Page 123 of A Mistake of Worth
His body told him otherwise. The deep ache in his muscles had faded to a mild soreness. His throat no longer burned when he swallowed. The places on his skin that had screamed before now registered as tender but healing.
Movement beside him made Henri’s heart stutter. His muscles locked automatically, trained response overriding conscious thought.
Michael sat propped against the headboard, tablet in one hand, wearing nothing but a worn t-shirt. His hair was mussed from sleep, stubble shadowing his jaw. When he noticed Henri’s eyes open, his face transformed with a smile that made Henri’s chest tighten.
“Morning, sweetheart.” Michael set the tablet aside, his full attention shifting to Henri with that intensity Henri remembered, the way Michael looked at him as though nothing else existed. “How are you feeling?”
Henri blinked, disoriented. The question felt strange. When was the last time someone had asked him that and actually wanted to know the answer?
“What day is it?” His voice came out rough, unused.
“Thursday.” Michael’s hand moved to stroke Henri’s hair. “You’ve been sleeping mostly. Three days now.”
Three days. Henri tried to piece together fragments of memory, but they came in flashes, disconnected and hazy. Michael’s hands gentle in the car, dressing him in soft clothes. Arriving somewhere in darkness. Faces he recognized but couldn’t quite place. Voices, soft and worried.
And then... mostly sleep. Deep, heavy sleep that pulled him under in waves. But when he surfaced, disoriented and afraid, Michael had always been there. Always.
A cup of water pressed to his lips. Michael’s hand supporting the back of his head.
Soup he could barely taste but ate anyway because Michael asked him to.
Gentle hands helping him to the bathroom when his legs threatened to give out, supporting his weight without comment or judgment.
Michael’s voice, low and steady in the darkness, reading something Henri couldn’t follow but found soothing anyway.
“You’ve been here,” Henri said. “The whole time.”
“Where else would I be?” Michael’s thumb traced his cheekbone, careful to avoid a bruise Henri had forgotten was there. “You needed rest. You needed someone to make sure you were safe while you got it.”
Henri’s eyes burned. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had sat vigil over him without expectation, without agenda. “I don’t... I can’t remember most of it.”
“That’s normal.” Michael’s voice was careful. “Your body needed to shut down, to recover. Dr. Nguyen said it’s common after... after what you went through.”
Henri frowned, trying to remember. A woman’s face swam into focus, kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, gentle hands examining him while Michael held his hand and told him he was safe. “I don’t... what did she say?”
“No major external or internal injuries.” Michael’s expression was carefully neutral, but Henri caught the flash of something darker underneath. Rage, maybe. Or grief. “The Smooth cream did its job. You’re healing well… physically.”
“She wanted to talk to you about seeing someone,” Michael continued, his voice gentler now. “A therapist who specializes in trauma.”
The word made Henri’s stomach clench. Trauma. As if he was broken in a way that needed professional intervention.
He shook his head, panic rising sharp and fast. “I don’t need that.”
“Henri—”
“I don’t.” His voice came out sharper than intended, and he saw Michael flinch slightly. Guilt crashed through him immediately. He shouldn’t snap at Michael. Michael had been nothing but kind. “I’m fine. I don’t need to talk to someone about... about any of it.”
Michael was quiet for a long moment, studying Henri’s face with that careful attention that felt invasive and comforting all atonce. Then he nodded slowly. “Okay. We can revisit it later if you change your mind.”
The fact that Michael didn’t push, didn’t insist, didn’t tell Henri what he needed—something in Henri’s chest cracked open, pressure releasing he hadn’t known was building.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“Are you hungry?” Michael asked, smoothly changing the subject. “I can bring something up, or we can go downstairs if you’re feeling up to it.”
The thought of facing the others made Henri’s stomach clench with dread.
“Can we just... stay here? For a bit?”
