Snort.
John swiped his visitor pass to open the electronic sliding door.
He smelled a faint scent of alcohol, uncertain whether it was disinfectant or something else mixed in, stepped over the threshold, faced the hospital bed, and caught a whiff of a familiar perfume from his memory.
"Hey, it's me."
John paused for a second before greeting her.
"... Hi, John, whew."
Angelica's voice was extremely weak, her nostrils plugged with a respirator, her body covered in patches and IV tubes.
John stared a bit lost, realized he was staring too long, blinked, and turned his gaze away, saying.
"Sorry, maybe I should've brought some flowers?"
"Oh, please don't, that wouldn't be like you."
Angelica was emaciated, her hair and eyebrows all gone, surgical markings etched on her bald head.
She seemed in good spirits, though likely forcing herself.
John pulled a nearby chair, sat on it backwards, arms resting on the back, as he casually asked about her condition.
