Tristan's vision was blurry as he slowly regained consciousness. He was surrounded by white walls, the room smelling of medicine and faint alcohol.
How did he end up in the hospital?
There was a face that he couldn't make out.
"M-Matt..?"
The face slowly became clearer.
It was Kevin Lee, Tristan's best friend since elementary school, who happened to be a doctor.
"I'm sorry, Tris. He's gone."
Kevin wanted to be the last one to tell his friend the news. He loved Matthew as a little brother, and was just as hurt when he heard about the incident.
These were the consequences he got for working in emergency rooms.
Tristan clutched the other's hands and broke down.
Kevin, despite his attempt to remain professional, felt tears prick his eyes.
"H-he can't be g-gone . . . he can't!"
"Adryan was put in charge of his case. He'll find out who did this," the older assured. "You know he will."
Tristan's old roommate from college and Kevin's boyfriend, was a police officer. He definitely was a good one, despite his young age.
Tristan attempted to get up, immediately being pushed back down by Kevin.
"Tristan, after you dialed 911, you were found passed out. The police saw you by Matthew's body and were about to arrest you until they saw the camera footage."
"C-camera?"
Kevin nodded. "Adryan had cameras installed for safety measures."
His words were met with silence, and then a sudden outburst.
"Who killed him?"
"They don't kn-"
"Who the fuck killed him?" Tristan screamed. His heart raced, and he felt as if his air had been cut off as he broke into wrenching sobs.
"Calm him down," an unknown voice said. Tristan whipped his head towards the middle aged, red haired doctor standing in the corner of the room.
"Tristan. Breathe," Kevin begged, struggling to remain professional.
He needed to keep himself put together, but seeing his best friend this way tore his heart.
Tristan's sobs slowly grew quieter and he fell asleep.
"H-How do you do it?" Kevin asked the redhead. "How are you able to stay so calm, even after everything you've heard about him and his brother?"
The man was silent for a moment before he spoke. "I've been at this much longer than you have," he said gently. "What happened to Matthew was terrible, but there's nothing we can do about it now."
"But Doctor Silas-"
"Kevin. Please."
Kevin sighed, and looked over to Tristan, gripping his hand and squeezing it gently.
"I'm sorry, Tristan… I'm so, so sorry."
A boy, hidden behind the door to Tristan's room, watched the men silently. His hand curled tightly into a fist. He felt sorrowful, but at the same time, glad to be rid of a nuisance. He suddenly shook his head in disbelief of himself.
How could he think that way? This was his fault.
If only . . . if only he had been more careful.
None of this would have happened.
He turned away, his eyes shiny with tears.
Love had been one of the best things that had happened to him. Now love had killed the one person he truly cared for in this world.
His eyes narrowed and he stalked away from the door.
***
"How are you feeling today?"
The old woman on the bed gave a weak smile and a nod at the sight of the younger woman.
"That's good, Mrs. Gray."
The caretaker gave her a soft smile. She was a radiant young woman, with bright eyes and dark ebony hair. Her smile could light up an entire room.
The elderly woman gripped her hand.
Leila believed her mission was to help people. And doing what she loved was her pride and joy.
The only thing she hated about her job… was when she had to let go of a patient.
"I think… today is my day," the old woman whispered hoarsely.
Leila only nodded, trying to hold back her tears. She was an excellent worker, her only flaw was that she got too close to her patients.
The older woman beckoned for Leila to come closer.
She did.
"There couldn't be a better angel sending me off to heaven."
Leila let out a shaky breath, holding her hand tighter.
"You deserve to rest, Mrs. Gray. You've worked so hard. You'll be able to see your husband soon. And your son and daughter-in-law. They'll be so happy to see you again."
Mrs. Gray inhaled, her breath husky, and squeezed her hand, looking into her eyes for the last time.
"Take care of my grandson for me."
Her eyes closed as she drifted into an infinite oblivion of darkness.
Leila waited until Mrs. Gray's chest stopped moving up and down. The old woman's heart monitor decreased and began to flatline quietly.
Her work was done.
Her hand reached up to her earpiece, connected to the radio in her pocket.
"Silas, please call Conrad Gray from the waiting room when he gets here."
Less than ten minutes later, a distressed blonde male stepped into the room.
Conrad's lip quivered, his eyes glazed with tears, focusing on the cadaver in bed.
He had been minutes too late to say goodbye.
A strangled sob escaped his lips as he crouched down onto the floor, his face hidden by his hands.
Leila held him in a hug, sad that the boy's grandmother was gone.
"I'm so sorry, Conrad."
The boy turned back to the old woman's body and put his face back in his hands.
The boy's body trembled.
"I-I should have been better," he croaked. "I should have been a better grandson, while I still had the chance. I-I was all she had . . . a-and she was all I had."
"It's okay, Conrad. It's not your fault."
His grandmother had been taken by cancer.
A doctor had made an amateur mistake, thinking the cancer to be benign, making the Grays think she had more time for more therapy. In reality, her body was already shutting down due to the cancer being malignant, and it was too late. Her final weeks of chemotherapy had been a waste.
"You were there for her. You were there for her until the end."
Leila's kind eyes met with Conrad's teary ones for a moment before she stepped out of the room to allow him to have privacy with his grandmother.
"Leila?"
She looked up to see Silas.
"I have another assignment for you, but you don't have to take it if you don't want to."
"What is it?" she asked as Silas handed her a clipboard. Leila looked over it, flipping through the paperwork.
Tristan Cox. Male. Age 24.
"His brother was murdered. Based on his reactions and vitals when he woke up briefly, he'll need a therapist."
"But why me?" she asked.
"Because no one is better at consoling than you."
She glanced at Tristan's ID photo, studying it for a moment. He had chestnut brown hair with almond-shaped eyes and pupils that resembled the shade of dark chocolate.
"I don't want her help," a voice hissed.
They both turned to see a pale looking, messy haired male, barely steadying himself as he gripped his IV drip stand. Leila could recognize him easily as the man in the photo by his distinguishing eyes.
"I don't want help," he repeated. "And I don't need it."
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