That last, near-involuntary comment of Eisen’s stung Rory a lot more than it should’ve, given the mood into which he’d just sunk. Although he didn’t respond directly, he still felt the words prick at his heart. Instead, he focused on the last question, the most important one.
“The question is not if I’m going to be left behind,” Rory murmured, one hand covering his eyes. “The question is when.” Rory couldn’t bear to look up and see the inevitable look of betrayal on Eisen’s face in response to that comment, so he didn’t bother as he continued, “Don’t… take that personally, because I know you do. It’s not that I don’t think you’ll be there for me or something it’s just that I see the difference in my body. I feel it. My muscles are losing a little bit of mass every day. I’m not even sure how much longer I’ll be able to use the crutches.”
Rory looked as his legs, his eyes fixing on the withered, atrophied twigs that could still (sometimes) manage to hold up his body. “I know you all love me and everything, but you have lives to live too. Lives with girlfriends and skating and fireworks and excitement.” He closed his eyes. “I have… this,” he patted his chair. “And books. And some pretty spectacular almosts.”