The next time they saw each other, the hospital light was golden again. Claris’s face was pale, eyes a bit sunken, but the moment he saw Mal, he brightened—just slightly. The kind of glow a person saves for the ones they missed.

“You look terrible,” Claris whispered. Mal smirked. 

“Didn’t sleep.”

Claris shifted, wincing faintly. “Feel like someone stitched a zipper into my chest. They say that’s a good thing.” Mal reached into a paper bag and pulled out a takeout cup. Claris arched a brow. “Is that...?”

“Coffee,” Mal said, handing it to him. “Not great for the heart, but... I figured you earned it.”

Claris cradled the cup like it was sacred. “God, I missed this. Hospital tea tastes like regret.” They sipped together in comfortable silence, their shoulders nearly touching. Outside, the city moved on. But here—just for now—time had slowed. Later, Mal walked him to the train station. Just to be sure he got there safely. Claris turned at the platform, scarf flapping in the spring wind. He held the flowerpot in one arm and raised his other hand in a slow, lazy wave.

“See you soon, doc.”

Mal raised his hand, but didn’t wave. Just watched the train pull away. The sky was uncharacteristically blue for the season.