The hospital halls were colder than usual that morning. Malachai’s sneakers made no sound against the polished floor, but the weight of another sleepless night dragged behind him like fog. He clutched a takeaway cup from The Lavender Tea Shop, the lavender syrup barely masking the bitter edge of too much espresso. He wasn’t on rotation today. He just... showed up. He did that sometimes—hovering just enough to be helpful, but not so much that the nurses kicked him out. Some of them had taken to calling him “the shadow.” He didn’t mind. He passed by Room 214 without meaning to stop, but something in the air—lavender? Or maybe some wildflower?—pulled him back. The door was cracked open.

And there he was. Claris Jordan, tucked into a sea of hospital-issue white, looked perfectly content. His ridiculous scarf was draped over the bedside table. One hand rested on his stomach, the other gently cradling a flowerpot—the flowerpot. The musk mallow’s petals seemed brighter today. Claris turned his head, eyes already half-lidded, a slow, lazy smile blooming across his face.

“Morning, doc.” the patient said as Mal stepped inside, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“You remember me.” He'd said it half-suprised, Claris didn't seem the type to forget a person by any means, but it felt odd knowing he held space in their choatic head. and odd felt kinda nice.

“Hard to forget someone with a book that thick and a voice that posh,” Claris replied, stretching like a sun-warmed cat. “Thought I hallucinated you.”

“You seem... comfortable.” Malachai remarked, Claris shrugged, eyes flicking toward the IV drip. “They’ve got me on something nice.” Mal tried not to smile, but his face betrayed him.

“Are you here for the surgery already?”

Claris shook his head. “Just two days of monitoring. Complications or something. No one tells me anything unless I put on the ‘concerned adult’ face.” Mal leaned on the side rail, careful not to look too interested.

“You do have a surprisingly convincing frown.”

“I practice in the mirror.” Silence hung for a moment—light, easy. The kind of silence you don’t need to fill. Then Claris reached down beside the bed and lifted the flowerpot slightly. “Could you... water him while I’m out?”

Mal blinked. “Me?” More importantly, the flower was a him?

Claris nodded. “Didn’t ask the nurse. Asked you. Figured you’d take it seriously.” The weight of that trust pressed unexpectedly against Mal’s chest. He nodded, slow and sure. “Alright.” Claris relaxed back into the pillow. “Knew you would. You're the sort who reads a warning label twice.”

Mal smirked. “And you’re the sort who ignores them entirely.”

“Guilty.” Claris grinned and closed his eyes. “But I do like it when someone worries.” A quiet beep sounded from the monitor. Nothing urgent. Just life, ticking along.

“Hey,” Claris said, eyes still closed, “thanks for coming in.”

“I didn’t come to see you,” Mal lied.

“Of course not, doc.”