, to some extent. I would never clip your wings. You're going to need them for when you soar high,” he says, this note of surety that even I can't argue against.

“But I admit now that maybe I was directing my grief to you, my fear that you'd leave me too. I think I wanted to encase you in bubble wrap, and keep you near, yes. I was being annoying and downright hypocritical, about the whole thing and I'm sorry for it.”

I laugh, leaning down to kiss him. “Water under the bridge.”

It's all so clear all of a sudden. I finally understand the depth of emotions that come with love, even the repetitiveness of it. I want to do mundane and exciting things with him over and over again.

In the quiet of that room, I know I won’t let him go, as long as he'll hold on to me too.