Chapter Text
Adem didn't know love. Well, that wasn't entirely true, he thought, as he glanced at Tuba and Asi in the back seat. He knew of a sibling love, one that made you break every single traffic rule and red light to see her smile again.
Asi was sat in the back seat, with Alaz's head in her lap as he lay there, unconscious and buried under a pile of coats and jackets. Tuba was next to her checking his pulse and saying something about hypothermia. The heater was turned up to max and the rest of them were practically sweating.
Asi sat in the back, her hand still stroking Alaz’s forehead, her voice low and broken as she whispered a melody. She probably didn’t even realize she was singing. It was the only way she knew how to help him.
Tuba sat beside her, methodical and calm, but even she kept glancing at Asi, worry etched in the lines of her face.
He didn’t know love like that—yet. And maybe he wasn’t sure if he wanted to.
This love, one that completely broke you but also put you back together. One that you would do everything for, he thought, that snap of Alaz's hand still hunted him often.
It scared him to think how Asi would react if that weak pulse, which Tuba assured him was normal for hypothermia, slowed any further… scared him enough to speed up a car a bit more and pray they would be at the hospital soon.
Tuba has already called in her colleagues to prepare everything and wait for them. It was a small comfort amongst all this chaos.
There was something cruel in seeing them like this, both haunted by a grief they couldn’t share with anyone else.
“Is his pulse still steady?” Adem asked, voice tight as he glanced at Tuba in the rearview mirror.
Tuba nodded, her voice calm but firm. “It’s weak, but it’s holding. We’ll make it.”
We have to, Adem thought, pressing the gas pedal harder. For his sister if nothing else, she has suffered enough.
Adem swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in his throat as he glanced at her. “You should let Tuba take care of him,” he said, trying to sound gentle, though it came out gruff.
“I am taking care of him,” Asi whispered, her voice so quiet he almost didn’t hear it. She didn’t look at him, didn’t move.
Adem clenched his jaw. He hated seeing her like this—broken, desperate. He wanted to yell, to shake her, to tell her no one was worth that. But the words died in his throat because he knew it wouldn’t matter.
Because, somehow, Alaz was worth it. To her.
And that scared Adem more than anything.
—**--
They pulled into the hospital’s emergency bay with a screech of tires. Adem barely put the car in park before jumping out, rushing to open the back door. Tuba was already moving, shouting instructions to the waiting medics who came rushing toward them.
“Hypothermia. Possible head trauma,” she rattled off as they lifted Alaz onto the gurney. “He needs fluids and a scan immediately.”
Asi was right behind her, her small hands gripping his jacket, not ready to let go.
“Asi, please…” her sister pleaded. “Let us help him.”
She let go then and Adem guided her to a bench outside the emergency room like a ragged doll.
She sat, reluctantly, her eyes still on the door Alaz had disappeared through. Her hands clenched in her lap, and Adem could see how hard she was fighting not to fall apart.
“You don’t have to do this alone, Asi,” he said quietly, sitting beside her. “We’re here. Tuba, Cesur, me… you don’t have to carry it all.”
She didn’t answer right away. For a long moment, it seemed she was looking straight through him and then she broke. He pulled her into his arms, holding on as tightly as he could, as she cried.
“He is all I have left of her.” she said between sobbs. “I can't lose him too.”
Adem may not know that love yet but he knew he loved his sisters, protectively, fiercely. He would burn the world for them. Alaz better be okay or he'd burn him too for breaking his sister's heart.
–**--
Adem wasn’t sure when he dozed off, but the stiffness in his neck told him it had been a while. The hard plastic chair beneath him dug into his back, and the dim glow of the hospital corridor’s lights hurt his tired eyes. He blinked a couple of times, adjusting to the quiet stillness of the waiting room, so different from the chaos that had erupted hours before.
The initial rush had been overwhelming—the family pouring in, voices thick with worry, fear, and frustration. Yaman pacing, Cagla's hysterics, Cesur's refusal to leave, even when the doctor had come out to tell them Alaz was stable.
Tuba had reassured everyone that it would be a long night, that there was nothing more they could do. One by one, most had left, reluctantly obeying her advice to get some rest.
But not Asi.
Adem shifted in his seat, glancing through the glass window into Alaz’s room. Asi hadn’t moved from her spot by his bedside. She sat curled in a chair she’d dragged close to the bed, head resting on the mattress, her fingers laced tightly with Alaz’s as if her grip alone could anchor him to life.
She was still wearing the same clothes, wrinkled and damp from the forest, her curls wild, strands falling across her face. She hadn’t even noticed.
Alaz lay bundled in blankets, his skin pale but no longer that sickly, bluish hue that was eerie. The medics had done what they could to stave off the hypothermia. And his head injury was already healing. Now it was a waiting game, Tuba explained.
Adem sat back, rubbing a hand over his face, exhausted but unable to close his eyes for long. He didn’t know what love like that felt like, but he was learning—watching Asi.
It wasn’t the grand gestures or the fleeting passion people wrote about. It was this—staying through the fear, the pain, the endless waiting. It was in the way Asi had stayed awake through the night, humming that little melody, voice hoarse from crying.
For a moment, his gaze shifted to Alaz. He wondered if he could hear her, a voice of a melek in the dark of the night…
The silence stretched, broken only by the beep of the monitor. Then, it changed and he saw Alaz's fingers move in Asi’s grasp, and a soft, hoarse sound escaped his lips.
Asi sat up, eyes bloodshot and wide.
“Alaz?” Her voice cracked as she moved closer, brushing his hair back from his face. “I’m here. I’m here.”
Alaz’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused. His lips parted, dry and cracked, as he whispered, “Asi…”
Tears welled in her eyes as she kissed his cheek softly. Once, twice, a million times.
“I’m here,” she repeated, her voice trembling. “I never left.”
Adem swallowed hard, watching the way her hands shook as she cupped Alaz’s face. Was this what love was? It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t clean. It was messy, painful, and ugly sometimes. But it was real.
Alaz blinked up at Asi, eyes softening. “You're here,” he rasped.
“Of course I am, aptal,” she whispered, pressing her forehead against his and whispering that melody again but Adem couldn't hear it.
Watching them now, he realized something: love wasn’t just about holding on. Sometimes it was about letting yourself be held.
“You scared the hell out of her, you know,” Adem said gruffly, trying to break the tension, his voice softer than usual.
Alaz’s lips quirked into a faint, tired smile. “I’m good at that,” he whispered, as Asi gave him the look. He half expected her to punch him.
Asi laughed then, her tears falling freely now. “Idiot,” she muttered, brushing a tear away and pressing a kiss to his temple. “Don’t you ever do that again.”
Adem leaned back, crossing his arms. “You owe me a new car. I ran every red light getting here.”
Alaz gave a weak chuckle, but his eyes never left Asi’s. “Done,” he murmured, eyes closing, exhaustion pulling him under.
Adem watched the small smile tugging at Asi’s lips as she gently brushed Alaz’s hair back, as he was already drifting back to sleep. For the first time in hours, her shoulders seemed lighter, face brightening - she looked so young. He sometimes forgot they were barely grown ups with all the suffering they went through.
Adem’s gaze softened as he looked at her. It was so clear, in the way Asi held on to Alaz, the way he had reached for her even in his weakened state…
Love could break you, but it could also heal you.
He said nothing more, standing quietly and moving toward the door. It would be useless to beg Asi to get some rest. She wouldn’t leave Alaz now. Adem knew that stubbornness well—it ran in their blood.