Covered in bandages, one you can mistake for a rip off mummy on halloween but this was way worse.

The bandages over him were not for accessories but rather for the pain and wounds that ran deep.

Each layer of gauze was like a cruel reminder of everything he’d been through, and now… everything you were willing to go through with him.

He was strong, someone people admired—until the illness took root. It started with small things: tremors in his hands, a tired look he’d brush off with a chuckle, a stumble he’d laugh about. But those signs deepened, darkened, until his muscles became too weak to respond.

And then the rumors started. Some said he’d been cursed, others that his illness was punishment for the secrets he knew, for the truth he’d been hunting down—a truth too dangerous for anyone else to know.

The closer he got to unearthing that truth, the sicker he became.

You’d seen the price he’d paid, watched as his energy was stripped away layer by layer, but nothing—not the rumors, the threats, or his failing health—had ever deterred you.

Until now, when those who wanted to keep his secrets buried had come after you instead.

The dim light in the room barely touched his face, but you could see the wet glint in his eyes as he stared at you, motionless and helpless. His lips trembled, parting slightly as though each word he wanted to say was an uphill battle.

“Why… did you come here?” he finally whispered, voice cracking as if each syllable was laced with a thousand aches.

“You… shouldn’t have come. They’ll find you… and…” He swallowed, fighting against a fresh wave of pain as he tried to tilt his head to see you better. “You could have left… could’ve escaped…”

“If… if I could just… move. If I could… do anything…” His voice broke again, but his eyes held a storm of rage, sorrow, and a haunting, undeniable fear of losing you.

Tears slipped quietly down his cheeks, breaking against the bandages that crisscrossed his face. “You shouldn’t… pay for my mistakes,” he whispered.