Noah
When Cassian's voice finally came out, it sounded completely ruined by three weeks of disuse.
It was low, gravelly, and much slower than his usual sharp delivery.
"Hospital," he rasped, the single word clearly costing him a massive effort. He paused, his eyelids fluttering once.
"Obviously."
A short, ragged noise came out of my throat, something that was almost a laugh, though it felt too wet to be real.
"Yeah. Yeah, obviously."
Cassian's eyes closed for three long seconds, then forced themselves open again, the strain visible in the tight lines around his temples.
"How long?"
"Almost a month," I said, keeping my voice very soft, very careful.
A heavy silence followed the statement. Cassian received the number without any dramatic movement; his face stayed perfectly flat as he processed the weight of thirty days vanishing from his life.
"A month," he repeated, speaking the words directly to the white ceiling tiles.
"Yes," I whispered.
