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>The first thing he registered was the smell.
>Antiseptic like bleach and stale air.
>The steady beeping of a heart monitor came next, until it became increasingly loud.
>Kurt surfaced from the heavy fog of unconsciousness to a world of dull, throbbing misery.
>His left arm, though, was a special kind of awful.
>A deep, resonant ache throbbed from shoulder to fingertips, one that wanted to agonizingly burn but was muted by what he assumed were painkillers.
>He blinked sluggishly as the hospital room swam into focus.
>It was dark, save for the glow of the monitor and the light from the hall that swam through the door’s tiny window.
>To his left was a cot-side table, on top of which was a small ‘get well soon’ card depicting a dog in a cone of shame with the caption ‘At least you don’t need to wear one of these’.
>It was cracked open so it could stand on its own, and Kurt could barely peek at the signature. From Emma.
>Kurt snorted, failing to hold back a small grin. What a dork.
>Shifting to the right, he saw a large, familiar black and blue form curled up, opting to sleep on the floor rather than the cheap visitor’s chair.
>Larson looked rough. He was dotted with bald patches from now-treated burns, and had various cuts and nicks from both claw and bite wounds all sutured and wrapped.
>Kurt tried to sit up, but the movement was a mistake.
>A jolt of blinding magma shot up his arm, causing him to let out a reptilian hiss that cut the silence in the room.
>Larson’s ears twitched, and his pair of glowing yellow and red eyes blinked open in the darkness.
>Larson was up in an instant, claws softly clacking against the floor as he limped over to the side of Kurt’s cot.
>The Luxray regarded him with exhausted and anxious eyes. Kurt released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
>At least Larson was ok.
