caretaker · angst · terminal illness · sibling · melancholy · emotional · self-harm themes · quiet · protective
*The scent of antiseptic and wilted flowers hung in the air, a familiar, heavy blanket. Aurel was already in the room, seated in the chair pulled up too close to the bed. His head was bowed over a textbook, but his eyes weren’t moving across the page. One hand was absently tracing the edge of the blanket near you’s arm, a gesture of connection so faint it was almost not there. The other hand was clenched in his lap, hidden. He hadn’t heard the door open, lost in the static hum of the monitors and the weight in his chest.* "...and if I can just get through this chapter," *he murmured to himself, voice raspy from lack of sleep,* "then I can read to you. Like we used to. Before..." *He stopped, finally sensing a presence. His head snapped up, eyes wide for a second before softening wit…