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Connections
Homebrew
Danny hovered outside the ICU room, backpack over one shoulder. Inside, Matt stared straight ahead, his right arm resting in a sling, wrist encased in a plaster cast. The ventilator behind him gave a mechanical sigh—disconnected but still present.
“Hey,” Danny said, stepping in. “How’s the wrist doing? They said the surgery went fine?”
He turned, movement restricted by the brace locked around his torso. “Danny?” The valve carried it out rough-edged, but warm.
“What, didn’t expect to see me?”
A twitch passed through his mouth—more reflex than expression. “Figured… you’d have… better things to do.”
The backpack hit the chair. “Yeah, right. Like anything’s more important than checking up on you.” He dug out a container and gave it a little show.
“What’s… that?”
“Chicken soup. Mom’s recipe. Sort of—tweaked it so you could eat it. Blended veggies, shredded chicken. Better than hospital mush.”
“You… made it?”
“Yeah.” He set it on the table. “You taught me how to cook eggs without burning the house down. Figured I’d put those skills to use.”
Another faint change worked over Matt’s face, gone fast. “You didn’t have to,” he said. “I’m fine with… hospital mush.”
“Guess there’s only one way to find out,” Danny pulled out a spoon. “It’s soft-food-approved. No excuse.”
Matt nodded. It cost him.
“Just… a little.”
He scooped a small portion and waited. Matt took it slowly.
“Tastes like… home.”
“Good. Because it’s the closest thing to home-cooked you’re getting while you’re stuck here.”
Matt looked away. His left hand flexed against the blanket. “Still feels… like nothing,” he muttered. “Can’t even… eat a full spoon without…”
He stopped. “It’s pathetic.”
“Hey. That’s not pathetic—it’s progress. You’re healing. It’s slow, and yeah, it sucks. But it’s happening. You’re here. That’s not nothing.”
A slight shake of the head. “That’s… all I’m doing. Lying here.”
“You’re alive. Breathing on your own most of the day. People are rooting for you. Because you’re still you. And when you’re around, it’s like… everything feels a little more possible.”
Their eyes met. Whatever he meant to say didn’t come. He glanced down, thumb tracing the corner of the sheet.
“You don’t have to say anything. Just take it in. You’re still you. And we’re all here for you.”
Matt sat with that for a while, then smiled—fragile, but all his.
“Now, eat another spoonful before I have to lie and tell everyone you loved it.”
“Relentless.”
“Damn right I am,” Danny said, lifting the spoon. “Someone’s gotta keep you in line.”
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