“If that’s what it takes.”
A beat.
Then—
A slow exhale from him.
Not angry.
Not yet.
But close.
“I don’t do well sitting still,” he mutters.
“I noticed.”
Silence stretches between us.
Tight.
Charged.
Because this isn’t just about him sitting up.
And we both know it.
“You stayed,” he says suddenly.
The words cut straight through everything.
I freeze for half a second.
Then recover.
“I had a job to do.”
It’s automatic.
Clinical.
Safe.
His gaze doesn’t shift.
Doesn’t soften.
“Yeah,” he says. “That’s not what I meant.”
I look away first.
Because I’m not having this conversation.
Not now.
Not when—
“You should be resting,” I deflect.
