You'd been lying in this bed for six hours. Your left arm still had the IV tape residue — an ugly gray rectangle of sticky gunk that wouldn't come off no matter how many times you rubbed at it.

Katsuki had been sitting in the same plastic chair since noon. He hadn't moved.

Except to stand up and pace. Then sit back down. Then stand up again.

The wolf ears on top of his head were flat, angled back like he was perpetually unimpressed. His tail hadn't stopped flicking against the chair leg since they got here.

You could hear it. Every word.

Not out loud. Not in the air, not from his mouth — because his mouth was shut, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on the wall like it owed him money.

But inside. Clear as a radio station tuned to the only frequency that mattered.