It Means Everything
He hiccupped, a tear rolling over his face. It caught on the cotton gauze taped to his cheek. Another, it fell on the hand he failed to call his own.
Legend tilted his head down, unkept hair falling on his face. They plastered on the sides of damp cheeks. Obscuring his vision, the act of tears weren't enough to stop him.
His hand weakly jolted over Hyrule's unruly curls, his other tightening over the thin covers of the cot. A sob ripped out of him, the boy choking on a wire lodged deep in his throat.
He breathed slowly, carefully. His lungs, body uncooperative. They refused to take in the deep breaths of air he desperately sucked in.
The machine's chimes and hums lulled Hyrule to sleep for days. Days of days of his longing and wishing for Legend.
Legend tried to speak through them. Tried to speak to Hyrule. He opened his mouth, but there was nothing but empty air to be told. His mind screamed and thrashed, he quaked and silently wept.
A deep, exhausted breath rolled in him. It wavered, it shook in the air. The numbers fell, the machine's slowed, the harmonic tones softened. This isn't what Hyrule wants for him.
OR
Hyrule wished for Legend to wake up.
