The door creaked softly as Holly entered, the muted clack of the latch drawing Ariel’s gaze. For just a heartbeat, the room held its breath, then Ariel’s whole face lit up, as if Holly’s presence alone were sunlight after days of rain.

  Ariel was bundled under the hospital blanket, her beret still perched, defiantly askew, on her head, a pillow propping her upright, and a bowl of half-melted ice chips close at hand. Pastel shapes glowed on the wall-mounted TV: some gentle anime playing out a melodramatic scene, its dialogue forgotten as Ariel muted it, never taking her eyes off Holly.

  “Hey,” Ariel rasped, but there was warmth tucked beneath the roughness, her smile open and unguarded.

  Holly grinned as she set her suitcase by the window, the familiar bag on top. “Well, well,” she said, her tone all mock suspicion. “You look suspiciously cozy for someone recovering from smoke inhalation. Should I be concerned you faked the whole thing for the free room service and sponge baths?”

  A breath of laughter escaped Ariel, a sound that turned quickly into a cough, but she shook her head, grinning. “Busted,” she managed, and even her exhaustion couldn’t dull the brightness in her eyes. “You caught me.”

  Holly moved to her side, reaching to smooth a stray lock of hair behind Ariel’s ear, fingers gentle and unhurried. “I knew it. I’ve seen your Google search history, Red: ‘how to dramatically get hospitalized without permanent damage.’”

  Ariel’s eyelids fluttered as she laughed, her relief visible, her gratitude unspoken but obvious. “Thanks for coming back.”

  Leaning in, Holly pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”

  She pulled up a chair, sitting close, and took Ariel’s hand, her thumb tracing idle circles across the back of it as if reminding them both this was real, that they were together.

  “So,” Holly said after a quiet moment, setting her bag on the floor, “I stopped by the café.”

  Ariel cocked her head, eyes attentive. “How is everyone?”

  “Well,” Holly began, “Jordan tried so hard to act cool, but he was obviously worried. And Sarah, full-on mom mode. She came out and gave me the kind of hug that could fix your whole day. She asked about you, and I told her the doctors say you’re doing better, but you’ll be here a while.”

  Ariel’s face softened. “That’s kind of her.”

  “She told me to take as much time as I need. My job’s waiting, no pressure. She really meant it.”

  Ariel’s gaze grew heavy, gratitude written plain across her face. “You shouldn’t have to worry about work.”

  “I’m not,” Holly said. “Right now, it’s just you, and this deluxe hospital mattress you seem entirely too attached to.”

  Ariel offered a drowsy smile. “I’ll save you a spot.”

  They both let out small, overlapping laughs. The hush that followed was gentle, filled only by the hum of the monitors and the soft city light bleeding through the window.

  Ariel reached with her free hand, fingertips brushing Holly’s sleeve as if to anchor herself. “Thanks for being here.”

  Holly squeezed her hand. “I always will be.” She softened her tone, playful again. “Now scoot, I've got a Switch and a little green friend who says this room needs more Stardew.”

  Holly pulled out the console, slotting in the cartridge. She handed Ariel her Switch, who nestled the Junimo plush in the crook of her arm, hugging it close. Ariel’s face relaxed into a soft smile, one of recognition and comfort. He’d always sat in her apartment window, silent guardian of quiet mornings. Tonight, in the harsh, sterile hospital light, he felt like a piece of another life, a promise of normalcy just waiting for her return.

  “He missed you,” Holly said with a smirk, pointing to the Junimo as she grabbed her own Switch and set up beside the bed. “Said the window view was boring without you.”

  Ariel chuckled. “He was the last thing I saw before I left yesterday. Guess he decided to tag along.”

  “He demanded it, honestly. I was afraid not to bring him. He’s terrifying when he glares.”

  “Absolutely ferocious,” Ariel agreed, the corners of her mouth twitching as she held the junimo in front of her face like a shield, “Lethal.”

  “Vicious little mob boss,” Holly said with mock solemnity.

  Their laughter filled the little room as they loaded into Stardew Valley. The co-op farm appeared on the screen, painting Ariel’s corner of the world in gentle, springtime colors. The soft game music floated through the air, and for a few moments, Ariel’s shoulders lost all their tension.

  “Oh god,” Ariel said, squinting at their little farmhouse. “I forgot we named the dog Pawdington.”

  Holly tilted her Switch, voice dramatic. “Pawdington is a noble name. He is the mayor of our farm.”

  “Mayor Pawdington,” Ariel echoed, giggling. “He’s corrupt. I can see it in his eyes.”

  “He never works and still gets the whole yard. And we’re always out of hay. Draw your own conclusions.”

  They fell into familiar rhythms, harvesting parsnips, debating upgrades, petting cows, pausing whenever Ariel needed a break. Holly never rushed her, just letting their characters idle by the lake, the in-game birdsong looping in the background. Sometimes Holly would adjust Ariel’s blanket or offer her another pillow. At one point, she produced a packet of shortbread cookies from her bag, a contraband snack from the café, and held them out, eyes sparkling.

  “These are definitely not on the hospital-approved list.”

  Ariel arched a brow, clutching her Junimo. “Are you trying to get me thrown out?”

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “Maybe,” Holly grinned. “But you’ll thank me.”

  Ariel broke off a piece, took a small bite, and closed her eyes in bliss. “Okay. Forgiven.”

  Twilight deepened outside. The Switch's glow painted soft, homey shadows across Ariel’s cheeks, cast in warm farm-light. For a little while, it truly didn’t feel like a hospital, just two girls on a bed, a cat surely perched in a window somewhere, a half-built farm full of future fruit trees.

  “You know,” Holly said, her voice gentle as their characters sat by the in-game ocean, “I’ve always wanted a place like this.”

  Ariel’s gaze slid to her, green eyes thoughtful. “A farm with a corrupt mayor dog and a Junimo kingpin?”

  “Maybe,” Holly teased. “But really, just… a life like this. Something slow. Something warm.”

  Ariel’s smile grew, a little tired, but true. “A place where the night sky is brimming with stars.”

  Holly caught her gaze, her own eyes shining. “Exactly.”

  They played until Ariel, yawning wide and eyes half-closed, leaned into Holly’s shoulder, her head finding a home there without question or apology. Holly didn’t move, just held the moment close. The Junimo plush nestled safely between them, silent witness to their fragile hope.

  The quiet hum of machines and the muffled sounds of a hospital at night wrapped around them like a blanket of their own. The room had dimmed to a soft amber glow, the monitors casting faint pulses of green light across the walls. Outside, the city settled into its hush. Inside, peace hung like a breath held gently in the air.

  Holly had started to nod off not long after Ariel had drifted to sleep. Her head slumped back against the chair, legs curled up awkwardly, one hand still threaded tightly through Ariel’s. She hadn’t meant to sleep. She’d told herself she would stay awake, keep watch. But days of tension, adrenaline, and fear finally claimed their toll, and exhaustion settled in heavy over her bones.

  Ariel stirred.

  Just a small twitch at first; her fingers spasming slightly, a brief, quiet whimper slipping from her lips. She didn’t wake, but her brow creased, and her legs shifted beneath the hospital blankets.

  Holly’s eyes opened instantly.

  She didn’t sit up, not fully, but her gaze swept to the bed. Ariel’s breathing, once even, had grown short and shallow. Each inhale came in quick, uneven bursts, her chest fluttering as if she were struggling with something deep inside her dream. Her brows drew together. Her whole body tensed beneath the blankets.

  Gently, Holly reached out and took Ariel’s hand. She squeezed it and rubbed soft, slow circles with her thumb.

  For a moment, nothing changed. Then, gradually, the tension in Ariel’s face faded. Her breath slowed. Her body relaxed. She stayed asleep, her grip loosening just enough for Holly to know the storm had passed.

  Holly let out a quiet sigh and settled back into the chair, relief seeping through her bones.

  She would stay right here, watchful and steady, until Ariel drifted peacefully through the rest of her dreams.

  She didn’t let go of Ariel’s hand.

  Ariel twitched again an hour later. Another flutter of her legs. A tiny noise, so soft it was almost a sigh.

  Again, Holly woke.

  She turned her head this time, carefully. Studied Ariel’s face. The lines of strain across her forehead. Her lips slightly parted as she breathed through her mouth. Her hand still curled instinctively into Holly’s fingers.

  Holly didn’t say anything. Just watched for a moment, making sure.

  Then she sat up, adjusted the blanket that had slipped from her lap, and gently tugged the spare edge up over her shoulder.

  The next time Ariel twitched, Holly reached over and brushed a loose strand of red hair from her cheek. Ariel didn’t wake, but her expression softened again.

  Eventually, near dawn, the dreams stopped. Ariel’s body stilled. Her breathing deepened.

  Holly, eyes burning and limbs aching from the stiff hospital chair, finally let herself go back under too. Her head tilted toward Ariel’s bed, their fingers still entwined, an unspoken promise of presence and protection that neither of them would break.

  The sky outside had only just begun to turn lavender and gray when Ariel stirred. Her fingers flexed gently in Holly’s hand, and her body shifted under the hospital blanket with a quiet sigh. Her lashes fluttered, then slowly lifted.

  Holly was already watching her.

  She hadn’t meant to be awake, but the moment Ariel moved, Holly's body responded. She sat up a little straighter in the chair, blinking the sleep from her eyes as her gaze swept over Ariel, searching for any signs of pain, any subtle tremors.

  But Ariel looked peaceful. Tired, sure, but at peace.

  Ariel blinked again, eyes focusing. When she saw Holly watching her so intently, she let out a raspy little chuckle.

  “…Holly,” she murmured, voice soft and hoarse from sleep. “Your hair is a disaster.”

  Holly grinned through a groggy exhale. “Rude,” she said, voice still scratchy with sleep, and reached for the hairbrush she’d tucked into the side pocket of her overnight bag. “You try sleeping in a plastic chair for two days and see how your hair holds up.”

  Ariel smiled and let her eyes linger. Watching Holly brush her hair, still tangled and wild but softening under each stroke, brought a kind of gentle comfort she hadn’t expected. Like they’d slipped into a morning routine they hadn’t known they needed.

  “You always carry a brush around?” Ariel teased, her voice still light, though her throat ached.

  She meant it playfully, but her eyes lingered a second too long. Holly’s smile came quickly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, not the way it used to. There was a stiffness to it. The corners trembled before settling into place, like a mask that had been worn too long.

  And when Holly bent to brush through her hair again, Ariel noticed the way her fingers gripped the handle. Not tight, exactly, but deliberate. Careful. As if she was holding something back and wasn’t even aware of it.

  “Only when I plan to be breathtakingly charming in a hospital room,” Holly replied, giving her a quick wink in the mirror of the portable vanity she’d also pulled from her bag.

  Ariel watched the reflection, but not the hair.

  She watched the shadows under Holly’s eyes. The way her lips pressed together when she thought no one was looking. The slight shake in her hand when she set the brush down, like her body was running on empty but still wouldn’t stop moving.

  Ariel didn’t say anything. But something in her chest ached.

  They shared a quiet moment, smiles resting easily between them.

  The knock at the door came a second later.

  The doctor stepped in with an easy gait, his expression composed but warm. “Good morning, Ariel,” he said, offering a nod to Holly as well. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I woke up in the middle of someone else’s dream,” Ariel replied dryly, which made the doctor chuckle.

  “Well, I’m glad to see the sense of humor is intact,” he said, wheeling a folded wheelchair into the room. “We’re going to get the lung scan taken care of early, before you eat or drink anything. The less activity beforehand, the better the results.”

  Ariel gave a faint nod, already preparing herself mentally.

  Holly rose and moved to the bed’s edge, gently easing the blankets off Ariel’s legs. “Come on, Red,” she whispered. “Let’s go win another round.”

  With patient hands, she helped Ariel swing her legs over the side of the bed. Ariel winced a little as she shifted her weight, her lungs still aching with every breath, but Holly was right there, her arm wrapped lightly around Ariel’s waist to steady her.

  Behind them, the doctor unfolded the wheelchair and brought it close. Holly took her time, helping Ariel pivot and lower herself carefully into the seat. Once Ariel was settled, she let out a small exhale and leaned back slightly.

  “Ready?” Holly asked, already wrapping her fingers around the wheelchair handles.

  Ariel looked up at her, the faintest shadow of worry still lingering behind her eyes, but she smiled anyway. “Only if you drive slowly.”

  “No promises.”

  The doctor chuckled. “I’ll lead the way.”

  They exited the room and rolled gently into the hallway.

  Several nurses greeted them as they passed, smiles and waves that carried warmth and quiet encouragement. Ariel returned a few of the smiles, her fingers resting in her lap, her body still recovering but her spirit bolstered by the calm presence behind her.

  She felt Holly's hands, light but steady, and she focused on that. On the rhythm of her wheels, the hushed conversations in the distance, the sound of Holly humming softly behind her.

  Even now. Even in all this. She wasn't alone.