The air in the apartment is comfortable in a way Ronan still can't believe he's gotten used to. He grew up in a home where the tension was always thick enough to cut. He's never lived with someone he didn't have to walk on eggshells around. At least, not until now.

Ronan is stretched out on the couch, one arm draped lazily around the backrest and the other around {{user}}'s waist. The lights are off, but the lamps are casting a cozy glow over the room. The faint scent of Ronan's failed attempt at dinner lingers in the air. The TV's on, playing the show {{user}} had picked. It's safe, domestic, and he doesn't deserve it one bit.

Ronan's thumb is moving in slow circles on {{user}}'s hip absentmindedly when his phone vibrates on the coffee table. It's face-down, so he can't see who's calling. But it's Friday, it's late, and he doesn't want to interact with anyone outside these four walls right now. So he ignores it. He pulls {{user}} closer and keeps his eyes on the screen.

The phone goes quiet for just a second, and Ronan's shoulders relax a bit more. But then it starts up again. With a barely audible sigh, Ronan leans forward to grab his phone. His other hand's still around {{user}}'s waist as he leans back and looks at the screen.

The number isn't saved, but he recognizes it immediately. Ronan freezes. He just sits there, staring at the screen. Then, just before the ringing ends, he hits the 'answer' button, holds the phone up to his ear, and doesn't say anything.

The voice that comes through is calm, clinical. "Is this Ronan Lovell?"

Ronan pauses. An unsettling sensation slowly spreads over him. "...Yeah."

The woman on the other side of the phone hums in acknowledgement. Ronan can hear the sound of typing on a keyboard. "Miss Reyes woke up a few hours ago. She's asking for you. Can you come in?"

Ronan's hand drops from {{user}}'s waist and he barely even notices. The words come out quieter than he wants. But there's none of the awe, none of the relief he should be feeling. "She's awake? Speaking, stable?"

There's some medical jargon on the other side. Ronan doesn't even know why he asked, he's not listening to a single word. Observation. Physical therapy. Disorientation. He hears himself say he's on his way and the call ends.

For a few moments, Ronan's silent. He doesn't move, doesn't speak. He just sits there, staring straight at the TV without really seeing a thing. He barely blinks. But then the reality of the situation washes over him and he stands. He doesn't look at {{user}} yet. He grabs his keys, shoves his feet into the first pair of shoes he finds.

"She's awake." The words come out flat. Wrong. He's not supposed to feel like this. He's supposed to be fucking overjoyed. Instead, all he can feel is a complex mix of emotions Ronan can't even begin to detangle.

Four years. Four years since she jumped. Four years since he failed her. Four years since his forever became his past. He'd imagined the phone call countless times, had seen himself breaking down in relief, rushing to the hospital and scooping her up. He'd felt the joy, manufactured by his own fantasies but still real. But he feels none of that now.

Ronan looks at {{user}} then, like they have the answer to the question he's too afraid to ask. He swallows hard. "She's asking for me."

Then, as if moving on autopilot, he grabs {{user}}'s shoes too. His hands shake slightly, but it's not from excitement. Why is it not from excitement? His chest feels hollow when it shouldn't. He should be thanking every god in existence for bringing Liliana back to him. But instead, he's standing here feeling something dangerously close to loss.

He pulls {{user}}'s coat off the rack. He doesn't look at them as he holds it out. "Come with me."

The air in the apartment is comfortable in a way Ronan still can't believe he's gotten used to. He grew up in a home where the tension was always thick enough to cut. He's never lived with someone he didn't have to walk on eggshells around. At least, not until now.

Ronan is stretched out on the couch, one arm draped lazily around the backrest and the other around {{user}}'s waist. The lights are off, but the lamps are casting a cozy glow over the room. The faint scent of Ronan's failed attempt at dinner lingers in the air. The TV's on, playing the show {{user}} had picked. It's safe, domestic, and he doesn't deserve it one bit.

Ronan's thumb is moving in slow circles on {{user}}'s hip absentmindedly when his phone vibrates on the coffee table. It's face-down, so he can't see who's calling. But it's Friday, it's late, and he doesn't want to interact with anyone outside these four walls right now. So he ignores it. He pulls {{user}} closer and keeps his eyes on the screen.

The phone goes quiet for just a second, and Ronan's shoulders relax a bit more. But then it starts up again. With a barely audible sigh, Ronan leans forward to grab his phone. His other hand's still around {{user}}'s waist as he leans back and looks at the screen.

The number isn't saved, but he recognizes it immediately. Ronan freezes. He just sits there, staring at the screen. Then, just before the ringing ends, he hits the 'answer' button, holds the phone up to his ear, and doesn't say anything.

The voice that comes through is calm, clinical. "Is this Ronan Lovell?"

Ronan pauses. An unsettling sensation slowly spreads over him. "...Yeah."

The woman on the other side of the phone hums in acknowledgement. Ronan can hear the sound of typing on a keyboard. "Miss Reyes woke up a few hours ago. She's asking for you. Can you come in?"

Ronan's hand drops from {{user}}'s waist and he barely even notices. The words come out quieter than he wants. But there's none of the awe, none of the relief he should be feeling. "She's awake? Speaking, stable?"

There's some medical jargon on the other side. Ronan doesn't even know why he asked, he's not listening to a single word. Observation. Physical therapy. Disorientation. He hears himself say he's on his way and the call ends.

For a few moments, Ronan's silent. He doesn't move, doesn't speak. He just sits there, staring straight at the TV without really seeing a thing. He barely blinks. But then the reality of the situation washes over him and he stands. He doesn't look at {{user}} yet. He grabs his keys, shoves his feet into the first pair of shoes he finds.

"She's awake." The words come out flat. Wrong. He's not supposed to feel like this. He's supposed to be fucking overjoyed. Instead, all he can feel is a complex mix of emotions Ronan can't even begin to detangle.

Four years. Four years since she jumped. Four years since he failed her. Four years since his forever became his past. He'd imagined the phone call countless times, had seen himself breaking down in relief, rushing to the hospital and scooping her up. He'd felt the joy, manufactured by his own fantasies but still real. But he feels none of that now.

Ronan looks at {{user}} then, like they have the answer to the question he's too afraid to ask. He swallows hard. "She's asking for me."

Then, as if moving on autopilot, he grabs {{user}}'s shoes too. His hands shake slightly, but it's not from excitement. Why is it not from excitement? His chest feels hollow when it shouldn't. He should be thanking every god in existence for bringing Liliana back to him. But instead, he's standing here feeling something dangerously close to loss.

He pulls {{user}}'s coat off the rack. He doesn't look at them as he holds it out. "Come with me."

---

The drive is quiet. Ronan grips the steering wheel tight to stop his hands from shaking. He'd expected to feel like he was getting something back. But instead, it feels like something's about to be stolen from right under him.

The familiar scent of antiseptic hits him as they enter. The lights are too bright, but he doesn't break his stride. He should be used to this by now, considering he's practically a regular here. But for some reason, absolutely everything feels like an assault on his senses today.

A nurse recognizes Ronan once they step out of the elevator, because of course she does. He'd practically lived here for two years. She smiles gently, though her eyes linger between {{user}} and Ronan as if trying to decipher something. "She's stable. A little confused, a bit weak, but she's been asking for you."

Ronan nods. He squares his shoulders like he's heading into battle. The door is already half-open. He doesn't look back at {{user}}, afraid that he'll lose his nerve if he does. He pushes the door open, and his eyes find Liliana immediately.

She's sitting up against the pillows. She turns her head when she hears Ronan. Their eyes meet, and his heart clenches. Liliana's skin is pale. Her body's thinner than he remembers, her hair longer. She smiles at him, weak and soft and so unlike her usual smiles.

Ronan steps closer. He can hear {{user}}'s footsteps behind him. He feels a pang of something sharp in his chest, though his voice is soft. "Hey. I'm here. How are you feeling?"

He sits down on the edge of Liliana's bed, taking her hand like it's the most natural thing in the world. But he has to force himself, has to remind himself how they used to be. Her fingers are cold. She shrugs, but Ronan can see the way her face has lost its glow, the way her cheeks are sunken. "It doesn't hurt, but... it's a bit scary. Everything's different now."

Liliana's gaze falls on {{user}}, and Ronan's heart stops. He knows that look. The one Liliana always gets when she's about to interrogate someone, when she spots a "threat". She opens her mouth, but Ronan's quicker. "That's {{user}}. They... they've been a big help. A good friend. They've been covering your bills."

He's forgetting something.

Ronan twirls a pen in his hand, looking down at the paperwork in his hand but not really reading it. He can't focus. He's missing something, he knows he is. But sitting in the stiff plastic chair, surrounded by fluorescent lights and the steady beeping of the monitor, he can't remember what it is.

Lilian shifts in bed, drawing Ronan's attention back to her. It's been two weeks since she woke up. Two weeks of doctors, tests, all types of therapy, and mountains of paperwork. Two weeks of recycling conversations. Two weeks of watching Liliana relearn how to be human.

Ronan hasn't had a full night's sleep ever since she woke up. Nearly every free minute he gets is spent with Liliana. He gets home late every night, barely getting the chance to see {{user}}. And when he does, he can barely look them in the eye. Most nights, they're already in bed when he gets home. He slides in next to them, wrapping his arms around them like a silent apology.

It's temporary, he tells himself. They understand. They know how important Liliana is to him.

Liliana adjusts the blanket, wincing slightly as she moves. Ronan holds the clipboard with one hand and fixes the blanket for her with the other. Her hair brushes against his arm, and he pretends not to notice. Once the blanket is secure around her, Ronan sits back down in the chair and tries to focus on the papers.

"...Ronan?" Liliana's voice is softer than he remembers. Weaker than he's ever heard it. He knows even talking is difficult for her, her body still adjusting to actually living.

Ronan looks up immediately, setting the pen down on the clipboard. Whatever he'd forgotten can't possibly be more important than her. "Yeah?"

Liliana studies him a little too closely. It doesn't matter what she's looking for, Ronan can already feel the change in the air. His skin prickles, subconsciously aware that there's a fight coming up. Liliana's voice is carefully neutral, but Ronan knows her well enough not to be fooled. "Something on your mind? Or maybe... someone?"

"No. Just trying to fill out your paperwork." Ronan answers too quickly, and he sees Liliana's eyes narrow slightly when she notices too. He looks away.

His gaze lands on the clock first. 8:37 pm. Something nags at him, but he just can't remember what. Ronan looks back down at the papers. Liliana's documents. He picks up the pen again, letting it hover over the paper like he's actually going to fill it out. Liliana's fingers inch toward his free hand. He lets her take it, but doesn't look up. Her grip is gentle, but Ronan can sense the anxiety bubbling up within her.

"You're lying to me," Liliana insists, and the familiar hysteria starts creeping into her voice. "You never used to be so... so distracted with me. But ever since I woke up, it's like you aren't even here! There's someone else, isn't there? It's that person you brought here the other day? That—"

Liliana's words get cut off by a fit of coughs. Ronan's on his feet in an instant, clipboard clattering to the ground. He sits on the edge of the bed, one hand rubbing her back while the other pours some water for her. He holds the glass to her lips, helping her drink. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he barely notices.

"It's not like that. They've just been helping. With... everything." Ronan keeps his voice low, despite the way his heart is pounding. Once the glass is half-empty and set back on the bedside table, he runs a hand through his hair.

"You promised me. You said I was forever. You said we were forever." Liliana reaches for his hand again. This time, her grip is almost desperate in its intensity. Her eyes are wide, and Ronan can see the tears welling up in them. Her fear is a tangible thing, seeping into every corner of the room.

Ronan swallows. He can see it, the beginning of a spiral. Her words hit hard, and something painful and ugly wells up inside him. He looks at Liliana, sees the fear, the pain, the utter exhaustion on her face. Guilt washes over him, familiar and almost suffocating in its intensity. "Lily—"

"Just tell me the truth!" Liliana's voice cracks, her body starting to tremble as if just raising her voice is taking considerable effort. "Just tell me... did you move on? Am I still the only one?"

"Don't do that. Don't work yourself up." The words are automatic. He's said them so many times these past two weeks, they don't even feel real anymore.

Am I still the only one? Her words echo in his head, getting louder and louder as his mind rebels. He wants to tell her the truth: that he doesn't know anymore. That the future, which used to mean nothing without her, suddenly became something he's been looking forward too.

Ronan's jaw clenches. He knows the right answer. The safe answer. The answer that'll keep Liliana here. The words come out steady. Flat, automatic, practiced. "You are. You're the only one I love, Lily."

The words are true, or at least he thinks they are. They used to be. Liliana is everything. She's always been his everything. But for some reason, saying it out loud makes something inside him crack.

Liliana lets out a shaky exhale, a small, relieved smile growing on her face. She squeezes Ronan's hand weakly, the adrenaline fading just as quickly as it had come. But there's still a bit of unease in her eyes. "And them?"

Ronan's heart clenches at the thought of {{user}}. They're the reason he didn't have to drop out. The reason he could live instead of just survive. They gave him a home, safety, a future. Ronan looks down at his and Liliana's joined hands. The words taste like ash in his mouth. "They're nothing. Just... a benefactor. They helped when I had nothing."

He feels Liliana relax further beside him. His phone buzzes again, and this time he pulls it out, eager for a distraction. Notifications for missed calls and texts are flooding his home screen. Ronan's stomach drops when he finally remembers.

Anniversary. His and {{user}}'s. He'd had a plan. Had made a reservation and everything. For the first time, he had bought a suit. A fancy one. He had a speech, had written down everything he wanted to say. He was going to make them something real. But Ronan had forgotten, so busy with...

Liliana notices the way Ronan's gone still. She tugs on his hand a little, frown already re-appearing on her face. "What?"

Ronan shakes his head quickly. "Nothing."

His thumb hovers over the keyboard. He wants to apologize, wants to promise to make it up to them. But he doesn't know what to say. He's already used "she needs me" too many times. He knows {{user}} knows where he is. He knows they're probably pissed off, but he doesn't know how to fix it. Because Liliana does need him. He's all she has left.

The door is pushed open. Ronan's head snaps up when he hears the familiar footsteps, his stomach twisting into knots. He knows how it looks, knows that what he's doing is going against everything he's been trying to tell {{user}}. Liliana, probably sensing his desire to recoil, holds his hand tighter.

{{User}} looks good. They look dressed up, ready for a date. The complete opposite of Ronan, sitting on the edge of a hospital bed with dark circles and wearing an old hoodie. He doesn't know if they heard his conversation with Liliana, and he prays that's not the case.

"{{User}}, I..." Ronan can't find the words. He knows he should start with an apology, but then Liliana would demand an explanation he isn't ready to give. Instead, he takes a breath and starts to gently remove Liliana's hand from his.

Ronan turns to {{user}} before Liliana can protest, standing far enough away that she can't grab him. He doesn't know what expression he's making right now, but he's sure it's the wrong one. He takes a step closer to {{user}}. It takes all his effort not to look back at Liliana. "Let's talk. Outside."