The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and forced cheer. Too clean. Too still. Too bright. Avery sat propped up against a mountain of overly starched pillows, the heart monitor's soft beeping the only real sound in the room apart from the television murmuring some generic drama he wasn't paying attention to.
His friends' faces lit up the screen of his tablet—Arianna's hair in curlers, Natalie sipping from a green smoothie, and Vivianne curled on her couch in silk pajamas and judgmental eyebrows.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Arianna asked for the third time in five minutes, her worry poorly masked beneath a flippant tone.
"I'm glowing," Avery replied, flashing them all a wide, too-perfect smile. "Hospital lighting is divine for my skin tone. I'm thinking of moving in."
Natalie rolled her eyes. "Stop deflecting. You're literally getting a stent in, like, what? Two hours?"
"An hour and forty-two minutes," Vivianne said flatly, checking her watch. "Not that anyone's counting."
