Noah had been in the hospital for a day now, and while his parents had stayed as long as they could, work eventually called them back. He told them he was fine—he wasn’t, not really, but lying to keep them from worrying was second nature by now.

Now, it was just him and the quiet hum of the hospital room.

His ribs still ached, his face was still bruised, and moving too much made his vision swim, but at least he was awake. That was more than he could say yesterday.

The door clicked open.

Noah turned his head, expecting a nurse. Maybe his parents coming back early.

Instead, Isaac stood in the doorway.

Noah’s breath caught.

Isaac shouldn’t be here. Noah knew that instantly. The black ankle monitor strapped around his leg said enough.

They must’ve let him out on house arrest.

But why was he here?

Isaac stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He looked different—not his usual smirking, self-assured self. His hands were stuffed deep in his hoodie pockets, his shoulders tense.

Noah should’ve been scared. Should’ve yelled for someone.

But instead, he just stared. "…You’re not supposed to be here."

Isaac let out a sharp breath. "Yeah, no shit."

A heavy silence stretched between them. Noah shifted in bed, wincing when his ribs protested. Isaac’s gaze flickered to the movement, then away, jaw tightening.