When forever lost it's voice

CW: Grief, loss

He lived for that sound.

Her laugh. It was light, musical. Sometimes it came out breathy and soft, other times it was bubbling up despite the wires and monitors that tried to weight her down. Her laugh was the most beautiful thing he had ever captured, and he was a photographer for a living. He collected stories from weddings, birthdays, from quiet streets to noises dinner parties. He did it all just so he can bring the world to her when she's stuck in these white walls. He hated her being in here but when it's them too, these white walls become colorful. It transforms it into something softer, sweeter, safer. It made the machines feel like less of a cage and more like a background noise. With her here, her loving smile, big beautiful brown eyes, slightly rose cheeks, it made him continued to believe in forever, their forever.

Twice a week, every week, he sat right there, holding her hand without any fail. He wishes he could be here by her side forever but both of them knew he couldn't. To make up for it, he told her about funny bridesmaid who tripped over their heels, frosted covered children, the leaves changing, the dog refusing to sit still, and a grandmother posing with her emo granddaughter. She looked forward to every story he told. Every print he slid into her fingers, every detail he told her was a gift, and the way she laughed at his stories made he feel like he had hung the stars himself.

And she would always wait for him... Even on days where she could barely say wake, she asked him about his photos, his day, his feelings. Anything, and he would do anything she asked. He would do anything to keep that spark in her eyes. If the Gods demanded his heart to save her, he would rip it out with his own hands. No hesitation, yet life is cruel. Without words, she knew. He never had to say it out loud. She would scold him for his dramatic declarations like he would in the past. Telling her he could never live without her, how when she goes, he will too. He remembers how she would laugh, smack his arm, and tell him he's being dramatic. She had always told him that he deserves a full filled long life filled with love. And despite her saying that, he would keep telling her over and over again. He is living a life full of life and it's the only one he ever wanted, because she's in it.

A yawn escapes her lips, breaking their laughter. He swallowed down the fear and worried, nodding like it was a normal sigh. She eased back against the pillow, fatigue pulling at her features. "I'm getting tired, honey...," she whispered, rubbing her eyes with weak fingers. "I know," he said, pulling the blanket up just a little higher as the smile on his face stayed. He had to smile, if he didn't, he would break. He couldn't let her see him break when she was already holding on so strongly. For herself and for him. He knows she is. Before he would enter the room, he could see the tiredness in her eyes. How she would stare at the window while the clouds passed. It pains him so much because he wishes he could take her out. Take her to feel the sun on her beautiful skin; to have her feel it stings her eyes, and how she would laugh at how it's getting cold.

She turned to her side to face him, their hands still tightly together. "I love you, goodnight," she breath softly. His heart thump, even her "I love you" still beats life into it. His thumb brushed over her knuckles. "I love you too, sleep well," he whispered back, holding back any emotions he had. Even though he panics in his chest tapped the inside of his ribs. Whenever she goes to sleep, it a fear that never leaves while his mind spiraled. The illness took piece of her slowly, carefully, as if it wanted, he to suffer. Any time he's away from her, his mind is always filled with questions but when he comes back, those fade away by her smile.

Her eyes shut, lips sill curled, and god, he loved her smile. He memorized the curve of it, the little moles on her cheeks, how long her eyelashes are. He brushed a strand of hair off her forehead, letting his fingers linger. He focused hard on her warmth on his fingertips. A warmth he prays he would never forget.

The room settled. Monitors hummed gently, machines clicked as silence stretched itself into thinness. Her breathing was steady, slow, and soft. The rhythm of her breathing lulled him as if everything was almost normal. "No," he thought, "it is normal." This is a night where she's simply more tired and tomorrow, when she wakes up, he'll be here. They're have breakfast as he tells her more stories, maybe he'll even see if she feels well enough to go down the hallway in her wheelchair. He'll listen to her voice and laugh once again when she'll wake up.

He counted each one. "1.. 2.. 3.. 4.." his mind kept going until it stopped. Not his counting but her breathing. He leaned in, listening hard, then harder. No sound, no movement. His heart stopped as the truth spilled in, he stayed still, frozen while his hand tightens around hers as if that could stop her from leaving. He waited for the next breath, her chest moving, but it never came. He whispered her name, scared to disturb her and the air, but no answer would come back. All he needed was one more breath, that's all he needed. Yet it still never came. A quiet he could not comprehend. All those laughs, all those stories, all those plans he made to hear her laugh, the idea of their forever... they all vanished into the silence.