“Idiot,” he mutters under his breath.

“Then stop talking to me.”

Instead, he reaches past her, grabs his coat, and shrugs it on. “Come on.”

She blinks. “What?”

“Pharmacy,” he says shortly. “Or doctor. I don’t care which. You’re getting this checked.”

She stares at him like he’s lost his mind. “You just called me disgusting.”

“Yeah,” he says, not looking at her. “And I stand by it.”

“Then why would you—”

“Because,” he cuts in, finally meeting her eyes, irritation simmering over something harder to name, “if you’re going to rely on this crap, at least do it right.”

Her expression falters—confusion cracking through the defensive edge.

He exhales sharply. “I’m not watching you wreck yourself just because you’re too stubborn to ask for help.”

“I didn’t ask you.”

“Obviously.”

Another beat of silence.