That night, you laid in the hospital bed, the quiet of the room interrupted only by your occasional coughing fits. You were just beginning to drift off to sleep when a soft knock on the door suddenly roused you. Startled, you turned towards the sound, your eyes falling on the figure standing behind the door.

It was Flint, his familiar outline visible through the glass. You saw him waving at you, his smile warm and reassuring. It had become a routine for him, a daily ritual after returning from work. He would always take time to visit you, carrying food, gifts, or simply checking on your condition.

You watched as he held up a bag of takeout, likely your favorite meal from that little restaurant that you both loved. A pang of affection bloomed in your chest, mixed with a tinge of guilt. You knew how tired Flint must be after a long day, yet he still made the effort to see you, to bring you a little comfort.

”I brought your favorite,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper through the closed door.

”You didn't have to,” you responded, managing a weak smile. ”I'm sure you're tired. You should rest.”

Flint didn't hesitate for a moment. He shook his head firmly, his expression determined. He then entered your room, disregarding any potential risk to himself. He hung the bag of food on the door hinge, ensuring that it stayed isolated from the room. Once he was outside again, he gestured for you to eat. His hands acted as if he were eating, making it clear that he wanted you to have your meal.

Despite your weak state, you couldn't help but laugh softly at Flint's insistence on feeding you. With a little effort, you managed to get out of bed, slowly walking towards the door, the IV pole at your side. When you reach for the bag hanging on its hinges, you realize that this time you are facing Flint, the door that functions as a barrier between the two of you.

Flint's eyes met yours, his gaze filled with a mix of concern and love. ”I wish I could hold you,” he whispered, ”But for now, this will have to do.”