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[ Work. He needs to do work. It sounds easy enough, but Kaveh knows what that means— work means opening the wounds back up, spilling the blood over someone who can clean the infection out of it, pour it back, stitch him up. It means telling someone. It means being honest in a way he hasn't been honest in years— in ever.

Biting his lip, Kaveh puts the cup back on the rim of the bath, curls his legs up, hugs his knees to hist chest as if trying to miraculously make himself smaller, harder to hurt. ]

I— [ He sucks in a deep breath, something more sob than anything else. ] I'm not sure I can... Nari, I— How am I meant to— I can't—