Early morning comes far too soon. It doesn’t even feel like he’s slept. Although part of that could be because he’s still dressed. Including his shoes in the bed. The languid kicks take time to push the cover off so he can roll onto his back. Zye stares up at the ceiling with nothing but contempt. Today already feels like one of those days.

Flailing out his arm, he intends to scoop up his phone off the bedside table. Except, the device isn’t there. A groan cracks out from a dry throat. “Dammit.”

It means he might as well get up. Swinging his legs over the side, Zye makes for the couch first. He knows it’ll either be there or on the table. Every step feels like he’s dragging cinder blocks behind him. It makes it an even slower process to amble to the kitchen and gingerly place the device on the charging station once he’s found it.

“Stupid technology…” he grumbles as he fills a glass with water. Taking his medicine, he glances over to see the little green light flicker back on. It wasn’t dead, just managed to turn itself off. Even better.

Zye sips at his water as he flicks the screen on and begins to comb through the messages. That is until he sees it, a single missed voicemail. He lifts it closer to his ear and leans over the sink. He swirls the water in the glass as he waits for the message to start.

“Zye, this is Dr. Len. When you get this message call me— or just come to the hospital since I’m sure you will. Lyra’s condition has worsened. I want you to be here in case something happens.” There’s noise in the background. The mumbling of a nurse he’s speaking with and trying not to let leak into the message. “Please be careful on your way.”

The glass clatters into the sink: clacking and tinkling as it tips and turns. Water splashes up onto the front of his shirt while he tries so hard not to drop the phone. But he can’t hold it any longer. It’s what gave him such a horrible message. He doesn’t want to touch it.

It slides across the counter back toward the charger. Not that it registers in his mind. Everything is starting to feel small, shrinking, and collapsing in on him without any reprieve. His chest is tight as he grips the counter’s edge. Knuckles grow white while knees turn to jelly. Zye hits the floor. His knees sting with the impact sparking up through his thighs. Yet, he doesn’t feel it. Not past the fire in his chest from trying to breathe.

Deep in through the nose.

Slow exhale from the mouth.

His forehead presses against the cabinet with hands finally letting go to fall into his lap. He licks at his lips, trying to do anything to resume normal functions. “I can’t…just sit here. She needs me.”

It’s the only thing he can do, pushing this fear and dread to the very back of his mind. He draws urgency to the forefront and acts on it. In one way, he’s glad he’s still dressed. It makes it easier to grab his things and bolt back out the door. It slams behind him well after he’s already started skipping steps to get to the first floor as quickly as possible.

He stops beside his bike and inwardly curses the shaking fingers making it hard to start the damn thing. Zye combs his hands up through his bangs, trying in vain to push them back and out of his face. At this point, he’s about to rip his hair out.

“Slow down,” he tells himself.

Getting angry and not being careful won’t help anything. Zye takes a couple of breaths, climbs on the bike, then speeds off into the traffic of the early morning. He hates the feeling of his phone buzzing in his pocket. He’s not sure who is calling him, but he has an inkling. One that he doesn’t like either, not when he knows he’s probably right.

The only one that should be calling him right now is Dr. Len.

Park. Look both ways before crossing. Try not to get too close to anyone as he rushes up to the desk. The young man there smiles sweetly at Zye, one of the nurses that he sees frequently. That smile dims into a gentle concern as he holds up his finger.

“Just one moment.”

It takes everything he has not to scream that he doesn’t have a moment. He’s wasted enough time as it is.

The man turns back to him, keeping his voice calm and low. “Dr. Len is waiting for you in his office.”

Zye can only give him a nod. Words will dig a hole and bury him in it. He’s careful to slow down when others are coming down the hallway. Otherwise, he’s sprinting there. He barges into Dr. Len’s office the second he’s in front of it.

Dr. Len swivels in his chair and stands. He rolls the chair around then gestures for Zye to take it. They both know he won’t do anything of the sort. The older man starts with a sigh, realizing this won’t be easy in the slightest. He steps around Zye and holds the doorknob.

“I’m so sorry, Zye. We did everything we—”

“When?”

“It’s only been a little over twenty minutes.”

Around the time it’s taken him to get here. That fact has Zye choosing to stare at the floor. It’s as if there’s a ball in his throat he can’t swallow past. He can’t force it up either. He’s stuck in the silent agony of his thoughts.

“We’ll talk after. For now, go see her. I’ll meet you there shortly, but take all the time you need.”

A hand pats his shoulder. He doesn’t feel it, a ghost of a touch to someone not staying grounded in reality. All Zye can do is turn and walk out. His feet know what to do. They carry him down the halls and past other visitors. Glances and shushes to the children he passes don’t bother him today. He finds it hard to pay attention and not bump into anyone as it is.

He doesn’t care to get out of their way either. They can move out of his way for once.

The door is closed and so hard to open. The knob is cold against his clammy palm. It sends a chill up his arm as he turns it, slipping into the room. He shuts the door as if it’s made of glass; gentle, slow, and full of care. Letting go of the knob is the hardest part.

Prepared for this? Of course. Does it make it any easier? It makes it worse. It means the outcome can’t be changed no matter how hard anyone tried.

His jaw is burning, daring to lock up from how hard he’s been gritting his teeth together. Nails tap against the metal before he finally pulls away. Zye turns and walks over to the bed like he’s done hundreds of times before.

There’s turmoil inside of him, churning up like a storm out over the ocean. It’s just waiting patiently. It’s gathering energy and preparing to erupt. It’s waiting for him to reach out and take her hand. Small, slender fingers are wrapped in his larger hands. He squeezes her hand, wishing she would respond in kind like she always would.

But nothing comes.

Nothing, but the slow fall. He sits on the bed, folding over as holds onto her hand. He spares one of his own to cup his face. Zye tries to stifle it, push it down and not give in to the pain. Now isn’t the time— not that he’s given a say in it.

Lips part, yet no sound comes out. The silent wail catches in his throat as he brings his hand over his eyes, catching the tears that spill over. He can’t do it any longer. Her fingers slip from his for the last time as he stands, stumbles, and ends up leaning onto the chair near her bed.

On his knees, he crumbles against the seat. Zye glares at the wall; hates and despises everything about it. It doesn’t matter if it helped her live longer. Not when she’s gone and there’s nothing he can do to bring her back.

Aisa’s words ring in his ears.

They drive the nail in deeper.

Zye sits there for quite a while. Bit by bit, small whines and moans die down to hushed, shaky breaths. Noises he didn’t even know were his. The sobs remain pushed past his throat and the pain isn’t flaring in his chest. A dull ache, a stone that’s settled into its new home. The tears are drying up for now. He rubs at the tracks on his face only to wince at how his eyes hurt already.

Dragging his hands up over his countenance, he refuses to make a noise. No sighs or loud breathing. Anything can set it off again. It’s like walking on eggshells around his own emotions.

His knees wobble as he stands. Legs feel numb from how long he was in one position. Eyes dare to glance back at Lyra and he knows he can’t just leave. He can’t do that to her no matter how badly it hurts or has those salty tears stinging his eyes again. Leaning over her, Zye closes his eyes and presses a kiss on her forehead. Fingers brush away some hair from her face as he pulls away.

He swallows hard past the returning lump in his throat.

It takes even longer for him to make it out of the room, knowing very well that this is the last time. He’s not surprised to see Dr. Len standing outside. The man is leaning against the wall with a white paper bag in his hand. There’s a thought in the back of his head wondering how long Dr. Len has been here.

“I’ll take care of everything. I want you to go home and rest. I’ll call a ride—”

“I can make it home.”

“Zye, let me do this for you. I’ll even personally bring your bike back.”

“I can handle it. What did you want to talk about?”

He’s not getting anywhere and he can’t force Zye to do anything. Perhaps, he doesn’t want to push too hard. Not right now even if he should. Instead, he holds out the bag so Zye can grab it. “Your test results weren’t the best so I’m adjusting you to this strain instead. Don’t even worry about anything you have leftover from the other.”

Zye resists the urge to mention that he’s missed taking it now and then. It takes a bit of energy to meet Dr. Len’s eyes. “Why do we even bother?”

“I told you I’d help you no matter what. It’s the least I can do for Vega. Please, let me help you. I put in some information on the program we talked about. We can discuss it next time you come in.”

Dr. Len can see Zye is disconnecting from the conversation— he wants out of this. He lets out a small sigh from his nose and steps away from the wall. He places a hand on Zye’s arm. “If you need anything, call me.”

“Yeah, I will. Thanks for everything.”

Being polite is so hard right now that Zye is practically vibrating to get away from the situation entirely. Zye turns on his heel the second that Dr. Len’s hand falls away. His strides might be a bit too fast for a hospital but no one says a word.

It’s a whirlwind of nothingness that clouds his mind. He doesn’t particularly recall putting the meds in the stowaway compartment or even driving home. It takes him a bit of time. He doesn’t want to go back and takes all of the longest ways to do so. By the time he stops the bike in a parking space, he’s exhausted.

He’s in the deep end of a pool of emotion and he’s not treading water well at all. It’s weighing him down and it feels like he’ll drown if he goes home. He pockets the keyring as he slips off the bike. Just as he’s about to turn and start walking, he stops. The sudden vibration has him fishing out his phone and clicking it on.

“Yeah?”

“Hey! Guess who just got the day off? This guy!”

Shae’s voice is far too bright and warm for Zye to handle. He outwardly flinches at the volume, holding the speaker portion away from his face.

“So, did you talk to your boss yet? If it’s good news you should come by and we’ll celebrate. Ya know what, fuck that. Who cares, come over and we’ll just hang out like—”

“I can’t,” he says with a crack in his voice.

“Zye? What…you know what I’ll just come to you. Are you home?”

He glances over at the building. “Yeah.”

“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be there soon, okay?”