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Dante.

Dante.

All I can think as I start to fade back into reality is him.

He saved me. Again. I need to see him. I need to talk to him. Feel him. I need to know that I’m alive and he’s here with me.

All I can sense is my own heartbeat, and I swear I can hear it, too. It’s a strange, robotic beep that tunes in and out of my fuzzy ears.

It starts to make sense, though. I start to remember.

I was getting coffee and muffins for Dante, and looking for a ride to get to him. Then the pain. Then nothing.

Wait. No, not nothing. Dante.

Whoever attacked me had fallen beside me, I can’t remember why. I can only assume that Dante laid them out before he scooped me up from the ground. I can still smell him—the leather of his jacket, the warm suede on the inside that was pressed against my head and face.

“Ethan.” My mother’s voice pulls me awake completely. I wiggle my fingers, or they twitch, I’m not sure. Everything feelswarm and fuzzy, but not in the scary way it did when I passed out.

“Mom?” I mumble. My eyes are still closed.

I hear shuffling, and the beeping is even louder. As I open my eyes, I realize I’m in the hospital.

It takes a second or two for my vision to clear, though it still feels a bit hazy.

I groan. “The light.” My voice is a bit hoarse. I squint, trying to avoid the blinding light above me.

There’s a click and the lights turn off, but softer light from outside of the room and the windows to the left give me plenty of light to see by.

“Oh, Ethan, I was so worried,” my mom tells me, and I feel her hand on mine. Her face appears above me.

“I’m okay,” I whisper.

She huffs. “You don’t even know what’s happened! How can you be okay?”

I lick my lips. “I was attacked. How bad is it?”

She looks to the side, and my eyes follow hers.

“Dante,” I gasp. I start to sit up, but he steps closer and puts his hand on my chest. It’s just enough to discourage me, and I lie back down. I feel sore, but there’s not nearly as much pain as I’d expect.

“Dante, are you okay?” I ask him, reaching out for him with my other hand, but the IV line doesn’t let me.

“I’m fine,” he insists. “God, this is my fault, Ethan. I’m so sorry.”

I shake my head. “No, no. Please don’t?—”

“Ethan, don’t get worked up,” my mother insists. I realize I’m squeezing her hand hard. “There’s plenty of time to blame each other later.”

I nod and my eyes lock on Dante’s.

“I was coming to you,” I tell him.

He blinks. “You were?”

“Yes, I…Dante?—”

He cuts me off.