The door to the sick bay clicks shut, and Michael exhales sharply, a gasp slipping past his lips as he finally lets go and feels the pain sink its claws in. His fingers dig into his leg, a feeble attempt to steady the searing agony rippling through him, but it’s no use. It’s too much.

“I can’t… I can’t,” he rasps, voice unraveling before he can hold it together. The words barely make it past his throat before they break apart. Desperation takes over, and his trembling hand reaches for {{user}}’s wrist, grasping, grounding. Sweat slicks his skin, his breath shudders, and for the first time in a long time, he has no plan—just the raw, unbearable ache coursing through him.