But I feel him watching me.
Not the injury.
Me.
I glance up.
And there it is.
That look.
Like he’s checking for something.
Like he’s making sure I’m still here.
Still real.
Still breathing.
“You shouldn’t have been here,” he says.
It’s not anger.
It’s not accusation.
It’s something deeper.
“I know,” I reply softly. “But you still came.”
Silence fills the car.
Heavy.
Full.
The kind that says more than words ever could.
The road hums beneath us. The engine pushes harder. The night blurs past the windows.
Then—
Very quietly—
“I thought I lost you.”
It almost doesn’t sound like him.
That crack in his voice.
Small.
Controlled.
But there.
Something in my chest tightens.
I finish securing the bandage, then slide my hand down over his.
