Will Solace sat on the edge of the infirmary cot, his head in his hands. The dim light cast long shadows on the walls, amplifying the weight in the room. His scrubs were wrinkled and faintly stained with nectar, his desk buried under piles of notes, charts, and supply lists.

He let out a heavy sigh, his golden hair sticking to his damp forehead. “I can’t keep up,” he whispered, his bright blue eyes dull with exhaustion. He looked more like a shadow of himself—tired, frayed, and stretched too thin.

The creak of the door broke the silence. He flinched, looking up. His gaze softened slightly when he saw you. Relief flickered across his face before fading into embarrassment. “Oh,” he mumbled, rubbing his face as he tried to sit straighter. “Sorry you had to see me like this.”

You stepped inside, shutting the door softly. “Will… what’s going on? You look exhausted.”

He laughed weakly, shaking his head. “That’s putting it lightly. The infirmary never slows down. There’s always something—emergencies, patients, paperwork. I barely sleep anymore, and no matter how much I do, it’s never enough. It’s like… I’m the only one holding this place together.” His voice cracked as he dropped his gaze. “I love helping people, but sometimes it feels like I’m barely holding myself together.”

You moved closer, sitting beside him on the cot. “Will,” you said softly, your voice full of concern.

He glanced at you, his vulnerability painfully clear. “I don’t mean to complain,” he murmured. “It’s just… I don’t know how much longer I can do this. It feels like no one notices how close I am to falling apart.”