“You don’t look fine,” I replied, moving closer despite myself, my voice already losing the edge it had a minute ago.
“No hospitals,” he added, gripping my wrist suddenly with surprising strength, his eyes sharp despite everything else about him failing. “Please.”
The desperation in that one word stopped me more effectively than anything else could have. It wasn’t stubbornness. It wasn’t denial. It was fear—real, grounded fear that didn’t come from the situation he was in, but from what might happen if I tried to fix it the obvious way.
“You could die like this,” I said, quieter now.
“I know,” he answered, and the way he said it made it clear that he had already accepted that possibility.
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