?

  The projector flashed against the wall of the movie club’s screening room, casting a soft glow over the small group of students scattered across the seats.

  Tonight’s selection was an indie film with intricate cinematography, the kind that would have had Luca leaning forward, pointing out camera angles and lighting choices every five minutes.

  Except,

  Luca wasn’t here.

  And Vincent noticed.

  He leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, eyes on the screen but mind elsewhere.

  Luca never missed movie club. He was one of the loudest voices in discussions, the guy who could break down a film’s emotional beats and technical execution all in the same breath.

  But tonight, there was just… silence.

  As the credits rolled, the club members stretched and started packing up. Vincent stood, slipping his hands into his pockets, turning to the club president.

  “Luca’s not here,” he said casually, though there was an edge of mild concern in his tone.

  One of the others nodded. “Yeah, he had surgery or something. He’s in the hospital.”

  Vincent blinked. “Surgery?”

  The club president shrugged. “Appendicitis. Nothing serious, I think. He should be fine soon.”

  Vincent frowned slightly, processing that.

  Luca. In a hospital bed. Probably bored out of his mind with no decent movie selection.

  Without thinking too much about it, he grabbed his bag and headed out.

  ?

  Hospitals weren’t exactly Vincent’s favorite place. Too sterile. Too full of the kind of stillness that made him feel like the world was pausing without his permission.

  He stepped into the room with a soft knock, the scent of antiseptic clinging to his coat. Luca was dramatically slouched in bed, his curls a mess, blanket tugged around him like a tragic opera protagonist, phone balanced precariously on his chest.

  “Wow,” Vincent said, leaning against the doorframe. “You look like you’ve just survived a war.”

  Luca’s head snapped up, wide-eyed. “Vincent?”

  Vincent stepped in, holding up a paper bag. “The one and only. I intercepted Naomi on her way to the station. Told her to rest today. I’m here on full nurse duty. Try to act grateful.”

  Luca blinked. “You told Naomi not to come?”

  “She was carrying a soup pot bigger than her head. Looked like she was about to collapse.” Vincent set the bag on the side table and pulled the chair close. “So unless you want her to faint beside your IV stand, you’re stuck with me.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  A beat of silence. Then Luca muttered, “I was kind of looking forward to that soup.”

  “Too bad. You’re on post-appendectomy protocol. Hospital-approved soft food only. I asked the nurse. You can’t eat anything too oily or spicy for now.”

  He pulled out a small thermos from the bag and unscrewed the lid. The faint scent of clear chicken broth drifted into the room, warm and comforting.

  Luca groaned. “That smells… edible. Which is better than what they gave me earlier.”

  Vincent poured a little into the bowl, tested the temperature against his wrist with clinical precision, then scooped up a spoonful and brought it to Luca’s lips.

  Luca stared at him. “You’re feeding me?”

  "I told you. Nurse duty." Vincent’s tone was dry, but there was a subtle playfulness in his look. "Don’t make it weird."

  “It’s already weird.”

  “Then close your mouth and eat.”

  Luca obeyed, reluctantly at first, but after a few spoonfuls, his expression softened. The warmth, the presence, the subtle rhythm of care, it settled something tight in his chest he hadn’t even realized was there.

  “You didn’t have to come, you know,” he muttered between sips. “You could’ve just sent a message.”

  Vincent didn’t answer immediately. He poured another spoonful, then leaned back a little, the corner of his mouth quirking. “I know.”

  And maybe that was the whole point.

  Luca chewed on that silence, then on the next bite, then promptly choked, spluttering with an offended gasp.

  Vincent straightened. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Luca coughed, hand flailing slightly. “Just, what was that? Pepper? Poison? Emotional sabotage?”

  “It’s chicken broth.” Vincent set the bowl down with exaggerated calm. “You drama queen.”

  “Feels like betrayal,” Luca wheezed, wiping at his mouth. “Tell Naomi I miss her. She wouldn’t have tried to kill me.”

  “She was going to bring kimchi congee. You would’ve exploded.”

  “…Okay, never mind.”

  Vincent smirked, then reached for the spoon again. “Come on. One more.”

  “I want ice cream.”

  “You just choked on soup.”

  There was a pause. Then Luca leaned back against the pillow, all mock defeat and fluttering lashes. “Fine. Nurse Vincent. I surrender. But I demand a proper dessert the moment I can walk.”

  “I’ll ask the doctor when you’re medically cleared for pudding rebellion.”

  ?

  Vincent rinsed the bowl, set it aside, and returned to the chair. He sat with one arm resting along the backrest, gaze drifting toward the window where dusk was settling in soft gold.

  “Figured you’d be losing your mind without movie club,” he said at last. “Thought I’d drop by before you completely wasted away.”

  Luca gave a pitiful sigh. “Oh, trust me, I already have.” He gestured vaguely toward his phone. “I’ve resorted to watching badly edited movie reviews on YouTube. It’s that bad.”

  Vincent laughed under his breath. “Alright, alright. I’ll spare you.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a small flash drive. “Brought something from the club. Thought you’d want to catch up on what you missed.”

  Luca blinked, then lit up, grin stretching like it couldn’t help itself. “You legend.”

  Vincent offered a faint, satisfied smile. “Of course.”

  Luca reached for the flash drive, but Vincent held it just out of reach.

  “Not so fast. There’s a price.”

  Luca narrowed his eyes. “What kind of price? I already let you feed me like a Victorian ghost.”

  Vincent leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “Work with me on a project.”

  Luca paused. “Define work.”

  “Christmas short film,” Vincent said, voice steady. “I’ve got ideas. But I need someone who actually knows how to turn them into something.”

  Luca hesitated, weighing the flash drive in his hand now like it might bite. “You do realize I’m half-dead, right?”

  “You’ll live. And once you’re up, we start sketching it out.”

  “No promises,” Luca muttered. “But if I do, you’re directing from my bedside.”

  ?