Blazing hearts

The rain had passed by morning, leaving streaks on the windows and a dull gray light that made the room feel still, like the world was holding its breath.

Monty sat on the edge of the hospital bed, blanket tucked around his waist, hoodie draped over his shoulders. His legs dangled, bare feet pressed to the cool linoleum as the IV stand hummed quietly beside him.

A nurse had finally brought his things in from storage that morning—what was left from before he fell into the coma. A small duffel. His old boots. A creased photo of the 118 taped to the inside flap. And his phone, its screen dimmed, battery dead, collecting metaphorical dust.

But now?

It was charging.

The familiar symbol blinked to life, and something in Monty's chest tightened like a pulled muscle.

He hesitated.

He could've ignored it. Could've let it sit until the plan was complete, until he could stand tall in front of them all again and show them he survived.

But curiosity was louder.

And heartbreak?

Heartbreak doesn't wait.

His fingers hovered over the lock screen as it powered on fully. Notifications exploded to life.

231 unread messages. 67 voicemails.

Monty exhaled sharply, his thumb shaking as he scrolled.

It was all there.
• Hen: "Hey Cowboy, just thinking about you. We miss you."
• Chim: "I found the banana pudding recipe. I'll never make it as good. Come back and prove it."
• Athena: "I cleaned your apartment. And left food in the freezer. You better come home to eat it."

He bit his lip hard, trying to swallow the lump forming in his throat.

Then came the messages from Buck and Eddie.
• Eddie: "I should've been better. I should've seen how much you were holding. Please wake up. I need to tell you in person."
• Buck: "I can't sleep in our bed without you. Chris asks about you every morning. We're not whole without you."

And then—

Chris.

A voicemail, sent just days after the coma started.

Monty pressed play.

"Hi Monty..." Chris's voice was soft, a little shaky, like he'd been coached but wanted to say it all himself. "It's me. Um... I just wanted to say I love you. And I miss you. And I put one of my superhero stickers in your bag so you don't forget about me."

Monty's eyes immediately welled with tears.

The message continued.

"Dad says you're really strong and that you're fighting hard in your sleep. I believe him. You always keep your promises. So I know you'll come back. Okay? I'll wait. I promise I'll wait."

Silence filled the room when the recording ended.

Monty stared down at the screen, thumb still pressed to the corner, lip trembling as one tear finally slipped down his cheek.

He didn't sob. He didn't break.

But he sat there in silence, that single tear tracing the scar down his jaw as his entire body curled slightly inward.

He couldn't respond. Not yet.

Because if he did, he'd break the spell. Break the illusion that he'd just disappeared instead of fallen.

He had to be stronger first.

Had to be better.

But hearing their voices again—hearing Chris—that reminder of love so pure and patient?

It gave him fire.

It reminded him who he was fighting for.

Montgomery Elijah Smith wasn't just coming back to exist.

He was coming back to live.

To love.

To hold them again.

When he was ready.

And not a moment before.