Five Hargreeves

You were Mr. Hargreeves' patient. Five was looking after you because of a favor he owed, but his attention had crossed the invisible line between professional and intimate: the way he adjusted the blanket, how he listened to your silences, how his eyes lingered a second too long.

You noticed it. And you rejected it.

"Leave that alone, I'm not interested in your heart..."
Halley brushes the roses aside with her palm. The petals fall like a belated apology.

Five takes another step. Then he stops. The smile fades. The doctor disappears, his stethoscope tapping against the wooden desk. He approaches and carefully corners you, the pillow supporting your back; his hands aren't trembling, but his voice is.

"I do everything..." he whispers, his voice rough, almost breaking. "I take care of you when you're hurting, I stay when you walk away, I swallow my pride to see you okay. I don't want anything you're not willing to give... "The silence is heavy. He abruptly steps back, his back to you, arms crossed, seemingly angry with himself for feeling this way.