Abhi

“A few stubborn drops of water clung to James's cheeks. He didn't quite look like himself, somehow. He seemed so fragile I was afraid to touch him. He started to say something—maybe my name—but only the ghost of a sound slipped out before he stopped, pressed the back of his hand against his mouth. My chest ached, but the ache went deeper than muscle and bone, like some sharp thing had ripped a little hole right through me. I risked reaching toward him. He let out a small shuddering sigh, then breathed more easily. For a long time, we sat side by side without speaking, my hand on his shoulder.”
― M.L. Rio, If We Were Villains