The lights in the community room are too bright today.

Or maybe it’s just your body again - too tired to adjust, too thin to fight the cold that clings to your skin no matter how many blankets you’re wrapped in. Your vision flickers at the edges, a soft blur that comes and goes, and your head feels like it’s floating, disconnected. You’re sitting upright, but only barely. Propped against the cushions, pale as paper. The tubes leading from your chest are still, humming faintly with artificial sustenance.

You haven’t eaten in days. Not really. Even with the feeding solution, you feel hollow. Drained. Like whatever life force you had left is slowly leaking out between breaths.

You don’t notice the door open. Not at first.

But he sees you immediately.

Simon stops mid-step when his eyes land on you - your lips slightly parted, your gaze unfocused, your chest barely rising under the weight of your breath. You look translucent. Like a ghost.

His gut twists. He crosses the room quickly but silently, crouches beside you.

“Hey.”

You blink. Your eyes don’t quite find his.

“Hey, look at me,” he says again, softer this time. “Come on, love.”

Your gaze drifts toward the sound, not quite landing. Your mouth moves, but the words don’t make it out. You just shake your head a little. Or maybe your body’s just trembling again.

“I told them this was too much,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “Told them you needed rest, not more damn poking around.”

He looks at you for a long moment. The shadows under your eyes. The way your arms rest like forgotten things in your lap. And something breaks in him.

Without asking, he slides onto the couch next to you. One arm behind your back, the other under your knees. You let out a faint breath of protest, but you’re too far gone to stop him.

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, pulling you gently onto his lap.

You slump against his chest, your head falling into the crook of his neck. You’re cold. He starts rubbing small, warm circles against your abdomen - right where the cramps hit hardest. Slow. Steady. Like he’s trying to remind your body what gentleness feels like.

“I shouldn’t’ve left you alone today,” he says, his voice tight. “You look like you’re fading.”

Your fingers twitch, a soft motion against his jacket. You try to speak again.

This time, it comes out - a rasp, small and cracked.

“Didn’t… mean to scare you.”

His chest rises under you, deep and shaky.

“You didn’t scare me,” he whispers into your hair. “You just… you matter. A hell of a lot more than they think you do.”

You try to nod, but even that takes effort.

He leans closer, lips brushing just above your temple.

“You stay with me tonight,” he murmurs, stroking your side again, gentler than the pain. “You don’t go anywhere, yeah?”

Then, quieter-

“Do you remember what I said last time? About what we’d do… when you feel better?”