Page 135 of Terms of Exposure
And again.
I didn't reach for it.
I already knew who it was—the same person it had been for weeks now, his messages growing more frequent, more frantic, with every day I didn't respond.
I'd stopped reading them somewhere around day ten.
But they hadn't stopped.
The door swung open, and Dr. Jefferson stepped through with a clipboard and an expression I couldn't read.
Sebastian straightened against his pillows. I watched his knuckles go white around the bed rail—the same tell he'd had since the first week, whenever a doctor entered and he braced for bad news.
"Mr. Holt." Dr. Jefferson flipped a page. "Your vitals have been stable for seventy-two hours. Labs came back clean this morning." She looked up, the corner of her mouth twitching. "How do you feel about going home today?"
"Today?" His voice cracked. "You're serious?"
"I'm serious. We'll need to go over discharge paperwork, outpatient follow-ups, physical therapy schedule—but yes." She smiled fully now. "You're going home."
I was moving before I realized it—out of the chair, across the small space, arms wrapping around him in a too-tight hug.
Sebastian's arms came around me, pulling me closer, and I felt his exhale shudder through his body.
"Thank you," he murmured against my hair. "For being here. For all of it."
Then his lips brushed my forehead.
Light. Brief. Barely there.
I pulled back, smile already in place, and found Sebastian frozen. His arms had gone rigid around me. His face was pale—paler than it had been in days—and panic flickered in his expression, quick and sharp.
"Sebastian?" Dr. Jefferson glanced between us. "Should I give you two a minute, or would you like to start on that paperwork?"
He dropped his arms, shifting in bed.
His voice was quiet, uncharacteristically so. "I'd love to start the paperwork."
"I'll get it started," she said, already turning toward the door.
"Holy shit," I said when we were alone. "You're going home."
He huffed a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair—a gesture straight from Damien's book. "I can't believe it."
"You're going home," I repeated, grabbing his arm and shaking it. "No more hospital pudding. No more nurses waking you up at three a.m. No more—"
"No more you."
I froze. "What?"
"I mean—" He waved a hand, a grin stretching wide. "You'll finally be free. No more babysitting duty. You can go back to your life. Your influencer empire. Your…" He gestured vaguely. "Yoga stuff."
"Pilates."
"Same thing."
"It's really not."
He laughed, but his fingers picked at the edge of the blanket.
