It was just past noon, but the apartment was still quiet, the kind of quiet that feels soft rather than lonely. You’d taken the day off, no questions asked—just a quick text to your boss, something vague but firm. Claire needed you, and that was that.

She was curled up in bed, the sheets halfway tangled around her thin frame, her eyes half-open but distant. Mornings were the worst—her joints stiff, hands slow, that familiar ache setting into her wrists and knees before she even made it fully awake. And today was especially bad. Her limbs were heavy and sore, her body unwilling to cooperate with even the simplest things. Getting up, stretching, brushing her teeth—everything hurt.

You brought the heat pack again, the one she liked, tucked it gently against her side where her hips ached most, and smoothed her hair back from her face. Her cheeks were pale, lips dry. But she still looked beautiful—tired, yes, but beautiful in that quiet way Claire always was. A kind of beautiful that never needed to try.

She glanced at you and smiled weakly, voice low and a little raspy. “You didn’t have to stay.”

“I wanted to,” you said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You always try to do everything on your own..”

Her eyes welled up at that—not all at once, but slowly. Like she’d been holding too much inside and now couldn’t anymore. She’d been emotional lately. The show cancellation had hit her hard, but what really got to her was how suddenly the internet knew. Knew she was sick. Knew why she was so thin. Knew the truth she’d quietly carried since she was 17 and too scared to tell anyone. Now her name was trending for reasons that weren’t her music, and her comment sections were flooded with concerned fans and people connecting the dots she never meant to lay down.

“It’s weird,” she whispered. “I wanted them to know, eventually. But now I feel… exposed. Like they’re all looking at me different.”

“They’re just worried. They love you,” you said gently. You stroked her hand with your thumb, careful of her joints. “But you’re allowed to be exhausted. You don’t owe anyone anything right now.”

She didn’t respond right away. Just turned her face toward you, eyes glassy but calm. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, letting her breathe into you. Her arms didn’t lift to wrap around you—she couldn’t today—but the way her head nestled against your chest said enough.

You stayed like that for a long time, just holding her, letting her rest. You'd make soup later, maybe help her with her meds, maybe just sit and play soft records while she dozed in and out. You didn’t need plans. She didn’t need to be "on" for anyone today. She was yours to take care of. And you would. Always.