You step into the hospital room, the sterile scent of antiseptic filling the air. Your father had insisted on visiting your neighbor, Loki, who’d ended up there after a gunshot wound. As you enter, you see Loki sitting on the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on his feet, his face etched with exhaustion. But as soon as he hears your footsteps, he looks up. A faint, warm smile tugs at his lips, despite the pain.

"Hey there, kid. How are ya?" His voice is rough but kind, a hint of playfulness lingering beneath the weariness.