The next morning.
Keaton, leaning over the side of his bed, dry-heaved for what felt like an eternity. Weakly, he called out,
“Tarquin, get me a glass of water to rinse my mouth. Hurry, my mouth tastes disgusting.”
The door to the hospital room swung open, and a familiar scent washed over him...
Keaton's heart skipped a beat as he realized what was happening. His head snapped up.
Standing in the doorway was Winona, wearing a trench coat, her long brown curls flowing, a mask and sunglasses hiding her face. She was stepping in on towering stilettos.
One hand rested on her suitcase handle, the other tucked into her coat pocket.
She exuded an air of sophisticated confidence.
Even though she was all covered up, Keaton recognized her in an instant.
He froze completely, his heart starting to race with a confusing mix of panic and excitement.
He stared at her wide-eyed, completely at a loss for what to say or do.
Winona said nothing. She pushed her suitcase into the room and closed the door behind her.
She took off her sunglasses and mask, walked over to the water cooler, poured a glass, and handed it to him.
Keaton quickly took it, and then... nothing. He just stared at her like an idiot.
Winona pressed her lips together. “Didn't you want to rinse your mouth?”
Keaton nodded quickly, tilted his head back, and chugged the entire glass of water.
Winona blinked. “...Did you want to rinse your mouth, or were you thirsty?”
Keaton looked flushed. “Right. Sorry. I guess I was more parched than I thought.”
“Are you still thirsty?” Winona asked.
“N-no, I'm good.”
“Then lie back down. We need to talk.”
“Oh.” Keaton obediently lay back down like a good little boy.
His presence was completely overshadowed by hers.
Winona pulled a chair over to the bedside and sat down, her tone calm.
“It's been less than three weeks. How did you get so thin?”

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