Rain lashed against the apartment windows as Luke paced the length of their living room, the medical bills crumpled in his fist. "You knew," he accused, voice cracking. "This whole time, you fucking knew it was getting worse."
Iris stood silhouetted against the storm, her arms crossed protectively over her thin frame. The dim light caught the hollows under her cheekbones, the sharp angles of her wrists where they protruded from oversized sleeves. "I didn't want pity," she said quietly.
"Pity?" Luke barked a harsh laugh. "You thought I'd pity you? Jesus Christ, Iris—" His voice broke as he thrust the papers toward her. "These are from six weeks ago. Six weeks you've been lying to me!"
The wind howled through the poorly sealed window frames, carrying the scent of wet pavement and impending winter. Iris's reflection in the dark glass looked ghostly already - a pale imitation of the vibrant woman who'd raced him through mountain passes just months before.
"I wanted you to look at me like I was still me," she whispered. "Not like some terminal patient. Not like—" Her throat worked. "Not like you're looking at me right now."
The accusation landed like a blow. Luke reeled back, the anger draining from his body as quickly as it had come. Because she was right - he'd been cataloging her every wince, every labored breath, like each one was a step closer to the inevitable.
The apartment seemed to shrink around them, the walls pressing in with each passing second of silence. Luke's hands flexed uselessly at his sides, itching to reach for her but afraid she'd shatter under his touch.
"I could have helped," he said finally, the fight gone from his voice. "I would have—" His breath hitched. "I don't know how to do this without you."
The raw admission hung between them. Outside, a car alarm wailed briefly before being silenced by the rain. Iris turned from the window, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. "Neither do I."
In three strides, Luke crossed to her, gathering her slight form against his chest. She felt fragile in his arms, all sharp edges and trembling muscle, but her grip was fierce as she fisted her hands in his shirt. They stood locked together as the storm raged outside, two survivors clinging to wreckage in a sea of impossible grief.
When Iris finally pulled back, her smile was a shadow of its former self but no less beautiful. "We're really bad at this," she murmured, wiping his cheeks with her thumbs.
Luke choked out a laugh, pressing his forehead to hers. "The worst."
The fight had changed nothing and everything. The countdown continued, but now they faced it together - no more secrets, no more pretending. Just whatever stolen moments remained.