Oh Ms Believer

I felt a hand holding mind on top of the blankets. I slowly opened my eyes and saw his face. It was tear-stained and scared, but he smiled nevertheless.
"How are you doing?" he quietly asked. I hazily half-smiled. I hated the look on his face. I had to lie to him.
"I'm doing okay," I whispered.
He frowned. "No you're not. It's killing you. Don't lie to me."
I pursed my dry and cracked lips and nodded. "I'm sorry," I whispered, a tear, the first thing that wasn't dry as a bone to touch me in seemingly years, running slowly down my cheek.
"Please," he whispered, holding my hand tighter. "Stay alive. For me."