Chapter Text
You’re pale.
It shouldn’t be something his head lingers on. You’ve lost a lot of blood. Of course you’re pale.
But you shouldn’t be.
You shouldn’t be laying in a hospital bed, eyes closed with too large a chance that they’ll never open again. You shouldn’t be this still.
You hadn’t been when the shockwave had thrown the two of you on the ground. He’d looked over to see you already, expectedly stubbornly, pushing yourself up on trembling arms. You’d looked back at him, and the shock and confusion in your eyes had made place for this all-encompassing horror Chishiya had, for once, taken moments too long to realise the meaning off.
Too late to dive out of the way of the falling debris himself.
He’d only seen it when your body collided against his, pushing him narrowly out of the way.
Your scream of agony had penetrated the ringing in his ears as he watched the rebar mercilessly tear through you.
The beeping of the heartbeat monitor really should’ve been enough to tell him you haven’t gone into cardiac arrest again, but Chishiya, for the upteenth time, reaches for the nape of your neck so he can feel your pulse under his fingers.
Your beat is weaker than he’d like, but expected for your current status. With reluctance, he pulls his hand back.
It should have been a good thing. If you hadn’t pushed him out of the way, the debris would’ve hit him instead of you. He might’ve died.
And Chishiya is selfish enough that he’d gladly take anyone sacrificing themselves for him.
Yet you did. And somehow, Chishiya really wishes you didn’t.
He’d gone into doctor mode immediately, but what was there he could do? You’d been pierced by rebar in your shoulder and abdomen. Taking it out would’ve been a death sentence, yet you’d been looking at him with this dazed, pained look in your eyes. He needed tools. A team.
All he could do was stop your bleeding and tell you to stay awake as your heartbeat grew weaker and weaker under his hands.
The only thing that could’ve saved you was if one of the teams of EMT’s would stop there. You just needed to stay alive long enough for that to happen.
Your voice had sounded so unlike you when you tried his name, winded and small and hurt, and he’d immediately shushed you.
You couldn’t afford to waste any energy.
His hands are trembling. He’s never experienced that before. He’s always been in perfect control of them. He has to be, as a future surgeon. But you’re so pale in your hospital bed. Lifeless in a way you’re not supposed to be.
He’d planned on marrying you. Not because he cared, but because he’s supposed to marry someone and everyone else paled in comparison. You’re the rare, tolerable person in his life.
Except you’re a lot more than tolerable, aren’t you?
He reaches out to feel your pulse again.
If you’d just been tolerable, he wouldn’t have been sitting here right now. He’d been out there, helping. Not out of the goodness of his own heart, but because it’d earn him some valuable, rare experience.
He hates how weak your heart is beating.
He does care, doesn’t he? That’s what the heavy feeling in his chest means? That’s why he can’t stand to see you like this?
He still wants to marry you. But not out of convenience anymore. He needs you to stay with him.
Your heartbeat slowly had gotten slower, and he’d grinded his teeth the moment he could feel you lose consciousness. He’d never felt so relieved in his life when he’d noticed an ambulance round the corner.
But then the beating beneath his fingers stopped.
It’s beating now, he reminds himself. He can feel your pulse.
He’d…
He’d refused to give up on you. You couldn’t die. Not you. He could not care less about triage or anyone else. So he’d gotten up and signaled at the ambulance.
For once, he’ll admit he was lucky. The ambulance was from his parents’ hospital, and the EMT in the passenger seat recognised him.
They’d come over.
He was only a student. Having to step aside and let the professionals attempt to reawaken you might be the hardest thing he’s ever done in his life.
The first attempt didn’t do anything. Something had clenched in his chest when the paramedic confirmed the lack of a pulse.
They only gave you a second attempt. They cared about triage, no matter who he was.
But it worked. Your lips parted to intake air, and the paramedic confirmed your pulse.
Sixty-three seconds.
Chishiya hadn’t realised he’d habitually kept track of his watch until he gave the number to the paramedics.
He hadn’t been supposed to ride with you in the ambulance, of course. A major disaster just happened. There wasn’t room.
But who was going to stop him? He doesn’t often abuse his family’s name, and the paramedics had better things to do.
He couldn’t leave you alone. He just couldn’t. He could still feel the memory of a lack of a pulse beneath his fingers, and he’d spent the drive holding your wrist in his hands, expecting each beat to be your last.
He still remembers that feeling clearly. That powerlessness. An emptiness he didn’t realise he hadn’t felt in weeks.
He doesn’t take back his hand from your neck, hypnotised by your pulse.
You’re alive. You’ll stay that way.
His mother had taken over the moment you were rolled out of the ambulance. For once, he’d been glad for her. She’s excellent at her job.
He’d watched behind the window as they operated on you, his hand clenching as he could do nothing as they removed the shards of rebar. As they applied sutures. But, like her track record would suggest, his mother pulled through.
You made it through the operation without losing your pulse again.
His mother suggested he stayed with you when you were given a bed. He wonders whether it’s empathy. It’s likely because he was too compromised to properly put his own skills to use on others.
He looks at your still face, the gentle movements of your chest as you breathe. He remembers your scream.
He doesn’t get why.
Why would you have done it? You consider yourself his fake fiancée. He knows of your dramatic daydreams about how to break up with him. He’s seen the attempts you made to get past his walls, but he never let you.
He’s been nothing but cold towards you.
Yet you chanced your life to save his.
You shouldn’t have. Yet you did.
He should be glad. Yet he can’t stop his hands from trembling. Yet his chest feels so constricted he would’ve consulted one of the doctors if they weren’t busy with the victims of the disaster.
Besides, he recognises the symptoms as the emotions he’d never expected to feel himself.
Your eyes are still closed, but your heart is beating under his fingers.
He’ll do all he can to make sure it doesn’t stop again.