Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 148: Steady As Breath

Chapter 148: Steady As Breath

The elevator dinged softly.

Camila stepped out, her coffee half-drunk and now lukewarm in her hand. She didn’t seem to mind.

Her other hand reached into her coat pocket — brushing past the folded corner of the little sketch Billy had shown her just days ago.

Her pace slowed near the nurses’ station. Familiar faces smiled at her gently — the kind reserved for someone who’d been seen too many hours in the same chair.

"You holding up okay?" one of the nurses asked as she passed.

Camila nodded.

"Yeah. Just needed air."

"That boy of yours is still the calmest patient on this floor," the nurse smiled. "Quiet, but stubborn."

Camila smiled faintly.

"Sounds about right."

She kept walking.

Room 208.

She paused at the door.

Her fingers brushed the wood for a second, her eyes softening as she prepared herself again — that invisible armor siblings sometimes wear when they need to be brave for someone else.

Then quietly, she pushed the door open.

The room hadn’t changed. The rhythm of the heart monitor still ticked low and steady.

Billy hadn’t moved. His skin looked a little less pale now. His breathing calm. A thin ray of sunlight touched the edge of his blanket, like morning trying to reach him.

Camila stepped inside.

She didn’t say anything. Just pulled the chair closer, set her coffee down, and took his hand again like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Her thumb brushed across his knuckles, tracing the same familiar shape.

"Still waiting on you," she said gently. "No pressure. But I’m running out of hospital gossip and I’m pretty sure the nurses think we’re dating."

A soft laugh escaped her lips — tired but real.

She leaned forward, rested her cheek lightly on his arm.

"I brought your sketchbook too. In case you want it when you wake up."

Her voice slowed... eyes blinking heavier now.

"We’re okay, Leon. We’re all still right here."

The silence answered back.

But it felt a little warmer now.

The light outside had shifted — cool blues blending with faint gold, casting long shadows across the floor.

The steady beep of the monitor echoed gently beneath the hum of the air vent.

Camila stirred in the chair. She had dozed off again, arms crossed, head leaning slightly toward Billy’s bed.

A soft knock on the door.

She blinked, sat upright quickly just as a familiar nurse peeked in.

"Hi again. Just the evening round — won’t take long."

Camila nodded, stepping aside. The nurse smiled as she adjusted the IV drip, checked the monitor, and gently lifted Billy’s wrist to check his pulse.

"Still stable. His breathing’s strong. We’ll run a few labs later tonight, but honestly... he’s resting the way he should. His body’s healing. It just takes time."

Camila nodded again, eyes quietly fixed on her brother’s face.

"Thanks," she murmured.

The nurse offered a warm smile before she slipped out.

Camila sat back down — but before she could settle, a soft knock came again.

This time, the door eased open fully.

Their mother stepped in first, her work jacket folded over her arm, worry tucked beneath her eyes. Behind her, Uncle Frank followed — tie loosened, briefcase in hand.

"How is he?" their mother asked quietly.

"Still sleeping," Camila said as she stood. "Vitals are good. No complications."

She stepped forward, and her mother pulled her into a brief, grounding hug.

Frank moved closer to the bed, hands in his pockets, gaze steady on Billy’s face.

"Looks like he’s winning the quiet war," he said with a faint smile. "I half-expected him to wake up just to argue about it."

Their mom sat gently at the edge of the bed, fingers brushing a stray hair from Billy’s forehead.

"He looks peaceful. That’s something."

"It is," Camila said, quieter now.

A pause stretched between them — filled with soft light and silent understanding.

"I made stew," their mom added suddenly, turning to Camila. "Left it warming at home. I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten."

Camila gave her a grateful smile.

"Thanks, Mom. Maybe later."

Frank settled onto the windowsill, exhaling slowly.

"He’s a fighter. Just like his dad."

Then he added more softly —

"But with your heart, Camila."

Their mom looked over at her daughter, reaching across the space to squeeze her hand.

"You’ve been amazing."

"I’m just... trying to be here," Camila whispered.

Outside the window, the sky dimmed into soft lavender, and the evening quietly folded around them — three hearts waiting, steady as breath, and the soft promise of love filling the space where words ran out.

The air in the room had shifted — not in temperature, but in weight. The kind of stillness that came with nightfall, when voices quiet and hearts begin to speak differently.

Camila sat on the edge of the chair again, her legs tucked underneath her, watching her brother’s face for signs — any flutter of lashes, any shift of breath that wasn’t already expected.

Their mother remained by the bed, fingers gently smoothing the hem of the blanket near Billy’s waist. She wasn’t saying anything — just being there, like mothers did.

Frank, still perched at the windowsill, cleared his throat gently.

"Do you remember when he used to sneak out of piano lessons?" he asked, gaze still outside.

Camila turned to him.

"He’d crawl out the back window and head to that arcade downtown."

"Exactly. Then come back just before the hour ended, like no one would notice."

Their mom shook her head, lips curling into a small, reluctant smile.

"I always knew. He smelled like popcorn and guilt."

They shared a quiet chuckle — gentle, bittersweet.

"It’s strange," Camila whispered after a pause. "He doesn’t remember it... any of it. But I do. I remember for both of us now."

Her voice cracked slightly.

Their mom reached out again, took her hand in both of hers.

"And you’ll remind him," she said firmly. "When he’s ready, you’ll be the one to help him find his way back."

Camila nodded slowly, tears held back at the edge of her lashes.

Frank stood then, brushing invisible dust from his trousers.

"We should go," he said gently. "Let you settle in."

Their mom stood too, leaned down to press a kiss to Billy’s forehead.

"Goodnight, sweetheart. I’ll come by tomorrow."

Then she turned to Camila, brushing her cheek.

"Call me if anything changes."

"I will, Mom."

Frank patted her shoulder, then both slipped out of the room, the soft click of the door closing behind them.

Silence returned — but it wasn’t empty.

Camila sighed and sank back into the chair beside him. She reached for the blanket and adjusted it lightly.

"You’re the brave one," she whispered. "I’m just the voice beside you until you find yours again."

The monitor continued its gentle rhythm.

Outside, night had fully fallen.

And Camila... remained.

Late morning peeled across the blinds in soft lines, spilling across Billy’s blanket like a quiet reminder of time.

Camila sat where she always had, now wrapped in her cardigan, the edges of sleep still fading from her expression. Her coffee sat untouched beside her. She hadn’t even realized it was cold.

She looked at Billy.

He hadn’t stirred.

Not once.

His face was still peaceful, yes — but it was the same. No furrow of brows. No twitch of fingers. No flutter of lashes.

Just stillness.

Her hands found the edge of the blanket again. A small motion — but in the stillness, it was something.

There was a soft knock.

One of the nurses stepped in with quiet shoes and a clipboard.

"Morning, Camila," she said gently.

"Hi," Camila replied, her voice a little thin.

The nurse gave a kind smile and moved to check the vitals. Her eyes scanned the monitor, her pen moved across the chart — but her glance toward Billy lingered.

She didn’t say anything.

Camila noticed.

"He’s okay, right?" she asked quickly. "His heart’s still steady, I can see that."

"Yes," the nurse said calmly. "Everything is stable. No complications post-surgery. It’s... just the waiting now."

"But he should’ve woken up by now. Shouldn’t he?" Camila’s voice cracked on the last word.

The thought had gnawed at her for days, but saying it aloud made it too real.

The nurse hesitated. Not because she didn’t know — but because the truth needed to be delivered gently.

"It varies. Every patient is different. But..."

She sighed softly.

"I’ll inform Dr. Harris. He’ll be in soon, and he’ll want to check him himself."

Camila nodded, not trusting her voice for a moment. She sat back down heavily in the chair, eyes fixed on Billy again.

"Thanks," she said after a beat.

The nurse offered a reassuring look before slipping out of the room, closing the door with care.

The silence settled again.

But this time, it was heavier.

Camila reached for Billy’s hand once more, gently holding it in both of hers.

"It’s okay if you’re tired," she whispered. "I just... I need you to come back. Even a little. Just a sign, Leon."

The monitor ticked steadily. His chest rose and fell.

But still... no sign.

Camila exhaled, brushing a hand down her face.

Her eyes held the door like a prayer. For footsteps. For voices. For any shift in the silence that might mean her brother was coming back.

For anything.