Richard's lips curved faintly, the smallest of smiles ghosting across his pale face. The motion was fragile, but it carried warmth, so sudden, so human, that it made Ahce's heart falter for a beat.
"If seeing you here is a dream," he whispered, voice trembling like thin glass, "I don't want to wake up."
His words drifted through the air like a prayer meant for no one in particular.
Ahce froze, her breath shallow. Her eyes studied him, every quiver of his lashes, every trembling breath, searching for meaning in the pain that lined his features. There were too many emotions caught in his gaze, too many unsaid things pressing behind his lips. She wanted to hear all of them, even the ones that might cut her open.
Then, without warning, tears began to spill from his eyes. At first, they were silent, glistening trails that traced the sharp angle of his cheekbones. Then they came harder, spilling freely, as if some invisible dam had finally given way.
"I'm really happy," Richard murmured, his voice breaking on the words. "Even if it's just in my dreams… just seeing you again like this."
Ahce's chest constricted painfully. The steady rhythm of the heart monitor seemed to echo his confession, every beep a fragile reminder that he was still here, still fighting.
"You don't know," he continued, forcing breath through shaking lungs, "how many years I've spent waiting, racing against time, trying my best to become the man who could protect you. I wanted to be the best version of myself… for you."
Her fingers clenched in her lap. The ache in his tone was raw enough to make the air between them tremble.
"If this is a dream…" His hand twitched weakly against the sheet, as though reaching for her but too frail to complete the gesture. "Can you stay with me forever? Can you still accept me despite my flaws? I know I was wrong. I let you walk away…"
His voice cracked, the words dissolving into a choked whisper. "I'm sorry, Boss."
The nickname hit the air like a ghost from another life, soft, intimate, and devastatingly familiar.
Richard cried harder then, his sobs muffled but powerful, as though the walls themselves absorbed his pain. For a moment, it seemed as if the world outside the hospital room had stopped breathing.
Ahce moved before she could think.
"Stop crying," she murmured, her tone far gentler than she intended. "Your wounds might reopen."
She approached his bedside, each step measured, careful. Her hand reached out to steady him, to offer comfort that felt both necessary and dangerous.
The moment her fingers brushed the sheet near his arm, he went completely still. The tears halted mid-fall. His wide, disbelieving eyes locked on her face, as though afraid that even blinking would shatter the illusion.
"You're… real?" The question escaped him in a trembling whisper.
And only then did Ahce understand, he hadn't truly believed she was there. Until now, she had been a specter in his delirium, a fragile hallucination he dared not claim.
He stared at her, stunned and wordless, but instinct overrode reason. His hand moved, weak, unsteady, yet desperate, and he tried to lift himself from the bed. Pain rippled through his body. His breath hitched sharply, the effort reopening the strain in his healing side.
"I told you to stop moving," Ahce scolded softly, though her voice wavered, her heart thundering.
His chest rose and fell in uneven rhythm. "Are you… for real?"
"Yeah," she replied quietly, unsure if she was convincing him, or herself.
"I don't believe it," he whispered again, eyes glassy, voice raw. "If I speak too loudly, you might disappear."
Ahce exhaled, trying to lighten the tension. "Do you want me to ki-"
Before she could finish, his hand shot out and caught her wrist. His grip was weak but urgent, and in one swift, impulsive pull, he drew her closer. Then, before either of them could breathe, his lips found hers.
Soft. Warm. Trembling.
The world stilled.
Ahce froze, her mind going blank, the unfinished word 'kick' dying on her tongue. Reflex took over. Her teeth caught his lower lip, a gentle warning more than a protest, enough to make him gasp.
"Are you crazy?" she whispered against his mouth, her pulse a storm beneath her skin.
He didn't retreat. Instead, his forehead came to rest against hers, his breath mingling with hers, uneven but filled with relief.
"You're real," he breathed, a shaky laugh breaking through his tears. "It tastes sweet."
Ahce's heart stuttered. His words were foolish and painfully sincere all at once, and for a fleeting instant, everything else disappeared. The smell of antiseptic, the hum of the machines, and even the weight of forgotten memories. There was only warmth, and the trembling echo of what once was, or what might still be.
Color flooded her cheeks. She cleared her throat and averted her gaze, trying to steady herself.
"Come and eat breakfast," she muttered, grasping for something ordinary in a moment that felt anything but.
She pulled away quickly, but his voice followed, soft and teasing. "I can't use my hands. They feel sore."
His tone carried no true complaint, only that mischievous undertone she remembered too well. Ahce turned, giving him a long, unimpressed look. He met her gaze with exaggerated innocence, his lips quirking slightly. With a resigned sigh, she picked up the breakfast tray and settled beside his bed.
"Fine," she said. "But only this once."
Richard's smile bloomed, bright and boyish despite the dark circles beneath his eyes. He opened his mouth obediently as she spoon-fed him, each bite drawn out as if he were savoring not just the food, but the nearness of her.
"You act like a baby," Ahce muttered, exasperation edging her tone.
"It feels great to be your baby," he replied smoothly, his grin spreading.
She rolled her eyes. "I don't think I look like your mom."
"Mommy…" he whispered suddenly, the word laced with playful mischief.
Ahce's glare was immediate. "Please wipe your nose. The mucus..."
Before she could finish, he panicked, grabbing a tissue and hurriedly swiping at his face. When he realized there was nothing there, his expression faltered. His eyes flicked to her and caught the faint, victorious smirk she failed to hide.
"You tricked me," he muttered, half sulking, half amused.
"Now you know how it feels," she said, turning away to disguise the smile tugging at her lips.
For a while, only the sound of clinking cutlery filled the space.
Then, softly, she asked, "Don't you have other people to take care of you?"
Her voice was calm, but beneath it lingered something fragile.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, his gaze lingered on her, steady and unflinching. When he finally spoke, his words were low and certain.
"You are my home."
The words fell like a stone into still water, simple, yet heavy with everything he couldn't explain.
Ahce froze, the spoon hovering midair.
Home.
I am his home.
The word felt too intimate. It wasn't just affection. It was belonging, a confession wrapped in quiet desperation. Her chest tightened, her heart remembering something her mind had long tried to forget.
She looked at him, and for a moment, the world outside the room ceased to exist. There were no machines, no pain, no hospital walls, just two souls, staring across the fragile space that had once separated them, seeing both what they were and what they had lost.
The silence that followed was not empty. It was full, charged, alive, and trembling with everything unsaid.