Something About You

"I do. A part of me still does."

The room was cloaked in the kind of silence that only came deep into the night, when even the steady hum of machines and the faint shuffle of nurses seemed distant. A dull light from the corridor slipped in through the half-open door, casting soft shadows on the walls. Aaron sat back against the hospital bed’s pillows, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion but far from sleep. It was one of those nights when rest hovered just out of reach, no matter how heavy his body felt.

The door creaked softly as it opened wider, and Alaia stepped inside. She moved quietly, as if not wanting to disturb the stillness of the room. Her presence felt familiar—almost comforting—but it also carried a weight, like something unspoken was hanging between them.

"Hey," she whispered, giving Aaron a small smile as she closed the door behind her. She walked over to the chair beside his bed and sat down, crossing her legs gracefully. The subtle scent of her perfume lingered in the air, a faint floral note that Aaron recognized without thinking.

Aaron shifted slightly on the bed, propping himself up a little more against the pillows. "I thought you went home," he murmured, his voice low and scratchy.

Alaia shook her head, brushing a stray curl from her face. “No, I wanted to make sure you were okay.” She leaned back in the chair, exhaling softly. "Your mom called me earlier. She’ll be back from London tomorrow. Flight got delayed."

Aaron gave a slow nod, his expression unreadable. He appreciated his mom’s concern, but it didn’t surprise him that she couldn’t make it back right away. She rarely did.

"You really didn’t have to stay," Aaron said after a beat, tilting his head to look at her. His eyes softened slightly, though his tone remained gentle but firm. "I can manage on my own. I don’t want you losing sleep over me."

Alaia rolled her eyes, a small, tired smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Aaron, you know I’m not leaving you alone here."

"You’re exhausted," Aaron pointed out, gesturing toward the faint circles under her eyes. "You barely slept last night, didn’t you? You could go home and get some real rest. I’ll be fine."

Alaia shrugged, brushing off his concern. "I’ve survived on less sleep before."

Aaron exhaled, closing his eyes briefly as if gathering patience. "That’s not the point, Alaia. You should take care of yourself too."

"I’ll sleep when I know you’re okay," she said simply, her voice calm but resolute. "Until then, I’m staying."

Aaron opened his eyes again, studying her face. There was no use arguing with her—he knew that much. Alaia was as stubborn as they came, especially when it came to him. It was one of the things that had drawn him to her once upon a time, but now... it felt heavier, more complicated. Like a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep.

"You don’t have to do this," Aaron said quietly, his gaze dropping to his hands resting in his lap. "I mean... you shouldn’t feel like you have to."

Alaia leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees as she looked at him. "I know I don’t have to. But I want to." Her voice softened. "I’ve always wanted to."

Aaron let out a slow breath, dragging a hand through his hair. It was one of those moments where everything felt too close—too much. He didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know how to tell her that he didn’t want her to bear this weight. Not anymore.

He shifted uncomfortably under the weight of her gaze, forcing a small, tired smile. "You’ve got that look again."

Alaia raised an eyebrow. "What look?"

"The one where you’re about to lecture me," Aaron teased, though his voice lacked its usual playful spark.

Alaia chuckled softly, the sound light but tinged with exhaustion. "No lecture tonight, I promise."

For a moment, they sat in silence. The quiet between them wasn’t exactly awkward, but it wasn’t easy either. It was the kind of silence that comes when two people know each other too well—when words become unnecessary, but the unspoken things still linger in the air, waiting to be acknowledged.

Aaron sighed, leaning his head back against the pillow. "You really should sleep, Alaia."

"And you really should stop worrying about me," Alaia shot back with a small smile.

Aaron shook his head, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. "Can’t help it."

Alaia’s expression softened, and for a moment, she looked like she wanted to say something more—something important. But whatever it was, she kept it to herself, merely reaching out to adjust the blanket draped over Aaron’s legs.

Aaron watched her, his heart heavy with a mixture of gratitude and guilt. He knew Alaia meant well—knew that she cared about him deeply. But he also knew that things weren’t as simple as they used to be between them. Not anymore.

And yet, here she was, sitting by his side in the middle of the night, refusing to leave even when he gave her every excuse to walk away.

"Thank you," Aaron said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Alaia glanced at him, her eyes warm but tired. "Always."

Aaron looked away, swallowing hard. It was the kind of word that stuck in his throat, making it difficult to breathe. Because "always" sounded like a promise—a promise he wasn’t sure he could live up to.

The silence in the room grew heavy, pressing down on them like the weight of things unsaid. Aaron leaned his head back against the pillow, exhaling slowly, as if releasing the thoughts he’d been carrying since the moment he saw Layla again. The stillness between him and Alaia was familiar—too familiar, almost—but not entirely comfortable. Neither of them could sleep, and both knew it. There was too much lingering in the air. Too many questions. Too many ghosts.

Aaron rubbed his face with both hands, then let them fall to his lap, clenching them lightly into fists. He hadn’t meant for things to be this way—for Layla to suddenly step back into his life, unsettling everything he thought was certain.

Alaia, sitting cross-legged in the chair, watched him with a quiet patience that somehow made him feel both guilty and grateful at the same time. She hadn’t asked yet, but Aaron knew she deserved some kind of explanation. He owed her that much.

He took a breath, the sound quiet but deep, as though gathering the courage to finally say what had been gnawing at him since the day Layla reappeared. "Seeing her again... it brought back a lot of memories." His voice was low, almost like he was confessing something he didn’t want to admit even to himself.

Alaia tilted her head slightly, her expression calm and unreadable. "The ones from back then?" she asked softly, as if not wanting to push too hard but needing to know.

Aaron gave a slow nod. "Yeah... from back then."

There was a long pause. Alaia leaned forward a bit, resting her elbows on her knees. "It must have been tough," she said, her voice steady but gentle.

"It was," Aaron admitted, running a hand through his hair. His eyes flickered toward the ceiling, as if searching for the right words. "Seeing her like that... it’s hard to explain."

Alaia didn’t say anything right away. She just watched him, her expression shifting slightly—something between understanding and quiet resignation. She knew him too well to rush him, but there was something about the way she held herself that told Aaron she wasn’t going to let this go. Not tonight.

Aaron sighed again, closing his eyes briefly. "I've tried to move on. I thought I had. But seeing her again..." He trailed off, the words hanging in the air like unfinished business.

Alaia sat back, her gaze never leaving him. "Yeah... but it’s just... complicated."

Aaron gave a faint, humorless laugh. "That’s one way to put it."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the soft hum of the hospital machines and the occasional shuffle of footsteps from the hallway beyond the door. The silence between them was heavy, thick with the weight of what wasn’t being said.

Alaia shifted slightly in her seat, her expression thoughtful. "You still care about her, don’t you?"

Aaron didn’t answer right away. He knew the truth, but saying it out loud felt like crossing a line he wasn’t sure he wanted to cross. He looked down at his hands, feeling the weight of Alaia’s question settle in his chest like a stone.

Finally, he exhaled, his voice hoarse and raw. "I do. A part of me still does."

Alaia’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she gave the smallest nod, as if she’d been expecting that answer but it still stung to hear it. She glanced down at her hands, clasped tightly together in her lap, as though grounding herself against the ache in her chest.

"And yet," she murmured, her voice quiet but steady, "you’re with me."

Aaron’s heart twisted at the simplicity of her words. There was no accusation in her tone, no anger—just a quiet, undeniable truth that cut deeper than anything else could have. He didn’t know how to respond to that, because it was the truth. He was with Alaia. And yet, somewhere deep inside him, Layla’s presence still lingered like an unfinished chapter in a story that refused to end.

"I know," Aaron whispered, his gaze dropping to his lap again. "I know."

Alaia leaned back in the chair, exhaling softly. "So what now?" she asked, her voice calm but carrying the weight of everything she wasn’t saying.

Aaron shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don’t know." It was the only answer he had, and it felt painfully inadequate.

For a moment, they just sat there in the dim hospital room, the weight of their conversation settling over them like a thick fog. There were no easy answers—no neat, tidy resolutions waiting at the end of this night. Just the complicated, tangled mess of emotions that neither of them knew how to untangle.

And in the silence that followed, Aaron couldn’t help but wonder if, no matter what he chose, someone was bound to get hurt.

Aaron exhaled slowly, the sound heavy with exhaustion—not just from his body but from the weight of everything between them. The air in the room felt thick, as if it was pressing down on both of them, making it hard to breathe. He knew that if they kept going, if they kept pulling at the strings of this tangled mess, it would only unravel into something messier—something they weren’t ready to face. Not now.

He glanced at Alaia, who sat silently in the chair, her hands folded tightly in her lap. The way her shoulders drooped slightly, her head bowed just a little—it wasn’t just exhaustion from the lack of sleep. It was everything. The uncertainty, the lingering questions, the things left unsaid.

Aaron swallowed hard, feeling a dull ache spread through his chest. He didn’t want to hurt her. That was the last thing he wanted. But the truth, with all its jagged edges, was already between them, and no amount of smoothing over could change that.

"Let’s not do this right now," Aaron murmured, his voice softer than before. He ran a hand over his face, trying to shake off the heaviness in his chest. "It’s too much for tonight."

Alaia gave a small nod, though her eyes didn’t meet his. She looked away, toward the window where the city lights flickered faintly in the distance, as if grounding herself in the quiet glow of the outside world.

Aaron shifted on the hospital bed, making room beside him. The sheets rustled quietly as he leaned back into the pillows and patted the empty space next to him. "Come here," he said, his voice low but insistent.

Alaia raised an eyebrow, glancing between him and the bed.

"I know you won’t sleep if you stay in that chair," Aaron continued, his lips curving slightly, though there was no real humor in his smile. "You didn’t sleep last night, either. I don’t want you running yourself down."

Alaia hesitated, still sitting stiffly, as if she wasn’t sure whether to move.

Aaron gave her a knowing look, one that made it clear he wasn’t going to let this go. "Just lie down, Alaia. Let me hold you this time, alright?"

There was a pause, a moment where she seemed to weigh her options—between staying guarded or allowing herself to let go, just a little. Then, slowly, she pushed herself up from the chair and crossed the small space to the bed. The mattress dipped slightly under her weight as she climbed onto it, settling hesitantly beside him.

Aaron didn’t wait. As soon as she was close enough, he slipped his arm around her, pulling her gently against him. Alaia stiffened for a moment, the tension in her body evident, but then she relaxed into the warmth of his embrace, her head resting against his shoulder.

"You don’t have to do this, you know," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Aaron pressed his cheek lightly against the top of her head. "I know. But I want to."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Aaron’s hand ran slowly up and down her arm, a soothing motion, as if trying to lull her into some semblance of peace. He could feel the rise and fall of her breath against him, the way her heartbeat gradually slowed as the tension eased from her body.

"You’ll sleep better like this," Aaron murmured, his voice low and reassuring. "I promise."

Alaia didn’t respond right away. She just curled closer to him, her fingers lightly clutching the fabric of his hospital gown, as if holding on to him was the only way to keep herself steady.

Aaron closed his eyes, allowing the quiet to settle around them. It was a fragile kind of peace, born out of exhaustion and unspoken emotions, but it was enough for now. Enough to get them through the night.

And for a moment—just a moment—Aaron allowed himself to forget the complicated mess of emotions swirling inside him. Here, in the stillness of the hospital room, with Alaia tucked securely in his arms, he could pretend that things weren’t as tangled as they really were. That, for tonight, this was all they needed.

He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, his lips brushing her hair. "Sleep," he whispered. "I’ve got you."

Alaia let out a small, content sigh, her body finally giving in to the exhaustion she’d been holding back for too long.

And as Aaron lay there, his arms wrapped around her, he knew that whatever came next—whatever difficult conversations or choices awaited them—could wait until morning.

For now, this moment was enough.

Alaia lay still against Aaron’s chest, her fingers clutching his hospital gown just a little tighter as the minutes ticked by. The rise and fall of his breath felt steady, comforting even, but it did nothing to quiet the storm raging inside her.

Every part of this was complicated. The weight of Aaron’s words from earlier still lingered, sinking deep into her heart like an anchor. You still care about her, don’t you? His answer—hoarse, honest, and unflinching—was one she knew she’d never be able to forget.

I do.

Hearing him admit it had felt like someone had reached inside her chest and twisted something vital. It hurt more than she thought it would, like an invisible bruise that kept throbbing no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. And the worst part? She knew she wasn’t supposed to feel this way—not when she’d always told herself she was prepared. She’d known about Layla from the beginning. Aaron had never hidden her, never pretended that Layla hadn’t meant something to him.

But knowing and experiencing were two different things. And now, seeing the way Aaron was still tangled up in Layla—despite the years, despite everything they’d built—Alaia felt like she was slowly unraveling.

Her grip on him tightened, just slightly, as if afraid that if she let go, he’d slip away entirely.

Aaron shifted beneath her, his arm still draped protectively around her, his hand tracing idle patterns on her back. It was such a gentle, familiar gesture. It was these small moments that made it impossible for Alaia to walk away. Aaron could frustrate her, confuse her, make her feel like she was fighting a battle she couldn’t win—but then he’d do something like this. And every wall she’d tried to build around her heart would crumble, leaving her vulnerable all over again.

She hated that Layla still had a place in his heart. Hated how easily the thought of that other girl could make Aaron falter. But what she hated most was how much she loved him, despite all of it.

Alaia closed her eyes, burying her face deeper into his shoulder.

I don’t want to lose him.

She knew she should leave. She should be smarter than this, stronger than this. But love wasn’t logical—it wasn’t something you could turn off just because it hurt. And right now, Aaron was still hers. Maybe not in the way she wanted, but enough that he held her close, enough that he asked her to stay.

And that was enough for Alaia to make her choice.

"I’m not giving up," she whispered into the quiet, barely loud enough for even herself to hear.

Aaron stirred slightly, but his eyes remained closed, his breathing steady.

Alaia shifted in his arms, her voice firmer this time. "Not this time."

She wasn’t Layla. She wasn’t some fleeting memory or a lost piece of the past. She was here now, with him, holding him through the mess and exhaustion, showing up for him when he needed someone most. And that had to mean something. It would mean something.

Her heart clenched painfully as she thought of Layla—the girl Aaron couldn’t quite let go of, no matter how hard he tried. She hated that she felt jealous of someone who had been out of Aaron’s life for so long. But it didn’t matter. Alaia would fight through that jealousy.

And she would fight for Aaron.

Because as much as it hurt to know that Aaron’s heart wasn’t entirely hers, it hurt even more to imagine a life without him.

"I’m staying," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "Even if it kills me."

Aaron’s hand brushed against her back again, and for a brief moment, she allowed herself to believe that maybe—just maybe—this would be enough. That if she stayed, if she fought hard enough, Aaron would choose her in the end.

"Get some sleep," Aaron murmured drowsily, his voice rough and warm against her ear.

Alaia smiled faintly, though the ache in her chest didn’t fade. "I will."

But as Aaron’s breathing slowed, falling into the soft rhythm of sleep, Alaia stayed awake. Wide awake. Holding on to him as if her life depended on it—because in some ways, it did.

And in the quiet, as the clock in the corner ticked toward midnight, Alaia made herself a promise.

She would fight for him. No matter what it took.

And this time, she wouldn’t let Layla take him away.