Joaquín Torres x Fem! Reader
Synopsis: Joaquín's accident affects you more than you care to admit.
You kept going back to that moment.
Time slowed, expanded. It stretched far and wide as Joaquín tumbled from the sky, the wings of his suit spread uselessly.
You didn't think your heart was beating. It sure didn't feel like it was. Or maybe it was pounding so hard that you simply couldn't feel it anymore. Either way, the world felt syrupy, thick, as a startled scream tore from your throat.
In that moment, as you watched him fall from the sky, the only thing you could think was 'Please. Don't take him from me. Don't take this damned loveable idiot away from me.'
Hours later, you still felt the aftermath of it all.
You cleared your throat quietly, feeling the burn from the smoke and your screams. His heart monitor beat monotonously. It should've brought you peace, hearing it. But it didn't, like you couldn't quite believe that it was true.
You were stuck in the before.
When his heart had stopped, when it felt like the world had tilted on its axis. For a few horrible minutes, you were floating in the abyss, no longer tethered to Earth.
He was still unconscious, his hair unruly and bandages snaking up the length of his neck.
"Miss," the nurse rapped quietly on Joaquín's door. "Visiting hours end in ten minutes."
You mustered a sad smile. "Alright, thank you."
She nodded, eyes soft as she took in the sight of the two of you. Joaquín, fresh from surgery and still asleep, and you, eyes never straying far from him, his hand resting gently in yours. "Your boyfriend is going to pull through."
You didn't have it in you to correct her. "He's tough," you responded. Although, that didn't feel like the right thing to say. Because, yes, Joaquín was tough. Joaquín was stronger than most people you knew. But that didn't make him any less human.
The thought was sobering, and it frightened you.
In the years since you'd known him, you'd thought him invincible. He was an untouchable force, something to be reckoned with. And now...
He looked so boyish in the hospital bed.
"Night, Joaquín," you said softly. "I'll see you tomorrow."
You thought it might be better once you were further removed from it all.
But somehow, it only got worse.
Sam had gotten the call that Joaquín woke up. You felt like you were dreaming, like maybe you were in a daze the whole way to the hospital.
Sam's voice broke you from your thoughts. "Hm?"
He shot you a look. "He's okay. You know that right?"
Sam's fingers tapped quietly along the sides of the steering wheel. "Are you okay?"
That was a loaded question. How could you possibly begin to explain how you felt? Sure, Joaquín was okay. He was going to be just fine after some physical therapy. He would bounce back. That didn't stop your brain from constantly reminding you that you'd lost him. Even though it had only been a few minutes, just a brief amount of time, you'd learned what it felt like to lose Joaquín Torres.
For that short amount of time, the world had gone quiet.
You didn't want to feel that way ever again. You kept thinking about how it felt to know that you'd never get to see him again. That you'd never hear his laughter. That you'd never see the warmth of his eyes. You kept thinking about the what ifs.
What if this was a sick joke that your mind was playing on you? What if you were making all of this up to cope? What if the doctors didn't revive him and you were actually stuck in a world without Joaquín?
You couldn't say that to Sam, so you simply said, "Perfectly fine."
The doctor briefs the two of you on Joaquín's condition before allowing you into the room.
"He's awake, but he's in immense pain. Don't think he'll show you that, though. Kid's strong. First thing he did when he woke up was smile."
The thought makes you want to cry.
You could picture it, the groggy look in his eye, the way he would've grinned.
His room is small, intimate. His eyes track you as you enter the room, your heart in your throat.
"You're a sight for sore eyes," he says through a smile. The smile falters, however, when he sees the expression on your face.
His eyes soften into something more serious, and the sirens in your head blare loudly. Abort! They say, abort! Don't let him see how upset you are!
"Are you okay?" He asks quietly. "Your eyes are all teary."
You laugh it off, forcing yourself to smile. "I'm fine. I had hand sanitizer on my hands and I rubbed at my eyes so they got all irritated. I'm alright, though. And anyway, shouldn't I be the one asking that question?"
Joaquín shrugs, then grimaces. His nose wrinkles as his face screws up in an expression of pain. "Ouch."
"Should I get the doctor?" You ask worriedly, already backing up toward the door.
Sunlight streams through the window, embracing Joaquín in a streak of gold. His eyes look like honey in the light. Again, the thought makes you want to cry.
This is fake, your brain says, he's dead.
You wouldn't allow your brain to tell you such things. And yet...a part of you believed it.
Your eyes drift to the heart monitor. 120 BPM. Good.
"I'll be fine. Just a little sore. Nothing serious, y'know? Don't worry about lil ol' me."
The fear had taken hold of your heart. And you weren't sure how to get it to let go.
Joaquín sensed that something was off with you.
He bit into an apple, his feet swinging lightly from his spot on the edge of the countertop in your kitchen. You were elbow deep in dough, your tongue poking out of your mouth as you kneaded it.
A month had gone by since the accident, and you still seemed incapable of making eye contact with him. In fact, you hardly spoke anymore.
Joaquín swallowed, his heart slamming painfully into his ribs. "Hey, can I ask you something?"
You flicked some flour from your cheekbone. "Yeah, 'course you can."
There was a pause. Silence filled the space as Joaquín searched for the right words. "Did..did I do something wrong?"
You were caught off guard, that much he could tell.
Memories flashed through his mind in that moment. He saw the moment he met you, when you were teenagers and thought you knew everything there was to know about the world. Your braces had been bright pink and you wore different variations of band tees every day. Then he saw the two of you in high school, when the two of you had gone to prom together because you could. It had been painfully awkward in the beginning, but the night had ended on an echo of laughter.
He thinks of just a few months ago, all of the movie nights and impromptu late night drives. He wonders where it went wrong.
"No. Why do you ask?" You say it like you genuinely don't know, but he hears the hesitation in your voice. Like you're not quite telling the truth. Like there's something laying beneath the surface.
And it bothers him that you won't be open about whatever it is that's wrong.
Maybe not because he expects you to tell him exactly what's wrong, but because he knows something is and you won't stop acting like everything is okay when it clearly isn't.
"You've kind of been giving me the cold shoulder," he says quietly. "Feels like I did something wrong and you won't talk to me about it."
The indifference in your voice is what makes his heart fracture just the tiniest bit. "I dunno what you're talking about, Torres. Everything is fine. I'm great, actually."
The laugh that slips from his mouth is humorless. "I don't know. I just think you're being a little hypocritical right now. I just find it funny that you can keep shit from me but you're getting all bent out of shape right now over me asking about it."
You know you should stop the fight before it starts. You know that you should tell him how afraid you've been since his accident. You know you should tell him how absolutely terrified you are to let yourself feel close to him again, how petrified you are of losing him. He should know those things, but you're scared.
The lie slips from your mouth before you can stop it. "I'm fucking fine, Joaquín. Quit bugging me about it, alright?"
He flinches like you just reached out and slapped him across the face.
Regret floods your heart. "Joaquín-"
He hops down from the counter, shaking his head as he does so. "Nah, I'm not doing this. We can talk when you've figured out whatever it is that's bothering you."
After he leaves, the resounding silence in your apartment nearly deafens you.
Your fingers slipped from the keyboard on the laptop, pausing from your attempt at getting into the system. Instead, you couldn't help but watch in horror at the horrible collision. Joaquín's shout reverberates across the water, reaching you from your spot on the boat.
A scream tears through your chest as he begins falling.
Every moment you ever shared with Joaquín flashes through your mind. Regret competes with fear as Joaquín lands unceremoniously in the ocean. You didn't get to tell him how much you loved him. You didn't get to thank him for being the best friend you could've ever asked for.
You wake with a startled gasp, your sheets pooling around your waist as you sit up.
Tears collect on your lash line, and for the first time since it happened, you allow yourself to cry. Through the tears, you search for your phone, wincing as the screen comes to life in your otherwise dark room.
Dial tone reaches your ears. As the phone rings, you bite your thumb nail anxiously, the tears streaking down your cheeks.
"Hello?" His voice is groggy, deep and gravelly from sleep. "Is everything okay, it's late-"
Your chin wobbles. "I'm so sorry."
A soft exhale. "Don't worry about it, alright? We can talk about it tomorrow."
You sniffle, voice breaking as you say, "Okay. I'm sorry."
Rustling comes from the other end. "Hang tight, okay? I'm coming."
Horror flashes through you, "It's late Joaquín, you're gonna be sleepy."
"And you're upset." He says it like it's the only thing that matters to him.
And maybe it is, because he's at your doorstep within ten minutes, a worn Adidas hoodie thrown over his pajamas. A ball cap is pulled low over his face, partially hiding any leftover bruising from his accident. When he enters your apartment, he stands there for a moment like he's unsure of what to do with himself.
But then he sees the tears in your eyes, the vulnerability and fear that lives there, and he makes his move.
Before you can comprehend what's happening, Joaquín is tugging you into his arms. He's warm, and smells like that expensive cologne that you had convinced him to buy. His heart beats rhythmically beneath your ear, and you shut your eyes, listening to the sound of it.
Faintly, you think, that his heart beat sounds like angels singing.
He presses close to you, his arms solid and strong. You lean against his chest, and for the first time, you really allow yourself to feel it.
"You died," you say quietly. His arms tighten around you in response. "I don't want to lose you again."
His palms press into your lower back. Pressing you impossibly close, like he wants to meld with you. Like he can't bear to be apart. "I'm not going anywhere."
"I hate the way it made me feel." You breathe. "I thought I was gonna have to go the rest of my life without you."
Joaquín makes a broken sound. Like he's just now realizing the gravity of what happened.
Stupidly, he'd always pictured a life with you. A life where he would build you two a house, one with a wrap around porch, a big garden in the backyard, maybe a dog or cat, and as many damn kids as you wanted. Anything to keep the smile on your face. He knew it had taken him too long to admit, but he felt it in his bones that you were his and he was yours.
He never pictured what it would be like if anything happened to either one of you. The accident had been bad, yes, but he wasn't on the other end of it all. He didn't have to watch you get critically injured. He didn't have to reconfigure everything he thought he knew. He didn't have to know what it felt like to be without you.
Joaquín holds you a little tighter, a little more intentional.
"I'm here," he says. "I've got you."
You press your face into his shoulder, tears making paths down your jawline.
"Do you realize how much I love you?" He asks, thumb rubbing circles against your shoulder blade.
You try to pull away, only for him to make a desperate sort of noise in the back of his throat, his arms tugging you closer to him. "Don't let go yet."
You press your cheek against the solid planes of his chest, the tears slowing. "I love you, Joaquín." The admission is quiet, muffled by the fabric of his hoodie, but he hears it anyway.
Deep down, he always knew. He knew he loved you, and that you loved him back. It wasn't something he ever questioned, something he felt he never had to put a name to because it's just how it was. But hearing you say it...
It was the most alive he had ever felt.
"Look at me," he commands softly.
You lift your eyes slowly. The smile he sends you kickstarts your heart. Weakly, you say, "Hi."
"Hi, baby." He brushes a stray tear from your cheek in an almost reverent manner. "I've got you, always. And I'm sorry for scaring you like I did. I'm starting to realize that maybe I'm not as invincible as I thought I was."
"I'm gonna wrap you in bubble wrap and cuddle you every day for the rest of your life," you mumble, fingers gripping the back of his hoodie. Joaquín's chest rumbles as he laughs.
He hums like he's thinking about the proposition. "I dunno about the bubble wrap, but the cuddling sounds pretty nice."
"Whatever," you respond, pretending to sound annoyed. "I love you."
Joaquín presses a kiss to the top of your head, and then a few more in rapid succession. "I love you, too."
"More than the falcon wings?"
You feel the smirk that spreads across his face. "Way more. Bigger than the sky, actually."
No matter how long it would take, he would keep reminding you of that. Even if you were ninety and could barely hear, he would be right by your side to remind you.
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