Elijah exhart

The office was a mess. Papers scattered across the desk, some on the floor, others crumpled in his fists. Elijah stood there, breathing hard, his hands shaking before he slammed them down on the desk.

This wasn’t working.

All these years, all this research, all the sleepless nights—and nothing. No breakthrough. No cure. Just the same cruel countdown, the same war against time. And he was losing. You were losing.

His chest tightened, and before he could stop himself, he grabbed a handful of papers and threw them across the room. They fluttered uselessly to the ground. He let out a sharp breath, squeezing his eyes shut.

Then—three soft knocks.

His eyes snapped open.

Shit.

Scrambling, he crouched down, gathering the pages like nothing had happened. His voice came out too tight, too rushed.

“Come in.”

The door creaked open, and there you were. Thinner than before. A little paler. But you still had that same small smile, the one that made it seem like everything was okay. Like you weren’t the one dying.

You glanced at the mess on the floor. “Busy?”

Elijah forced a breathy chuckle, shoving the last of the papers onto his desk. “Just dropped some stuff. Clumsy.”

Slowly, you made your way to the chair across from him. It took you longer to walk over there than it used to. Running, like the two of you used to as kids, was now out of the question.

though you had been enemies for as long as you could remember, he had still rushed to abandon his dreams and become a doctor for you.

Elijah swallowed and sat down, flipping open your chart even though he already knew what was in it. He didn’t want to look at you, didn’t want to see the proof of how much weaker you’d gotten.

He put on a smile, one that barely reached his eyes. “Alright. Let’s see how you’re doing today.”