"This is the kind of life I never had in Goth," Sherry said, smiling as we entered the hospital. Her fingers were warm and tight around mine. "I think this might be the best night of my life, Bram."

We were holding hands, Sherry bumping into me the way she always did, a gentle, playful shoulder check that never quite stayed in a straight line. She had never once walked in a straight line in her life.

"Quiet," I said, voice low. "It’s a hospital. They’ll know we’re outsiders."

"Aren’t we?" she said, grinning up at me, eyes bright under the sterile hallway lights.

"Yes," I said. "We are."

She looked at me and couldn’t stop smiling, the expression pulling at the corners of her eyes and making the short brunette hair frame her face softer somehow.

"What was in that red drink?" I asked. "Because I don’t understand this much excitement."

She kept her eyes on me as we passed a few nurses and visitors in the hallway, her hip bumping mine again. "I just feel like I could eat you," she said, voice dropping into something warmer, teasing.

Ahead, in the room where we’d left Becky, Max came out and started toward us. He saw us. Sherry’s hand tightened in mine, our arms linking closer. The fluorescent lights overhead caught on his face, sharpening the hard line of his jaw.

We met him in the middle of the hallway. No smile on his face. Just a cold, flat stare that flicked from our joined hands to my face and back again.

"How is she?" Sherry asked, voice softening with concern.

Max walked past us without a word, boots striking the floor hard, shoulders rigid. The air around him felt colder as he passed.

Sherry turned, still holding my hand. "Max."

He didn’t look back. Just kept walking, disappearing around the corner with stiff, angry strides.

She looked at me, brow furrowed. "What’s wrong with him?"

I made a face that said I didn’t know, and we kept walking toward Becky’s room. I pushed the door open.

The room was quiet, lit by soft overhead panels and the faint glow of monitoring equipment. Becky lay in the bed, propped up slightly, blonde braid draped over one shoulder. She looked pale but awake, eyes turning toward us as we entered. The faint scent of antiseptic hung in the air, mixing with the sterile smell of the hospital sheets.

Sherry let go of my hand and moved to the side of the bed first, reaching for Becky’s hand.

"Hey," Sherry said softly. "You look like hell."

Becky gave a tired laugh, wincing as it pulled at her side. "Feels like it too."

I stayed near the door for a moment, watching the two of them, the easy warmth between them cutting through the clinical cold of the room.

Then I walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight. I eased Becky’s leg straighter with careful hands, fingers brushing the thin hospital sheet. She smiled, a tired but genuine curve of her lips, blonde braid draped over one shoulder.

"How are you?" I asked.

"Fine," she said, voice a little rough. "We might hit the field tomorrow."

Sherry laughed softly from the other side of the bed. "Same old Donman."

They looked at each other and laughed, the kind of shared laugh that carried years of history in it, no words needed. They had grown up together. That whole history lived in the way their eyes met, in the easy tilt of their heads.

"Max was ready to kill you that day," Sherry said, still smiling.

"Don’t bring that up in here," Becky said, her smile fading just a fraction. "Where are you two coming from?"

"Date night," Sherry said, reaching over to brush a strand of hair from Becky’s face.

Becky smiled wider. "Looks like someone’s blending in. That’s wall behavior, Bram." She looked between us, eyes softening. "I’m happy for you two though. Genuinely."

"We’re taking it to the next level," Sherry said.

The two of them locked eyes again, both smiling in that quiet, knowing way.

"But how do you actually feel?" I asked, steering us back.

"Ankle and a couple of ribs," Becky said.

"Can I see?"

She nodded. I eased the sheet back carefully. She was in a thin tank top, the fabric slightly damp with sweat. I pressed my fingers gently along her ribs, checking the bruising, feeling the heat of her skin and the faint tremor when I touched a tender spot. Sherry watched with a small smile, one hand resting on Becky’s arm.

"You two act like you’ve known each other for years," Sherry said.

"Two days," Becky replied, wincing slightly as I checked the other side. "And he already knows everything on me."

"You’ll heal fine," I said, pulling the sheet back up and smoothing it over her. "Rest."

"Okay, Becky." I stood. "Let me get my girlfriend home before your brother comes back and finds us here."

She smiled, tired but real.

I turned to Sherry. "She’s been calling you that since this morning, by the way. Not new."

Sherry smiled, the expression lighting her whole face.

We both leaned down and kissed Becky’s forehead, my lips brushing warm skin, Sherry’s lingering a second longer. Becky’s eyes closed for a moment at the contact.

"Thank you," she whispered.

At the door I looked back. "Tomorrow I’ll bring you your sword."

Becky choked on a laugh, the sound turning into a wince as I closed the door behind us.

In the corridor, Sherry looked at me. I took her hand, fingers threading together naturally. The hospital lights stretched long shadows ahead of us as we walked, the quiet hum of the building wrapping around us like a cocoon.

***

We reached Sherry’s apartment door. The hallway light was soft and warm, casting a gentle glow across her face as we stopped. For a long moment we just looked at each other.

A kiss hovered between us — close enough to taste, heavy with everything that had been building since the gates. But we both held back. This time we were taking it slow.

The first time she had kissed me, she had shut herself inside. The second time she had waited, door open, and I had never come.

"Have you ever wished you could take time back?" she asked, voice quiet in the stillness of the corridor.

"No," I said.

She leaned in and kissed my cheek, soft, lingering, her lips warm against my skin. Then she turned, walked to her door, and opened it. The warm light from inside spilled out into the hallway, outlining her silhouette.

"Good night, Bram," she said, glancing back at me.

"Good night, Sherry."

I didn’t move. I wanted to see her safely inside first.

She paused in the doorway and looked back at me. The corner of her mouth lifted, that small, knowing smile I had come to recognize.

"I’m going inside to try on my new pajamas," she said, repeating the line word for word. "If you’re interested, you can come and take them off."

She walked in, leaving the door open behind her.

The invitation hung in the air like an open hand. Warm light poured from the apartment, spilling across the hallway floor in a golden rectangle. I could see the edge of her sofa, the soft lamp on the side table, the faint movement of her shadow as she moved deeper inside.