Page 18 of Thexan

“It is one way to ensure they do not return.”

I absorbed that without comment, focusing on how the new compound reacted with the damaged tissue. For a moment, nothing changed. Then, slowly, the surface tension shifted, the edges of the wound drawing together more evenly than before.

“Better,” I murmured.

His breathing deepened slightly, the response subtle but present. I watched it for a moment longer, then reached for a fresh bandage.

“Stay still,” I said.

“I am not moving.”

“Good.”

I secured the dressing with steady hands, aware of the way his attention remained fixed on me, not intrusive, not demanding, but constant in a way that made the space between us feel smaller than it was. When I finished, I sat back slightly, studying him with the same careful focus I would have given any patient—though I had to admit that nothing about this felt like any treatment I had ever done before.

“Your body’s still fighting itself,” I said. “This helps, but it’s not fixing the underlying problem.”

“I am aware.”

“And the contact—” I hesitated only briefly before continuing, because avoiding it would not change the fact that it was happening. “—That's compensating for it somehow.”

“Yes.”

I folded my arms loosely, considering him. “Then I need to understand how.”

“You cannot.”

“I don’t accept that.”

His gaze sharpened slightly. “It is not a matter of acceptance.”

“It is when I’m the one trying to keep you alive.”

Silence settled between us again, not uncomfortable, but charged in a way that made me aware of everything at once—the faint hum of the overhead light, the distant movement outside, the steady heat of his body, the subtle pressure of his hand around mine.

“You said your body recognizes me,” I said after a moment. “As necessary.”

“Yes.”

“That’s not a normal response.”

“No.”

“Then explain it.”

He did not answer immediately. I could see the tension build in him again, not physical this time, but something closer to restraint, as if the words themselves required more control than he currently had.

“It is a biological directive,” he said at last. “Encoded.”

“Directed at me specifically?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

His fingers tightened slightly around mine, not enough to hurt, but enough that I felt the shift in him before he spoke again.

“Because you are compatible.”