Again, for the first time in a long while, he evoked a feeling out of me.
I had stood on the other side of the door, mentally preparing myself on what to say to him. Only for the barrier to fall away and take my speech with it.
By the time I got there, he was on his feet with support from the buffiest nurses I've ever met. And even that didn't stop his pain from breathing fire into his skin.
He was not fine.
But he still went on to take his first step and then second. Soon he was close to the door.
I could see the conflict on the doctor's face. He wasn't fine. But he's just proven he is. And he's promised to discharge him the day after he walks.
I watch as he tries to make a decision between logic and sentiment. The battle doesn't last for long.
But I beat him to the punch.
"He's leaving with me tomorrow."
The disapproval on his face confirms my assumption. Logic won his battle.
Because he wasn't looking forward to the look of relief and gratitude that spread across his face as soon as implied he would be leaving the hospital.
The stern words of concern the doctor shared with me wasn't enough to change my mind or deter the feeling of joy that spread through me.
He was coming home with me