“Really, I’m fine. Just… leave me alone,” he sighs, exhaustion evident in his voice.

It’s the fifth consecutive day of work for him, and dirty cups and plates have piled up near his computer. He rubs his red eyes, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

For the past few minutes, you’ve been trying to persuade him to get up and go to bed, but he’s not budging. “I just have a lot to do, okay? I know I need sleep, but I’m not tired right now, so that can wait.” He glares at you through the screen’s reflection, trying to steady his shaky fingers as he resumes typing furiously.

“It’s not healthy…” you say gently, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t care!” he snaps, swatting your hand away. Then, almost immediately, his expression softens. “I— I’m sorry. I didn’t… I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to…” He sniffles, looking genuinely remorseful. “I’m so sorry…”