The Hospital

The soft hum of machinery filled the hospital room, constant and low, like something too well-known to soothe. White walls, pale light, sterile air—too clean, too controlled.

Elias stood back from the bed, arms folded, shoulders tense. He hadn't sat. Not once. Not since she'd been admitted.

Adeline was motionless, her breathing shallow and regular. Bandages wrapped around her arms, and a thin line sliced down her temple. She hadn't moved since they'd pulled her out of the wreckage. Seraphina had described how Adeline had protected her from the flames. Her voice had broken when she said it, her eyes not quite meeting his.

Silence dominated the room now—suable, taut as thread on the verge of snapping.

One of the nurses went and returned. Elias hardly noticed her. His gaze was on Adeline, but his feet were firmly rooted at the edge of the room, as if an unseen barrier kept him from moving further.

He unfurled his hands on either side of him, gloved because he had come that way, even though no one had questioned him about it. The gloves were understandable to him, although they made the contact impossible. But so was being close.

Minutes. Perhaps more. The universe had narrowed to this silent, vibrating room and the woman on the bed.

He moved one step forward. Then another.

As he stood in front of the chair beside her bed, he didn't sit. Stood there, still coiled with tension.

Adeline's hand moved weakly under the blanket, fingers trembling—barely perceptible, but enough. He gazed down.

There was a lengthy silence.

And then, hesitantly, as if almost to retreat, Elias took off one of his gloves. 

He touched her hand, stopped just above. The air between them was warm now, heavy with something unseen. 

His fingers touched hers. Barely. 

It wasn't comfort. It wasn't sure. It wasn't love, not in words. 

But he remained.

Hours passed. Nurses provided reports in whispers. Seraphina appeared once, caught sight of them, and departed without a word. She didn't question why Elias hadn't returned home.

He didn't depart.

He didn't account.

He simply stood there, gloved hand bunched at his side, bare fingers braced on the rim of Adeline's immobile one—as if attempting to remind himself that she existed.

That perhaps he did as well.