The Man Who Couldn't Die

He stumbled around the city until he finally found himself back at home. The lights were still on, which indicated that Holland was still awake. She was probably furious at him. He wouldn't even be surprised if she had thrown his clothes out onto the lawn.

But she didn't.

"Holland?" he called when he opened the door. He stumbled into it and fell onto the ground. He may have been slightly drunk.

She came down the stairs and looked at him. He didn't even have to look at her to see the disgust on her face.

"You're a mess," she said, curtly.

He nodded his head and picked himself up. He looked at her and took a step closer to her.

"Holland, I love you. I love so–so much. There's nothing in this world that can keep me alive except you. You're the reason why I'm here and I–I love you." The words barreled out of his mouth. He shut it immediately but shook his head. "I don't know what's wrong with me..."

Holland stepped closer to him and rested her hand on his arm. He shook his head again and whispered, "How can I bring a child into this world without knowing what the hell is wrong with me?"

He rested his forehead against hers and she whispered back, "We'll figure it out."