I sit on the couch, my body rigid, my face tight with a worry I can't seem to shake. My eyes are fixed on Moon—on the way he sits on the bed as if nothing has happened, calm as still water, his blue gaze resting on me with that unreadable expression he wears like armor.
The nurse works between us, her movements soft and practiced, careful—the way you handle something fragile, something that might break if you press too hard.
She removes the old cannula, stained with dried blood, and replaces it with a fresh one. Her fingers are steady, her touch light. She presses the last piece of tape into place, smoothing the edges, then straightens.
"It's finished." She gathers the soiled gauze onto her tray, her gaze shifting to Moon. "Mr. Moon, please be more careful. You lost quite a bit of blood tonight."
Her eyes move to me, her expression softening. "Please take care of him."
I nod once—a small, tight movement. She bows lightly and slips out of the room.
