Everything unsaid standing between us.
I step closer before I can stop myself.
My hand reaches out.
Not planned.
Not thought through.
I rest it lightly against his ribs.
Checking.
Professional.
But the second I touch him—
He stills.
Not from pain.
From me.
“You shouldn’t be sitting up,” I say, my voice softer now.
“Probably not.”
But he doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
The space between us disappears without permission.
“Why didn’t you tell me it hurt this much?” I ask.
“Didn’t want you to worry.”
That breaks something small in my chest.
“I was already worried,” I whisper.
His breath catches.
Just slightly.
“You weren’t supposed to be,” he says.
“Too late.”
Silence again.
But this time—
It’s heavier.
Closer.
His hand shifts on the sofa.