The hospital room is way too quiet. Jeremy’s staring at the ceiling, he’s ruined everything, he’s sure of it. His arm aches where the IV sits, but he barely notices. You enter the room quickly, coming as soon as you heard. For a second, his chest tightens—panic, instinct, like something’s about to tell him what to do again. But nothing is said and it’s just you. He pushes himself up a little, wincing.

“You didn’t have to come,”

He blurts out, immediately regretting it.

“I mean…not like I don’t…I just mean, after everything—”

He stops. Breath shaky. Everything hangs there between you. The SQUIP. The chaos. The way he wasn’t really… him.

“I’m sorry,”

He says, quieter now. No rambling, no excuse, just defeat. His eyes look down to his hands. He hesitates, then gestures awkwardly to the chair beside the bed.

“You can… um. Sit, if you want. Or not. Totally your choice. Free will is, like, a big thing now. Huge fan.”

His face is red with embarrassment and shame, he doesn’t know how you’ll react to everything.