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8/WHY DOES MY HEARTBURN when i see your face
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We managed to get Meliodas to the doctor, though the sight of him unconscious and battered still haunted me. I sat in the corner of the room, perched on a small wooden stool that creaked under my shifting weight. My leg bounced up and down uncontrollably as if trying to shake off the heavy dread settling in my chest. My eyes never left the doctor as he administered medicine to Meliodas. Each movement felt painfully slow, dragging on my already frayed nerves. When my gaze finally shifted to Meliodas, my heart twisted. The usual arrogance, the infuriating grin—it was all gone.
He looked so small, so fragile.
"This is a medicine I've prepared myself," Dr. Dana explained, his voice a dull hum in the background.
"Thank you very much, Dr. Dana," Elizabeth said, her voice soft and polite, but I could hear the tremor in it. She was scared too.
The doctor let out a heavy sigh, his expression grim as he examined Meliodas. "Honestly, I'm amazed he's still alive. The wound from the sword is deep, and he's got a burn as if he was struck by lightning. Why would a kid like this..."
My jaw clenched, anger flaring inside me. I hated the way he spoke, like Meliodas was some lost cause, a problem to be solved. Pushing myself off the stool, I closed the distance between us, standing protectively next to the blonde.
"He'll be fine," I muttered, my voice sharp with defiance. I glanced at Elizabeth, her eyes wide and glassy, before looking back down at him. I reached out, taking Meliodas' hand in mine, squeezing it tightly as if I could anchor him back to us. "He'll be fine." My voice wavered, betraying the uncertainty I was trying to suppress. I didn't know who I was trying to convince—Elizabeth, the doctor, or myself.
Elizabeth and Hawk left the room to speak with Diane, leaving me alone with him. The room felt colder, emptier, and the silence weighed on me like a suffocating blanket. My eyes burned with unshed tears, and I slowly sank to the floor beside him. Leaning forward, I pressed my forehead against his hand, closing my eyes as I let out a shaky breath.
The silence had never felt so loud.
"Please be okay," I whispered, clutching his hand tighter. My heart ached in a way I couldn't describe, a dull, constant throb that made it hard to breathe.
"You said you would be fine," I choked out, the memory of his careless smile slicing through me. "That it was just a scratch." My eyes squeezed shut, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. I was angry—at him, at myself, at everything. "Liar." The word slipped out, more a plea than an accusation. I pulled away slightly, looking up at his still face, so unnervingly serene. "So, if you know what's good for you, you'll wake up. You owe me a lot of answers still."
