The scream tore through the apartment like a physical thing, shattering the pre-dawn stillness. Luke was moving before he'd fully registered the sound, his bare feet slapping against cold hardwood as he raced toward the bedroom.
Iris writhed amid sweat-damp sheets, her back arched in agony, fingers clawing at the mattress. The pump beside the bed beeped an urgent warning, its tubing tangled around her thrashing limbs.
"Hey—hey, I'm here." Luke caught her flailing hands, his heart hammering against his ribs. Her skin burned beneath his touch, feverish and waxy. "Talk to me, sunshine. Where does it hurt?"
Everywhere, apparently. Iris's choked sob as he helped her sit up sent white-hot rage coursing through his veins - rage at the disease stealing her piece by piece, at the doctors who couldn't fix this, at the universe for choosing her of all people.
The bathroom tiles were icy beneath his knees as he supported her over the toilet. Iris retched violently, her whole body convulsing with the effort. Luke held back her hair with one hand and rubbed circles on her back with the other, murmuring nonsense reassurances that tasted like ash in his mouth.
When the worst passed, he carried her to the shower, carefully adjusting the water temperature before stepping in behind her. Iris sagged against his chest as the spray sluiced over them both, her breathing ragged against his collarbone.
"I'm sorry," she whispered as he washed the sweat from her hair with trembling hands.
Luke pressed his lips to her crown, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Nothing to be sorry for."
The morning passed in a haze of medication schedules and damp washcloths. Luke changed the sweat-soaked sheets while Iris dozed, her gaunt face barely making an impression on the pillow. The apartment smelled of disinfectant and illness, the cheerful sunlight filtering through the windows a cruel contrast to their reality.
At noon, Iris rallied enough to sip some broth. Luke counted it as a victory until she brought it all back up five minutes later, her body rejecting even this small kindness. He cleaned her up with hands that wanted to shake but didn't - couldn't - because she needed him to be strong.
"You should go," she murmured as he tucked the blankets around her that evening. "Get some air. Call the guys."
Luke shook his head, brushing a thumb over her cheekbone. "I'm right here."
Iris's fingers found his, their grip weaker than he wanted to acknowledge. "I know," she said simply. And he realized with sudden clarity that she did know - knew he'd stay until the end, knew he'd walk through fire for her, knew all the things he'd never managed to say out loud.
Outside, the city carried on - cars honking, neighbors arguing through the walls, a dog barking in the distance. Life continued its indifferent march as theirs narrowed to this room, this bed, this fragile space between one labored breath and the next.
Luke climbed in beside her, carefully arranging her slight form against his chest. Iris sighed as she settled, her cold feet seeking warmth between his calves. The pump hummed its steady rhythm as the last light of day faded from the walls, painting them both in twilight blues.
For now, she was here. For now, that was enough.