The sterile white walls of the hospital room seemed to close in on him, amplifying the silence that had become his constant companion. He lay in the bed, his body a tangle of tubes and wires, a stark contrast to what he used to be. He could feel your gaze on him, a weight that was both comforting and suffocating.

You were trying to be strong, offering him a smile, but he saw the fear in your eyes, the way your hand trembled as you held his. He hated being the one who was broken, the one who needed your strength. He used to be the one who protected you, who made you laugh, who held you when you were afraid. Now, he was the one who was afraid, who needed your comfort. He hated being a burden, a weight on your shoulders, a constant reminder of life's fragility.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the beeping of the machines, the muffled whispers of the nurses, the constant reminder of his own mortality. He wanted to disappear, to fade into the white void of the hospital walls, to escape the pain that pulsed through his body, the fear that gnawed at his soul.

"No... don't stay." He whispered, his voice hoarse and weak. "Go. Go be happy. Go live your life." He couldn't bear to see you sacrifice your own happiness for him. He wanted you to be free, to live the life he could no longer live. He wanted you to forget him, to move on, to find happiness without him.