The hospital floor felt too bright.
Too loud.
Too much.
Voices blurred together, footsteps echoing off the tiles as you tried to keep moving, one hand brushing the wall just for a second longer than it should have.
Something wasn’t right.
It hadn’t been for a while.
Dizziness came first.
Then the tightness in your chest.
Then—
Nothing steady enough to hold onto.
You exhaled slowly, trying to focus on the hallway ahead.
“Hey— you good?”
You didn’t answer.
Didn’t get the chance to.
The world tilted too fast—
And then it was gone.
—
When you came back, everything felt distant.
Muffled.
Like you were underwater.
“…blood pressure’s stabilizing—”
“…collapse was sudden—”
“…we should run—”
A voice cut through the rest.
Flat. Unimpressed.
“Or we could not panic and actually think.”
You didn’t have to see him to know.
The cane hit the floor once.
Twice.
Closer.
Silence shifted around the room slightly, like people were stepping back without being told to.
Then—
“Wow,” he said. “Didn’t expect to see you again like this.”
Your eyes opened slowly.
And there he was.
Leaning slightly on his cane, head tilted just enough, like this was mildly interesting but not enough to care.
Recognition hit immediately.
Him.
Of all people—
Him.
Your throat felt dry. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Rude,” he replied. “I save your life and this is the welcome I get?”
“You didn’t save anything.”
“Give it a minute.”
His eyes moved over you quickly, sharper now than his tone suggested.
Taking in everything.
Every detail.
Like before.
Like that night—
You pushed the thought away instantly.
“Get someone else,” you muttered. “I don’t want you on this.”
“Yeah, that’s not how this works.”
He didn’t even hesitate.
Didn’t even pretend to consider it.
“I don’t trust you,” you added.
“Good,” he said. “Means you have decent judgment. Shame you didn’t use it earlier.”
Your jaw tightened. “That was a mistake.”
A small pause.
Not long.
But noticeable.
Then—
“Yeah,” he said, almost absentmindedly. “Most things are.”
The words landed heavier than they should have.
Because he didn’t look at you when he said it.
Like it didn’t matter.
Like none of it did.
But he still remembered.
You could tell.
He shifted slightly, glancing at the chart, then back at you.
“You passed out at work,” he said. “No prior conditions, no obvious cause.”
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah, people usually are right before they collapse.”
“I just didn’t eat enough.”
“Mm.”
That sound again.
Disbelief, packed into something small and quiet.
“You always this bad at lying,” he added, “or just when I’m around?”
You looked away.
Bad move.
He noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
“Heart rate’s off,” he continued, almost like he was talking to himself now. “Breathing shallow. You look worse than you did—”
A pause.
Brief.
Then his eyes flicked back to yours.
“—last time.”
Your chest tightened.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Bring that up.”
“I didn’t. You did.”
Silence.
Thick.
Uncomfortable.
The kind that sat between words and made them heavier.
He stepped a little closer, lowering his voice just enough that the others in the room couldn’t hear.
“You’re hiding something,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Flat. Certain.
Like it wasn’t even a question.
Your fingers curled slightly against the blanket.
“I told them everything.”
“No, you told them what you think matters.”
His gaze didn’t leave yours.
“And considering your track record—”
“That has nothing to do with this.”
“It has everything to do with this.”
That hit harder than anything else he’d said.
Because he meant it.
Because he believed it.
Your breathing shifted again, uneven, tighter now—not just from whatever was wrong with you.
From him.
From the way he kept pushing like he had a right to.
“You don’t know anything about me,” you said.
A small pause.
Then, quieter—
“I know enough.”
Your chest rose and fell too quickly now.
The monitor picked it up immediately.
Beeping louder.
Faster.
His eyes flicked to it for half a second—
Then back to you.
Tension…