INT. LOCKER ROOM — MORNING

Steam lingers in the air.

Link stands under the shower longer than necessary.

His left hand braces his right forearm. Protective, unconscious. 

Face tilted into the spray.
Not really washing.
Letting the noise drown everything out.

The water runs.
He doesn’t move.

Finally, he reaches up. Turns it off.

Silence rushes back in.

He steps out.
Hair damp.
Same exhaustion.

He dries off quickly.
Dresses from a worn gym bag.
Movements automatic. Efficient. 

Still standing.
Still moving.

He hesitates, then slips the sling back on.

The weight of his arm settles into it.

A dull pull radiates through his shoulder when he shifts.
Not sharp. Just stubborn. 
A reminder he’s been skipping PT for the past few days.

He rolls it once.
Regrets it.
Lets the sling take the load.
Keeps moving.

His phone vibrates.
A photo from Maureen. 
Scout and Luna, half-asleep, tangled in blankets.
Luna’s hair in her mouth. Scout’s arm flung across her face. 
Domestic chaos. Safe.
 
MAUREEN (TEXT)
Hi, honey. 
They asked for you this morning. Everything’s fine.
Aquarium today. They’re very excited.
Give your girls a kiss for us.
We can’t wait to see you. 
I hope Jo’s improving like she should.
Tell her we’re thinking of her.
Love you. Mom. 

Link stares at the screen. 
His thumb hovers longer than it should.

He types.
They’re stable.
Deletes.

Types again.
She’s better.
Deletes.

The cursor blinks. 
Finally he sends two hearts.

That’s all he has.

He scrolls up. 
A thread full of updates.
Photos and messages from Maureen.
Updates. Check-ins. Reassurance.

Link’s replies are sparse.
But they’re there.

He locks the phone.

Eyes closed.  One beat. 
He exhales. Grounds himself.
Tucks the phone into his pocket.

Shoulders back.
Sling adjusted.
Mask back on.

He opens the locker room door and steps out.

FADE OUT.