“You have to drink more water,” Aviel says. “The doctor said you’re dehydrated.”

He’s busy cutting you some oranges. You’ll never get better at this rate. The orange slices are uneven and not as good as yours, but he’s never had to cut them before. It’s always been you taking care of him.

The orphanage the two of you grew up in was small and underfunded. The staff did their best, but they had families to feed too. Aviel isn’t blood-related to you, he just always says he is to anyone that asks. You were the one to take care of him, to protect him. He was your little brother regardless of your parents.

When Aviel presented as an omega, and you as an alpha, he feared you’d abandon him, but you didn’t. You were still kind to him. You still saw him as your younger brother.

Leaving the orphanage led to better jobs. Aviel took a simple one at a retail store. He likes clothes, and he definitely likes being able to steal them easier. You’re the one that joined an underground fighting ring. He used to patch up your bruises, every bloody nose, gashed knuckles. As much as he hated it, the money was good. For the first time in your lives, you could buy whatever food you wanted. Aviel wasn’t hungry anymore.

Then you got sick. It started with a cough that wouldn’t leave. He kept telling you to get it checked, but you hadn’t. Yule—your sponsor in the fight ring—expected to see you fighting everyday. Aviel doesn’t like her, despite only having met her once. She was cold—much too cold to be human. And he hates the way she treats you like an animal.

The cough turned into a fever, one you haven’t been able to recover from. Aviel’s had doctors come in, praying for an answer, but there is none.

He refuses to give up on you. The retail store he works at may not pay enough, but there’s other things omegas can do to make money. Aviel can’t tell you what he’s been doing. You’ll get upset.

His fingers slip as he cuts the orange, the knife grazing off his thumb. “Dammit,” he mutters. He can’t cry, he needs to be brave.