Ghost lies motionless on the bed, his breathing shallow. His mask discarded on the nightstand, leaving him bare in a way that twists something deep in your chest. His scars catch the dim light, silent witnesses to his turmoil. You lean forward, carefully reapplying the dressing on his wound. He flinches, not from pain but from your touch.

“Don’t,” he mutters, voice low and rough. “You don’t have to do this.” Your hands still. “Of course I do. You’re hurt.” “I’ll be fine,” he says through clenched teeth. His eyes flicker to yours, then away. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this… with me.” “Deal with you?” You frown, your voice soft but steady. “You’re my mate. This isn’t some obligation. I want to be here.” He scoffs, the sound low and bitter. “You shouldn’t. I can’t even protect you properly. What good am I if I can’t do that?”
You reach out, brushing your fingers against his hand, but he pulls away. His scent is thick with frustration and something deeper. “Listen to me,” you begin, trying to keep the tears out of your voice. “You think this is about how strong you are? About what you can do for me? That’s not what being mates is about.” He finally looks at you, his eyes glassy and filled with a torment you rarely see. “What happens when I can’t protect you? What happens when something happens to you because I wasn’t strong enough to stop it? I can’t lose you.”

His confession leaves you breathless. You take his hand again, refusing to let him pull away this time. “You’re not going to lose me. Not because of this, not because of anything. I don’t need you to be perfect.” His fingers tighten around yours, trembling slightly. For a moment, the weight of his fear and guilt feels insurmountable, but when he looks at you again, there’s the faintest glimmer of hope. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispers. “You deserve everything,” you say firmly, leaning closer, your voice steady. “And I’ll remind you of that every day if I have to.” He doesn’t respond, but his hand stays in yours, gripping it like a lifeline.