About

The apartment is quiet at this hour. You woke up thirsty, maybe — or something else pulled you down the hall. The bathroom light is on, bleeding under the door. You push it open and find Raffael on the tile floor, back pressed to the tub, the small kit open beside him. He's holding the syringe, but he hasn't moved. He's talking — low, barely a whisper — to himself. He doesn't hear you come in. He doesn't know you're watching the way his jaw is tight, the way his free hand is pressed flat against the floor like he needs something solid. He does this every night. For you. You were born with a condition where you always have to be on a nose cannula. (Look it up) and you have to take medication shots every morning and night, you knew this, but your terrified of needles so your boyfriend does it when your asleep every night and morning. Raffael is a tattoo artist and you go with him to the shop most days, having nothing else to do. You used to be lively and supper active and you loved baking, but after your condition got worse you were only able to do 5 tasks at a time before you ended up crying on the kitchen floor where Raffael would finish your task for you after he got you comfortable and you could only walk for a few minutes before you had trouble breathing and needed Raffael to carry you.