Under cotton candy skies, you'll find four friends.

Two share a seat in the hospital room, keeping each other warm in a space that seems too cold for the boy in the bed. Their hands are intertwined, silver rings touching.

The girl's smile is melancholy as she stares ahead at the bed. Her lover's face does not hold any emotion. His pain is silent, while hers is incapable of being so.

They go by the names Lucy and Peter.

Maybe you've heard of them.

Across the room sits a girl with a shattered soul. Zoya. She stares at the locked hands across from her, wondering how two people can be so different but fit together like pieces of a puzzle. A tiny part of her is envious, but she buries it deep down within her heart. She's happy for them, she is. Her legs are crossed as an elbow rests on her knee, her hand under her chin.

She doesn't sleep much. She's hurting more than the other two. How could she not be? In the bed in front of her lays the boy who, in such little time, had become her everything.

She yawns, shivering slightly due to the cold. Instinctively, her hands reach towards the blanket at the end of the bed and she pulls it over the lower half of his body. Just in case he's cold, you know? What she doesn't notice is that his feet are now uncovered, but it's okay.

Underneath the cotton candy skies, Zoya finds herself immersed in a world in which he isn't asleep. He's with her, entangled in her embrace, never to part.

Then she snaps out of it.

A week, they said.

The machines that keep him breathing are expensive. He has another week until...

No, she doesn't want to think about it. Instead, she looks to Lucy, who's now staring at her with dismal eyes. It's like she can read Zoya's mind.

"Hey," Zoya says, pointing a finger towards Peter, who is focused intently on something in the floor. His eyes shoot up to meet hers, eyebrows raised.

"He may not have been a boxer," Zoya whispers, tucking the blanket under the boy's arm, "But he's stronger than you think. Have hope."

His curls are dull, overgrown. It's strange. The others have aged visibly, but he has not. Time and uncertainty has inflicted its damage on each of their souls. Sometimes, she swears that she sees a ghost of a smile on his pale lips, but maybe she's just a little crazy.

Peter feigns a smile. They don't understand his pain. Whereas Lucy and Zoya only knew the man who was sleeping for a short period of time, he was Peter's brother. His world wasn't right without him. Sure, he had the girl who held his heart now holding his hand, but his best friend's life had been robbed by time. His pain is different from theirs.

Lucy sighs. She doesn't know how to tell Zoya that sometimes, having false hope can be toxic. And when Lucy Preston begins to think this way, everyone knows that circumstances really are dire.

"Zoya," she keeps her tone gentle, "Maybe we should talk about next week..."

"No," Zoya retorts all to quickly, taking the boy's hand gently into her own. She brings it up to her lips, placing a faint kiss above his fingers.

"Zoya, please be reasonable."

This time it's Peter who speaks, his voice deep, low, heavy like his heart.

But Zoya is no longer listening. Her face has lost its small traces of color. Her eyes are on the end of the bed, where a foot peeks out from under the blanket.

She blinks. Had she imagined it? She sits up straight, her shoulders tense, chapped lips parted, chest frozen, breathing halted.

Lucy and Peter share a look of both concern and fascination, following Zoya's gaze.

It happens again. His toes wiggle. They twitch the slightest bit. And then again.

Zoya jumps out of her chair with so much force that blackness overwhelmes her vision for only a few seconds.

Her head is spinning, heart racing, hands covering her mouth.

"Did you see that?" Her voice is just above a whisper.

Peter blinks squeezes his eyes shut, unable to fathom what had just happened.

"Yes."

Lucy squeezes his hand, as the three of them stand over the bed, peering down at his pale face.

I like to believe that prayer can be powerful. Combine that with love and friendship, and the two forces become unstoppable; they're immortal.

Zoya takes both of his hands in hers. She prays and prays. This is everything she has ever desired. Years have passed and he still has not woken up. It was destroying her, bit by bit, but now, the spark of hope within her heart had become a blazing fire.

"Charlie," she nearly shouts, her hands trembling as they hold his.

His fingers twitch.

Lucy and Peter bare witness to the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, the blanket above it moving with the motion.

The thin green line on the machines monitoring his heart were usually steady, slow, agonizingly patterned.

The line spikes. Over and over again.

Beep, beep, beep.

In come doctors, shock evident in their demeanors. They keep their distance, watching in disbelief how their science and medication was nothing compared to the love shared between the friends, and the passion in the eyes of the girl who refused to accept defeat.

The skin around his eyes moves, his lips contort, nose crinkles.

Underneath the cotton candy skies,

A phenomenon takes place. The earth stands still, but too briefly for anyone to notice. Born underneath the roof of the hospital is the result of love and compassion and everything in between. It's not an ending; it's the beginning of something rather exquisite.

Heavy eyelids pry open, revealing emerald greens that had remained dormant prisoners for far too long, the phenomenon making the trees dance with happiness and the city roar to life; they are illuminated once they reunite with the person they'd longed for, even in their seemingly eternal sleep:

The girl with the big, brown eyes.