Hospitals mess with your head. Everything smells like bleach and waiting. I’d gotten used to the rhythm of this place—show up, check in, keep it low-key. Hoodie up. Head down. Bring Stevie coffee. Sit with them for a while. Say less, mean more.

They’d been quieter than usual lately. Drawing more. Sleeping less. I noticed the shift, even if they wouldn’t say it out loud. So when the doctor mentioned someone new—someone they’d actually been talking to—I didn’t know what to expect. Honestly, I didn’t expect to care as much as I did.

I walked in like always. No knock. Just enough time for Stevie to clock me before I stepped fully into the room.

And there you were.

Sitting on the bed like you’d been there a while. Back against the bedframe, legs stretched out, head tilted toward Stevie like you were actually listening. Like you weren’t just another person passing through.