My head is pounding. A sharp, relentless ache spreads across my skull, and when I try to blink away the fog, the harsh fluorescent light above forces my eyes shut again.

"Ella, baby," a familiar voice murmurs, cutting through the haze.

I blink again, slower this time, trying to adjust. A hand is wrapped around mine, warm and firm.

"Ella, are you okay?" The voice is clearer now, thick and rough with concern.

"Michael?" My breath hitches as my vision sharpens. His chestnut brown eyes meet mine, clouded with something I can't quite place—trouble, unease.

"What...what are you doing here?" My voice is hoarse, weak.

"You shouldn't try to sit up," he says, moving to adjust my pillow. His movements are too natural, too familiar, and it unsettles me.

"Don't call me that," I mumble, my eyes darting past him. "Where's Harry?"

"He's talking to the doctor," he replies, his tone clipped.

Nothing makes sense. My body feels heavy, my mind sluggish. Why is Michael here? The whole thing feels like some sick, twisted dream. Maybe if I squeeze my eyes shut again, I'll wake up in Harry's bed, warm and safe, and none of this will be real.

"You couldn't just say, 'Hey, people, I need attention,' huh?" Jimmy's voice cuts through the fog, dripping with sarcasm. "No, you had to be dramatic about it and faint."

I try to process his words, but my brain isn't cooperating.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Jimmy's voice sharpens.

"Who?" I manage to whisper.

"Not you. You."

I can't see clearly, but I already know he's talking to Michael.

"I drove them here, man," Michael mutters, suddenly less cocky than before. He might put on an act with Harry, but Jimmy? Jimmy terrifies him, and I love that.

"Is it true, Ella?" Jimmy asks, his voice softer when it's directed at me.

I blink, my brain sluggishly piecing things together. "I fainted?"

"You tell me the truth, asshole, or I'll punch you," Jimmy threatens Michael.

"What's going on?" Another voice enters the mix—his voice.

Harry.

The tension in the room shifts instantly. I feel myself relax, just a little.

"Harry," I breathe, my body instinctively responding to his presence. I try to sit up again, but the dizziness pulls me back down.

"Baby, don't push yourself," he says, already by my side, his large hand wrapping around mine. "You're okay, I promise."

"What happened?" My voice is weaker than I'd like, but I need answers.

Harry's eyes soften, but there's something else in them too—something darker, heavier. "You were under extreme stress, baby. Your body reacted to it. You had sharp abdominal pain and then—" He swallows hard. "You passed out in my arms."

I try to process that, but the words feel disconnected from me, like they happened to someone else.

"Michael was getting to his car when it happened. He saw the whole thing and drove us here." Harry's voice tightens at the mention of his name. "I couldn't hold you and drive at the same time."

I don't respond. I don't know how to respond.

"You'll be okay, baby. We'll be out of here in a couple of hours."

I exhale, closing my eyes again, the weight of the moment pressing down on me.

Jimmy, of course, isn't done. "So why was she stressed?" His concern is real, but his delivery? Typical Jimmy.

"Did you tell her?" he pushes.

"Jimmy, not now," Harry warns, his grip on my hand tightening.

Tell me what?

"Michael, get the hell out," Jimmy snaps. "You're stressing her."

Michael hesitates for a beat, then sighs. "Just... text me to let me know you're okay."

I don't respond, but I don't stop him from leaving either.

When he's gone, Harry turns his full attention back to me. "Baby, are you feeling any better?"

"Yeah. I'm okay," I reassure him, though I don't think either of us fully believes it.

"What did they give me for my stomach?"

"Something for ulcers. You'll need to stick to soup, plain pasta, or mashed potatoes for a few days. No spicy food for at least a month." His lips press together. "They also gave me these tablets for you to take when the pain kicks in again."

"Did they say it was stress-induced?"

"Yeah, but it's not something that just happened overnight, Ella," he says, concern lacing his words. "This has been building up for a while."

He doesn't say it, but I know what he means.

The Harry-and-Charlie mess. School. Work. Natalie's surgery. Michael.

It's all been too much.

"I'll be fine," I say, trying to convince myself as much as him.

Slowly, I sit up.

"You carried me?" I ask.

"Yeah, of course," he says like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Did anyone else touch her?" Jimmy interrupts, and I jump at his sudden outburst.

Harry rolls his eyes. "Just the doctor, Jimmy. Relax."

Jimmy mutters something under his breath but finally takes a seat, though he's still scowling.

"Did you call my mom?" I ask, already dreading the answer.

"No, just Chrys and Ed. They're on their way."

"What? Call them back and tell them to meet us at home!"

Before he can, though, the door swings open, and in rush Chrys and Ed.

Jimmy saves me the trouble of explaining, dragging them aside to fill them in—in the most dramatic way possible, I'm sure.

"You're staying with me tonight, El," Harry tells me firmly. "No way I'm letting you be alone."

I want to argue. I want to tell him I just need my own bed, my own space.

But I also know Harry would be more comfortable in his place, and honestly?

I want to be with him.

So, I nod.

"I brought you a night bag," Chrys says, dropping a dark duffel bag onto the floor.

"You scared us, you pig," Ed grins, trying to lighten the mood.

"Pig?" I raise a brow.

"Yeah. It seemed funny in my head," he shrugs. "But I guess it isn't? Whatever."

"God, you were definitely dropped as a kid," I tease, chuckling despite the nausea still lurking.

Harry interrupts, handing me a piece of paper. "Baby, you need to go see the doctor now that you're awake."

"Room E15," I read.

"You want me to come with you?" Harry asks, worry still heavy in his tone.

I shake my head.

It was embarrassing enough that he had to carry me. The whole damsel in distress thing is not my style.

I hate relying on people. I love Harry, but if I learned anything from Michael, it's this:

Always stand on your own two feet.

And right now? That's exactly what I plan to do.

Coming back from the doctor's office, I still feel weak, but I know that once I get some rest, I'll be fine. I just need to grab my handbag, give my insurance details at the front office, and then head home.

The contrast between today and yesterday is staggering. Just this morning, I was wrapped up in Harry—his hands on me, his body against mine, the way he lost himself in me just as much as I did in him. The memory is still vivid, lingering in my mind like an intoxicating dream. And those sounds—deep, guttural, filled with need—I shake my head, trying to snap out of it. Now is not the time. I need to get it together before I jump him right here in the hospital room and give the poor old man on life support next to me a heart attack.

I push the door open gently, careful not to disturb my temporary roommate or his family, but then I hear hushed whispers behind the curtain.

"You need to tell her," Jimmy's voice is firm, leaving no room for argument.

"I will. I just... I haven't found the right time yet, man." That's Harry.

Immediately, my stomach clenches again, the dull ache turning into something sharper, more urgent. What is he hiding from me?

"I don't know, man," Jimmy exhales, clearly exasperated. There's a weight to his voice that sends a shiver down my spine.

I know it's wrong to eavesdrop, but if you've never done it, feel free to cast the first stone.

"I will, man. Just... not today." Harry's voice is softer now, like he's battling something within himself.

Before I can process what that means, a hand pulls back the curtain, revealing them both.

I don't even pretend I wasn't listening. I just stand there, motionless, my brain spinning through worst-case scenarios Stephen King would kill for.

Jimmy is the first to break the silence.

"Damn it, Ella!" He groans. "What are you, MI6?" He tries to play it off with a laugh, but the way Harry's grip tightens around the duffle bag tells me everything I need to know—he's afraid.

Afraid of my reaction.

Afraid of me.

"Ella, it's nothing, baby. I promise," Harry says, his green eyes wide, pleading. "We'll talk about it once you've had some rest, okay?"

I lick my lips, suddenly feeling how dry they are. I reach for the duffle bag, but he pulls it back, placing it on the bed instead. He still won't look me in the eyes. Instead, he grabs the hospital papers from my hand, folds them neatly, and tucks them into the bag's side pocket.

Jimmy scoffs. "God, you've turned him into a wuss."

Neither of us react to him, but that never stops Jimmy.

"So, go home now and, I don't know, polish the silverware or something."

Not funny, Jim. Not even a little bit.

But strangely, the fact that he's still joking tells me it can't be that bad. If this were serious—really serious—Jimmy wouldn't be making stupid comments. Right?

"Let's go," Harry says quietly, taking my hand in his, leaving me no room to argue.

Behind us, Jimmy follows, shaking his head and tsking dramatically. "Cut off his balls while you're at it, why don't you?"

I glare at him over my shoulder.

"He's terrified of you, and you haven't even said anything yet," he continues, clearly enjoying himself.

Then, with an exaggerated sigh, he adds, "You know, I have deep respect for three things in this world: my mother, lion tamers, and you, Ella—the only people who can tame wildlife."

"Shut the fuck up, man, and take us home," Harry finally snaps, intertwining our fingers as we step outside.

When I wake up, I don't see him.

I push the covers back, still groggy, and sit up. My body feels heavier than usual, but it's better than before.

Harry had been unbelievably attentive when we got here—making me anise tea, going out to get my meds, even playing with my hair and rubbing my back until I fell asleep.

But he still hasn't told me what Jimmy was talking about.

And I hadn't asked. Not yet.

Aside from a few okays and a couple of thank yous, I hadn't said much at all.

I head to the bathroom, and the sight of my reflection startles me. Jesus.

Hair tangled, skin pale, dark circles under my eyes. I look like I just escaped from a mental hospital. The oversized pajamas Chrys lent me don't help either.

Still, I need tea.

Padding into the kitchen, I find Harry asleep on the couch, John sitting next to him, half-watching something on TV.

"Hey," John greets me, switching off the screen. "You feeling better?"

I nod. "Yeah, a bit."

He gets up, stretching. "I'm heading to bed. He refused to leave the couch," he says, nodding toward Harry before disappearing down the hall.

I take my time preparing my tea, letting the warmth seep through my hands. Then, I settle onto the couch beside him.

Harry looks breath-taking even in sleep.

His lips are a soft rose pink, slightly parted, his thick lashes fanning over his cheeks. His arms are crossed over his chest, his breathing deep and steady.

I can't help myself.

I lean in and place a small kiss just under his earlobe, where his skin is softest, where he smells like him—like lavender and something uniquely Harry.

He doesn't stir, so I do it again.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

His lips twitch into a sleepy smile.

"Baby..." he whispers, eyes still closed.

"I love you," he murmurs, pulling me closer without even opening his eyes.

And in that moment, I know—whatever it is Jimmy wanted him to tell me, whatever is coming next—we'll get through it.

Because I'm not giving up on him.

I just got him.

And I'm not letting go.