The nurse wheeled a small cart to the bedside, her presence calm and practiced, bringing with it the quiet reassurance of routine. "Alright, Ariel," she said, her voice low and kind as she set a digital timer on the tray. "We’re going to run through some gentle breathing exercises today. No spirometer, just slow, steady breaths. We’ll take it easy."

  Ariel nodded, grave but collected. Her hand remained wrapped tight around Holly’s, their fingers laced, and every now and then she’d squeeze just a little, a quiet signal that she was still here, still anchored. That she wasn’t alone.

  Holly lingered beside her, her gaze steady, softer than it had been the day before. She saw what others might miss: how Ariel’s breaths, though shallow and edged with a rasp, no longer trembled with panic. There was something intentional in each inhale now. Something quietly resilient. Each exhale drew out not just air but fear, replaced by the smallest thread of confidence.

  The nurse guided her through each step: diaphragmatic breathing, slow and measured, in through the nose, out through parted lips. The first attempts sent Ariel into a small fit of coughing, her body tense and shuddering, but she never let herself spiral. She held steady, riding the discomfort. Holly, ever watchful, caught the pride flickering across the nurse’s face before it broke into words.

  "Great job," the nurse said, after another round. "That’s real control. Let’s do just one more set, then you can rest."

  The timer ticked softly, marking each breath. Ariel’s chest rose and fell with a deliberate rhythm, and by the final beep, the nurse gave a pleased nod. "Excellent. That’s real progress, Ariel."

  Ariel sagged back against the pillow, winded but not overwhelmed. "Thanks," she managed, her voice hoarse but steadier than it had been.

  "I’ll check in again later," the nurse promised, beginning to tidy the tray. "Try to rest. And let us know if you feel any tightness or dizziness, alright?"

  The door closed gently behind her, leaving only the hush of filtered air and Holly’s presence filling the room.

  A hush fell between them. Holly moved to the chair at Ariel’s bedside, sinking into it with a kind of tired grace. For a few moments she just watched Ariel, her gaze open and unguarded, studying the soft lines of Ariel’s face, the faint color returning to her cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell with each measured breath. The silence was gentle, not awkward, like the pause between heartbeats after something difficult. Ariel’s hand still rested in Holly’s, their fingers entwined, and Holly let her thumb drift in slow circles over Ariel’s knuckles, grounding them both in the present. The sound of the hospital faded: just a faint mechanical hush, the distant squeak of a cart in the hallway, the pulse of filtered air.

  Holly could feel her own heartbeat settling. She took a steadying breath, then leaned forward, her eyes searching Ariel’s for any sign of pain or lingering fear. Finally, when the moment felt full enough to touch, Holly’s smile wavered, caught between admiration and a vestige of worry. She squeezed Ariel’s hand, thumb tracing lightly again. "What’s on your mind, Red?"

  Ariel blinked at her, as if waking from a faraway place. "I haven’t eaten. Since… before the fire."

  Holly’s face softened. "Oh, Red."

  A sound, small and unmistakable, rumbled from Ariel’s stomach. Hunger, unexpected and almost foreign, made itself known.

  "I think I’m actually hungry," Ariel said, wonder and uncertainty mingling in her tone.

  "Stay right there." Holly’s words were half-command, half comfort, as she stood. "I’ll be back in two minutes. Don’t even think about escaping."

  Ariel managed a ghost of a laugh. "Not really up for a jailbreak."

  Within moments, Holly reappeared, triumphant, brandishing a tray that might as well have been a feast: a single wobbling bowl of green Jello, vibrant and silly in the clinical light. She set it on the overbed table, pulling her chair in close. "Tonight’s menu," she announced, "features the house specialty. Gourmet green jello. Only the best."

  Ariel raised an eyebrow. "And if I refuse?"

  "Then I’ll have to eat it for you. But that would be cruel." Holly flashed a teasing grin, then scooped up a wobbly spoonful and offered it up.

  Ariel hesitated, the memory of so many things, the fire, the hospital, the strange new frailty of her own body, fluttering behind her eyes. But then she opened her mouth and let Holly feed her. The Jello was cold, sweet, and oddly soothing.

  "That’s… actually not bad," Ariel admitted, surprised.

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  "I told you," Holly said, her smile brightening. "My taste in gelatinous desserts is impeccable."

  They fell into a rhythm: Holly feeding Ariel bite after careful bite, and soon their conversation sparked with a kind of playful mischief that felt like a balm. Holly began weaving a story about the hospital’s mysterious “Jello chef”: A culinary monk who had taken a vow of wobble, learning the ancient art of green gelatin at a hidden monastery in the Alps. Ariel groaned, pretending to take each spoonful with dramatic seriousness, then grading it aloud. “Mouthfeel: suspiciously buoyant. Undertones of cafeteria green. Lingers on the palate like repressed childhood trauma.”

  Holly grinned and leaned in, saying the real test of worthiness wasn’t the Jello at all, but the hospital socks: “If you can keep both on until morning, they give you your own private room.” Ariel challenged her to try, and Holly sheepishly admitted she’d already lost one sock to the mysterious void that claimed all hospital laundry. The banter bounced between them, Ariel’s laughter spilling out in bursts that were still faint and a little pained, but full of life. For a while, nothing existed but the soft teasing, the warmth of small jokes, and the quiet comfort of being silly together. Just two people sharing the smallest, most ordinary joys in the middle of something that could have broken them both.

  At one point, Ariel muffled a laugh behind her hand. "You’re going to kill me. Death by Jello."

  Holly just beamed. "Not the worst way to go. I’d give it a solid eight out of ten."

  A moment of silence lingered, a gentle hush where affection moved unspoken between them. Ariel looked at Holly, her expression quietly vulnerable.

  "Hey," Holly said softly, setting the spoon aside for a second. "You’re doing so well. Really. I hope you know that."

  Ariel shook her head a little, gaze dropping. "I’m just… surviving. That’s not special."

  "It is to me," Holly replied, her voice unwavering. "You’re still here. That’s enough."

  Ariel took another bite, slow and grateful, and for a long minute, nothing more needed to be said. They sat together, healing in the small and ordinary way of people who love each other, letting the world outside fade to background noise.

  As the light faded and the city beyond the window settled into dusk, Ariel drifted in and out of sleep. Holly curled nearby, reading quietly, her free hand always within reach.

  A gentle knock signaled the arrival of Dr. Marquez. He entered with his usual calm, nodding to both women. "Evening. Just a quick check-in and review of my favorite patient's numbers." He scrolled through Ariel’s chart on his tablet, then smiled. "You’re looking better. Oxygen’s up, inflammation’s down. That’s exactly what I like to see."

  Relief flickered through Ariel, so subtle it was almost invisible.

  "But," Dr. Marquez continued, glancing up with a gentle seriousness, "I want to keep you at least another week for monitoring. Your lungs still need time. We have to watch for infection and fluid, and this is a critical window. I know it’s not what you want, but it’s important."

  Ariel just nodded, acceptance coming easy now.

  "One more thing. We’ll do a full pulmonary scan in the morning, see how everything’s healing before we change anything up."

  "Alright," Ariel said quietly.

  "You’re doing great. Rest as much as you can. No heroics, okay?" Dr. Marquez’s smile was genuine as he turned to leave, the door hushing shut behind him.

  For a while, there was only quiet.

  But Holly’s mind wasn’t quiet. Infection. Fluid. Critical. The words looped through her, jagged and cold beneath the doctor’s calm tone. She kept her face composed, but her thoughts spun with fear and what-ifs. She pictured Ariel coughing in her sleep, feverish, the oxygen dropping, and felt her whole chest tighten with protective panic. This was supposed to be the part where things got easier—she wanted so badly to believe it was safe to exhale, to let herself hope. But the idea of losing Ariel—of letting her guard down for even a day—felt like standing on a cliff edge, wind threatening to shove her off. Holly squeezed Ariel’s hand again, a small, desperate gesture, willing every ounce of her strength to settle in the space between their palms. Only then did she let herself breathe.

  "A week," Ariel whispered, letting her head fall back against the pillow.

  "Yeah," Holly murmured, fingers still looped through Ariel’s. "A week."

  "You don’t have to stay," Ariel tried, voice thin and tired. "You can’t sleep in that chair forever."

  "Are you kidding?" Holly tilted her head, exasperated affection trying to hide the anxiety inside her. "Red, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, even if my back never recovers."

  Ariel smiled, a real one, small but certain.

  Holly squeezed her hand, then hesitated, her thumb brushing over Ariel’s knuckles as she weighed the moment. The idea of leaving, even for a little while, made her uneasy. Ariel was stable, but the doctor’s words about infection and critical windows still rang in her ears. Still, she knew she had to grab clothes and a shower if she was going to stay strong for Ariel in the days ahead. She pressed a quick kiss to Ariel’s knuckles and then, gentler than before, whispered, "But I am going to run home for a bit. I need real clothes. I promise I’ll be back before you even start missing me."

  Ariel nodded. "You’ve earned it. Could you, um, grab my junimo plush? The green one, on the window."

  Holly’s smile grew impossibly fond. "Of course. Anything else?"

  Ariel bit her lip, cheeks tinged pink. "Both of our Switches? Maybe we could play Stardew together. If you want."

  Holly leaned in, her voice low and sure. "I want nothing more."

  She stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder and snagging Ariel’s house key from the clear hospital bag.

  "I already miss you," Ariel muttered, her eyelids already drooping.

  "Sleep easy, Red," Holly whispered, and with a last lingering kiss placed on Ariel's soft lips, she slipped out into the hallway.

  Before leaving the ward, Holly caught the attention of a passing nurse. "Hey, can you keep an eye on Ariel while I run out? Just an hour. If anything, anything at all, call me." She handed over her number, voice earnest, unwilling to let go of vigilance even for a moment.

  The nurse nodded, understanding without question, but her eyes lingered a moment longer on Holly. She could see the worry radiating from her, hear the tension in her voice, but she said nothing. The nurse just offered a gentle, knowing smile before moving on with her duties. Only then did Holly finally turn for the exit, the fluorescent corridor lights gleaming in her hair as the door eased shut behind her.