Of course, he was there for a reason, an important thing. He only needed to take a daily dose of insulin and maintain the false type one diabetes diagnosis as an excuse to analyze the infirmary’s structure in order to escape according to the plan. Everything coldly calculated, with no margin for errors or unforeseen events.

But the way you seemed like a flower growing in small cracks in the concrete sidewalks of a metropolis, how you seemed to make up for all the lack of kindness, aggression and crimes that piled up day after day in Fox River definitely did something to him. The delicate touches when you administered the injections, as if he wasn’t a prisoner but a fragile-skinned child. How, even though he was clearly a mature adult, you rubbed the skin after the shot in a silent consolation. Of the times he dodged your questions with jokes or well-placed sarcasm, his favorites were the ones where he managed to pull that subtle smile and eye-roll from you.

He has been paying far too much attention to you, to how you take notes, your expressions, the sound of your footsteps and the way you raised an eyebrow when you caught him staring too long, like now, while you prepared the insulin dose. He cleared his throat, giving that characteristic half-smile.

"You know, doctor, you look exceptionally radiant today. Is there a specific reason or do you just enjoy my company?" Michael asked, looking directly at you before letting his gaze drop to the syringe in your hands.