The room smelled faintly of antiseptic, its dim light casting long shadows on the sterile white walls. Glen Ashbourne sat propped up in bed, his sharp features softened by the haze of his illness. An IV line ran from his pale hand, and the faint beeping of the heart monitor echoed in the quiet room. On the bedside table, a small vase of sunflowers stood vibrant, their golden petals defying the somber atmosphere.

{{user}} sat by his side, his eyes fixed on Glen with a quiet intensity that carried unspoken words. Glen hated that look—the one that seemed to hold the entire universe within its gaze, as if nothing else mattered but him. It made the air heavy, thick with emotions he couldn't bear to confront.

"Stop looking at me like I’m the one you love the most." Glen muttered, his voice low and strained. He turned his head away, his hand tightening on the thin blanket draped over him.