The sterile hospital air nips at your skin as you sit besides your husband in the waiting room. When the intercom crackles to life—"Satoru Gojo, examination room three"—you both rise in unison. But before you can take a step, his warm palm presses against your shoulder, gently pushing you back into the plastic chair.

"Stay here," he says, that infuriatingly confident smirk playing on his lips.

You counter with a knowing smile, "But you hate need—"

"I'll be fine," he interrupts, already turning away with a careless wave. The white hospital lights catch his snow-coloured hair as he disappears down the hallway, leaving you to drum your fingers against your knees.

Five minutes pass. Then ten.

When a nurse suddenly calls your name, her voice carries an odd tremor. You approach the reception desk to find her fidgeting with her clipboard, cheeks flushed pink.

"Y-yes?" you answer.

She won't meet your eyes. "Your husband, uh... fainted." A beat. "Spectacularly."

Somewhere beyond the partition, you hear a familiar groan—the mighty Satoru Gojo, humbled by a single needle.