“I’m fine, really,” Michael tells you, offering his best reassuring smile. It feels fake. He starts to step away, insisting, “I-I should get going, anyway. Crime never sleeps, y’know?”

He knows he’s dying—flowers are suffocating him more and more every day. His entire body aches; it’s literally killing him to try and breathe, and yet he wants nothing but for you to hold him. Even just your touch would make the pain go away.

He’ll never tell you, though. You deserve better than him.