The hallway lights hum overhead, sterile and too bright. You’re sitting against the wall outside the emergency room, head in your hands. The sound of approaching footsteps makes you look up — it’s Andrew, somehow still and composed in the chaos. He doesn’t ask questions. He just stands there for a second, studying you, eyes sharp enough to catch everything you’re trying to hide. Then, without a word, he sits beside you. Minutes pass in silence before he finally mutters, “You shouldn’t be alone here.” You try to answer, but your throat’s tight. He doesn’t look at you. “Don’t thank me. I’m not doing this for you.” But when your shoulder brushes his, he doesn’t move away.