One hour later, moving Yurin was grueling. Not because he resisted but because he gave nothing at all.
He refused to stand. Refused to walk. His body was entirely limp, like a limp ragdoll.
Ren had to grit his teeth, suppressing the agony radiating from his surgical wound, to lift the love of his life from the bed entirely on his own.
"Ghk..."
The pain nearly blacked out his vision. Blood began seeping through the heavy bandages once again, staining his black t-shirt.
But he didn't care. He absolutely refused to let anyone else lay a hand on Yurin.
His strong arms secured the fragile body tightly against his chest, terrified that if he loosened his grip, Yurin would shatter right before his eyes.
He could feel the sharp line of Yurin's ribs beneath the thin hospital gown. Yurin had wasted away during those horrific months of captivity, his spirit worn down until only this fragile, hollow shell remained.
