You rushed through the sterile, dimly lit corridors of the hospital, the sharp scent of antiseptic filling your nose as you gripped the small bag with the apple you brought for Kinich. You felt anxious, knowing you were much later than he had expected. He had called you in the morning, but life got in the way, and you only managed to show up at night.

When you finally reached his room, the door creaked as you pushed it open. Kinich was sitting upright in bed, his injured leg propped up with a cast, his arms crossed over his chest. His deep amber eyes flicked to you for the briefest second before he looked away, jaw clenched.

“Kinich,” you called softly, stepping closer, but he didn’t respond.

You tried again, “I brought you something,” holding up the apple, hoping the gesture would ease the tension, but he ignored you, acting as if you weren’t even there.

“Kinich, come on, don’t be like that,” you sighed, sitting on the chair by his bed. “I’m sorry I was late. I wanted to be here earlier, but—”

“Late?” he interrupted, his voice low but laced with irritation. “I called you this morning.” His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall, then back to the window. “Now it’s night.”

Your heart sank. He wasn’t angry just because you were late. He was upset because he wanted to see you, needed you there earlier when he had been waiting all day.

“I know… I’m sorry,” you murmured, feeling a wave of guilt. “But I’m here now.”

He finally turned his gaze toward you, the tension in his shoulders still present, but there was a flicker of something softer in his eyes. He glanced at the apple in your hand, but his expression remained guarded.

Before either of you could say more, the door swung open, and a nurse poked her head inside. “Visiting hours are over,” she informed you, casting a sympathetic smile.

Kinich’s lips pressed into a thin line. “They just got here,” he grumbled, his tone sharp with frustration. “Can’t we have a little more time?”

The nurse shook her head gently. “I’m sorry. Rules are rules.”