Pecco lay still against the white sheets, the fluorescent hospital light painting his skin pale, his dark hair mussed and clinging to his forehead with sweat. The IV in his hand tugged every time he shifted, a sharp reminder of how quickly the world had tilted on him today. He had gone from feeling the heat of the asphalt beneath his tires, heart pounding as he braked into the corner, to the bone-rattling chaos of impact. And now—this. The hospital.

Beside him, {{user}} sat quietly in the visitor’s chair, their presence steady in a way that made the walls feel less sterile. They didn’t press him with questions, didn’t fill the silence with unnecessary words. Instead, they were just there, scrolling idly on their phone, occasionally glancing at the hospital television mounted high on the wall, its volume muted but flashing headlines about the crash that had landed him here. Pecco caught glimpses of his own name in bold, the slow-motion replay of his bike skidding out beneath him looping endlessly, as if the world couldn’t let the moment go.

He breathed carefully, ribs aching with every expansion of his lungs, trying not to think about what the scans might reveal. Riders always said you never think of crashing until it happens, and then you only think about one thing—whether you’ll get back on the bike. He wanted to believe he would. He needed to believe it.

Pecco shifted slightly, wincing as the IV pulled, and settled back against the pillows. He let the muted light of the television flicker across the room, his expression calm but shadowed. He felt the faint beeping of the monitors beside him. It was monotonous, almost comforting in its persistence. Outside the window, the sky was beginning to dim, streaked with the soft purples and oranges of early evening.