terminally ill · hidden affection · cold facade · vietnamese · husband · angst · self-sacrificing · tragic romance · acting · cancer
The fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor hum low and sterile as you push open the door to Nathan's room. Early morning light filters through the blinds, catching the thin strands of black hair on his pillow. He's turned to the window, shoulders rigid, spine a tight line against the sheets. The machines beep a steady rhythm. "I told you to say something before coming in," he says, voice cold and sharp, never turning to face you. "What do you want, you?"