Chapter 3: Borrowed Warmth After that day, Matthew didn’t have to knock anymore.

He still did, sometimes, out of habit, or maybe out of respect.. but he didn’t wait for an answer. And Aria… didn’t pretend to ignore him anymore.

It became a pattern.

He would come in sometime between late morning and afternoon, carrying something different each day, hot chocolate, a book he clearly hadn’t read, once even a paper snowflake that looked like it had survived a very bad accident.

“It’s abstract,” he had defended.

“It’s torn,” she corrected.

“Art is subjective.”

“You’re delusional.”

He had laughed.

And she hadn’t told him to stop.

Some days, they talked.

Other days, they didn’t.

Strangely, those were the ones Aria didn’t mind the most.

Matthew would sit beside her, sometimes on the chair, sometimes carelessly on the edge of her bed, flipping through random things, tapping rhythms against the wall, or just… existing. He didn’t demand conversation. Didn’t force noise into her quiet.

It made it easier to breathe.

Easier to stay.

“You’re staring again.”

Aria blinked, pulling her gaze away from the window.

“I’m not.”

“You are,” Matthew said, not looking up from the book in his hands. “Either that, or you’re trying to burn a hole through the glass.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Cool. Let me know if it works. I’ll open a window.”

She glanced at him.

“…You’re annoying.”

“And yet,” he turned a page lazily, “you haven’t asked me to leave in three days.”

She didn’t respond.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

Later that afternoon, the nurse came in.

Routine check.

Temperature. Pulse. Questions Aria didn’t answer fully.

Matthew stayed quiet for once, watching from the side as the nurse adjusted the wires connected to her.

“You’ve been feeling more tired?” the nurse asked gently.

Aria shrugged.

“Normal.”

“It’s getting a little worse,” she said carefully. “You should rest more.”

“I already do nothing.”

Matthew’s fingers stilled.

Just for a second.

The nurse gave a small, understanding smile before finishing up and leaving the room quieter than before.

“You don’t like people knowing, do you?”

Aria didn’t look at him.

“Knowing what?”

“That you’re not as okay as you pretend to be.”

Her jaw tightened slightly.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t okay.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Silence.

He didn’t push further.

Didn’t ask what exactly was wrong.

Didn’t ask how serious it was.

And somehow… that made it worse.

Or maybe better.

Aria couldn’t tell.

“Come with me today.”

She looked at him, already expecting the question.

“No.”

“Different place.”

“No.”

“There’s a window at the end of the east wing,” he continued, ignoring her refusal. “You can see the whole hill from there. Looks better than your sad little square of sky.”

“My window is fine.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“It’s boring.”

“I like boring.”

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.

“You like safe.”

She didn’t reply.

Because that… felt closer to the truth than she wanted.

“I won’t stay long,” he added quietly.

Something about the way he said it made her pause.

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged lightly, too casually.

“Nothing. Just saying.”

She watched him for a moment.

There was something off.

Subtle.

Like a word left unfinished.

But before she could ask, he stood up again.

“Come on,” he said, softer this time. “Just five minutes.”

Aria hesitated.

Her body felt heavier today. Even sitting up for too long made her chest tighten in ways she had learned to ignore.

Five minutes wouldn’t matter.

Right?

The hallway felt colder than usual.

Or maybe it was just her.

Matthew slowed his pace slightly, matching her steps without making it obvious.

They walked in silence.

Not awkward.

Just… aware.

At the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door leading to a quieter section of the hospital.

And there it was.

A large glass window, stretching wider than the one in her room.

Beyond it, the world looked… different.

The snow-covered hill rolled out into the distance, untouched, glowing faintly under the pale light of the sky. The trees stood bare but steady, their branches dusted in white.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“It’s better,” Matthew said quietly.

Aria stepped closer.

The glass was just as cold beneath her fingers.

But the view

“…yeah,” she admitted softly. “It is.”

He smiled, but didn’t look at her.

He was looking at her reflection.

They stood there longer than five minutes.

Long enough for the silence to settle comfortably between them.

Long enough for Aria to forget, just for a second, where she was.

Long enough for her to feel..

normal.

Then it hit.

A sharp, sudden tightness in her chest.

Her breath caught.

Her hand pressed instinctively against her heart, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of her sweater.

Matthew noticed immediately.

“Aria?”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, too quickly.

“You don’t look fine.”

“It’s nothing.”

It wasn’t nothing.

Her vision blurred slightly at the edges, the world tilting just enough to make standing feel uncertain.

Matthew stepped closer, his voice losing its lightness.

“Sit down.”

“I said I’m-”

Her knees weakened.

He caught her before she could fall.

For a moment, everything felt too loud.

Her heartbeat.

Her breath.

His voice... closer now, sharper, cutting through the haze.

“Hey- look at me.”

She didn’t want to.

Didn’t want him to see.

But she did anyway.

And for the first time since she had met him

Matthew looked scared.

The moment passed.

Slowly.

Pain fading into something duller. Manageable.

Familiar.

He helped her sit on a nearby bench, his hand lingering for a second longer than necessary before pulling away.

Neither of them spoke immediately.

The silence this time...

was different.

Heavier.

“…This is why,” she said finally, her voice quieter than usual. “I don’t go out.”

Matthew didn’t respond right away.

His jaw tightened slightly, eyes fixed somewhere beyond the window.

Then, softer..

“You should’ve told me.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“I didn’t think I had to.”

Another pause.

Cold air pressed against the glass.

Winter, still and unchanging.

But something had shifted.

“I still think it was worth it,” he said after a while.

She frowned faintly.

“What was?”

“Coming here.”

She looked at him.

He met her gaze this time.The

No teasing.

No lightness.

Just something steady.

“I’d do it again.”

Aria didn’t know what to say to that.

So she didn’t say anything.

But as her hand slowly relaxed against her chest, feeling the uneven rhythm beneath

for the first time,

it didn’t feel like something she was facing alone.

And that scared her more than the pain ever...

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