The world felt quiet.

    There was nothingness, for a while. Silence. Stillness. Pure darkness, draped over him like a blanket. The slide of fabric on a body put to rest.

    And then it all came crashing back.

    Screams pierced his ears. Sirens screeched. Dark's body, plummeting thousands of feet in seconds. Numb. Panicked. In shock. Desperate. Wanting to live—live just a while more—wanting to spend his life differently after living it bitterly for so long. Wanting to spend it with Wilford. Wanting to spend it alive. Wanted to be alive. Wanted to—

    "DARK!!"

    Dark gasped for breath and screamed hysterically, body whiplashing. Noise and light and panic hammered around him. Sirens, screeching. White light. Something on his body, trapping him. A flood of people in white, rushing towards him.

    "Sedative!" a doctor yelled, rushing towards the screeching monitor.

    Nurses rushed around him. Hands on his shoulders. His heart flared in his chest, rising too high.

    "Mr. Edwards—" said the doctor, coming to his side. "Mr. Edwards, everything's alright. Can you hear me?" She waved a gloved hand in front of him. "You're in the hospital. You're safe, now."

    Dark gasped for breath, the sedative starting to kick in. He glanced around wildly, blinking away the vision of falling, falling so fast, falling to his death. The city lights that once blurred around him smoothed to the bright white of the hospital around him. The screeching sirens eased into the calming beat of the heart monitor beside him.

    Nurse's eyes met his, and he glanced down, finding his body draped in a white, now-tangled sheet.

    The doctor set her hand on Dark's arm, and he flinched, breathing hard. He almost yanked his arm away when he noticed the IV in his arm.

    "Please, keep as still as you can, Mr. Edwards," she said. "You're alive, but you're still very injured."

    His brows furrowed, and he searched his body, looking for something wrong. He must have been pumped full of pain medication because he didn't feel anything. But he saw what was wrong. A cast wrapped around his leg, and the pole that had been holding it up was knocked over. Bandages covered his arms, coupled with another cast on his right hand.

    When the doctor noticed Dark started to calm, she sighed softly. "Your body suffered a lot of trauma from the fall," she said. "I'll go into details when you're feeling more acclimated. Is that alright?"

    Dark swallowed and forced a nod, soreness running through him. "Yeah," he managed out. An imaged flashed in his head: Wilford,with his hand reached out, terror in his face. Panic seized his chest. "Where's—"

    The door burst open, and Wilford came in like a wild animal, searching the place.

    "What're you doing to him!" he demanded, barreling forward.

    The nurses held out their arms.

"You can't be here, sir—"

"You shouldn't be up—"

Dark's breath hitched, and he met Wilford's eyes over the struggling nurses, emotion flooding through him. Wilford stilled, but the nurses kept maneuvering around him, shielding him from getting too close to Dark.

"Ladies," said the doctor with a wave of her hand. "Let him through."

"But—"

Wilford pushed past them, his arm tucked into a shoulder cast. His free hand kept pressure on his stomach, where thick bandages wrapped around his waist.

Tears blurred Dark's vision unannounced, and his heart swelled when Wilford came to the side of his bed.

"Wil..."

The doctor nodded at the nurses and motioned them outside, shutting the door to give them space. The sudden silence made Dark's chest tighten, and he pulled Wilford forward and buried his head in his chest, stifling a sob.

"Woah, woah, watch the bandages—"

"Shut up," Dark managed out, hands shaking. He could feel Wilford's warmth; could feel the scratch of bandages and smell the sterile scent of medication. This was real. This was real, and he was alive, and he was breathing, and—

Wilford's hand sliding along his face broke him from his thoughts, and he sucked in a shuddering breath, meeting his eyes. The emotion that met him startled him.

"I thought I'd lost you..." breathed Wilford, voice shaking at the edges.

Dark's lower lip quivered, and he turned his head into Wilford's hand to hide his face.

"I thought I was dead," he breathed, closing his eyes for a moment.

"You gave us a scare there..." said Wil, managing a half-laugh.

Dark scooted over and smoothed the spot next to him, patting it. Wilford clambered into the hospital bed with a wince, careful not to break any stitches. By the way he lowered himself, he looked like an old man, every shift of the joints a source of pain.

Dark wearily smiled, still coming to terms with his reality.

Wilford wrapped an arm around Dark's shoulders and pulled him closer, kissing the top of his head. Dark rested his uncasted hand on the man's stomach, feeling the bandages there.

"What happened?" breathed Dark, smoothing his hand over the bandages. "I mean, I—should be dead."

"There was a safety net," said Wilford in his hair. "You landed."

He had landed. Celine's screams echoed in his ears like he was falling all over again.

"And Celine..." breathed Dark, brows furrowing. "Is she dead?"

Wilford nodded, running his thumb along Dark's shoulder. "Yes," he said. "Dead on impact."

Dark shuddered, a sick taste rising in his mouth. That could've been him.

He closed his eyes, but when everything replayed in his head, he quickly opened them again. He shifted carefully so he could see Wilford's face, meeting his eyes. His chest tightened.

"I'm sorry," he breathed.

Wilford's brows furrowed, and he searched Dark's face. "For what?"

"I should've pulled the trigger when you told me to," he said quietly, glancing aside. "If I had just—" He closed his eyes, the scene flashing to life. "If I'd have just listened to you, none of this would've happened."

"Hey," said Wilford, running a hand up Dark's hair. "You're here now. You're okay. We're okay."

"I shot you."

"It was a close call," slurred Wilford, a bit of that playful energy coming back to his tone. "You got my other shoulder. Doctor said if it were an inch over, I would've died."

Dark's face paled, the statement only making him feel worse, and Wilford quickly recovered. "Kidding, kidding," he said. They both knew that was a lie. "I've been shot a lot, darling. Y'know, when it scars... I'll have a souvenir to remember you by."

Dark's gaze flicked up, and Wilford winked at him. He couldn't help but blush and shake his head, amused.

"You're ridiculous," he huffed.

Wilford smiled, and the door clicked open. Dark expected it to be the doctor, but Agent Nelson and Mark stepped in, searching the room. Mark's eyes instantly found Dark's. Nelson's took to examining them both.

"I'm glad to see you're alright, Mr. Edwards," said Nelson quietly. "I just wanted to—"

Mark rushed forward and hugged Dark, careful not to hold him too tight. Dark blinked with surprise at the gesture, and Wilford smiled with amusement, shifting aside to give them space.

Dark sighed and returned the gesture, patting his hand on Mark's back. He could feel him shaking in the slightest.

"Sorry," said Mark, pulling away. "I thought I—we thought we'd lost you."

Dark smiled at him, Mark's face feeling almost foreign after being apart from him for so long. Once, he used to feel a twinge of emotion for him. Now, he simply felt relief that his friend was alright.

"I got you in this mess," said Dark quietly, gently grabbing Mark's hand. He wavered at the gesture. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have gone through that for my sake."

Mark squeezed his hand and gently pulled away. "It's over, now," he said. "Celine's gone. All these misunderstandings are cleared up." He carefully stood up. "I'm just glad you're alright."

Mark glanced at Wilford, and he swallowed, remembering his first encounter with the man. When Wil smiled at him, the tension in his body wavered.

"Sorry," he said, waving a hand. "For—shooting you that one time."

Dark rose a brow.

Mark scratched the back of his head. "Apology not really accepted," he half-laughed. "But thanks?"

Dark looked at Wil. "What did you do?"

"Well, uhhh... remember when I said I didn't know who Mark was—"

Agent Nelson stepped forward. "We just wanted to see how you were doing," she said, hands folded behind her back. "You may be under care, but you're still in trouble with the law."

"Well, look at you," slurred Wilford, wrapping an arm around Dark again. Mark's eyes flicked onto the movement. "All stiff and tense, just like Detective Abe. You're taking after him well."

When Amy bowed her head and cleared her throat, Wil's brow rose.

"Where is he, by the way?"

"Dead," said Amy, lifting her head. "He's..." She closed her eyes a moment and exhaled. "He's dead."

Wilford's face fell, and he blinked, surprised with the information. He had his squabbles with Detective Abe for his entire career—detested the man at times, was so annoyed whenever he'd get in the way of things. But his death? That was no relief. If anything, he'd enjoyed the dance of fed chase felon. He'd enjoyed their bickering.

"Oh..." was all Wilford could manage to say. "I—"

"The nurses need you back in your room," said Nelson, opening the door. "And I need you for questioning. Like you agreed to do?"

"It's only been a day," complained Wil.

"Three days," corrected Nelson.

"It's been three days?" echoed Dark, blinking. Wilford glanced at him and sent him a sheepish smile.

"Yeah... you've been out of it a while," he said.

"Well shit."

"Warfstache?" urged Amy, raising a brow at him.

"Oh, c'mon," slurred Wilford, carding his fingers through Dark's hair. "We all almost died. Can't I have another minute with my boyfriend?"

Mark blinked at the term, catching Dark blushing. Agent Nelson sighed and opened the door wider.

"Fine," she said. She glanced over her shoulder. "Come on, Mark."

Mark waved goodbye, and the two left the room. When the door closed, Dark shifted and met Wilford's face, raising a brow. A playful gaze met his.

"Boyfriend, huh?" said Dark, smiling.

Wilford smirked, shifting to face him. "Well..." he said, ghosting a hand along his jaw. "Only if you want."

Dark chuckled, and he leaned forward, his heart fluttering. "We've gone through life and death together," he said, resting a hand on his waist. "Of course I want you."

Wilford smiled, and he tipped Dark's chin up, taking in his features. "Can I say something?" he whispered, breath ghosting over his skin.

"Hmm?"

"I'm so glad you bought that stupid fucking building."

Dark laughed, and Wilford kissed him, muffling the sound of joy. He agreed. If he hadn't bought Fifth Street, they would have never met. If he never threw that party, they would have never spoken, never shared their first dance.

Dark cupped the side of Wilford's face, and as they deepened the kiss, he recalled everything they've been through. The car chases, the adrenaline, the weapons; their arguing—both playful and annoyed; their stolen glances, their first fight, and their first time together.

Dark thought he would never find love. Had convinced himself it was all a ploy at manipulation, a way to hurt an already broken heart. But with Wilford...

With Wilford, he had found that.

He didn't know what lay ahead of them; had no idea if recovery would go smoothly, or if he could rebuild his business, or if anyone else like Celine would step in their path.

But he knew one thing, now.

There were things in this world he didn't understand, or have strength in. And rather than approaching it with arrogance, he would approach it with caution. He wouldn't underestimate what he didn't know.

And he would do it with Wilford.

...

Epilogue will be posted in a few hours! 6-7 PM EST!

Thank you so much for reading, and have a wonderful day/night!

Love, Vic xoxo