“Derek,” he said, shaking my hand with a firm grip. “Good to see you again. Ready to get this done?”
“Good to see you too, Gabe. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
“That’s the spirit.” He gestured to the chair. “We’ll get you set up with the IV and before you know it, you’ll be waking up with a brand new titanium addition to your jaw. Very cyborg.”
I laughed despite myself. “That’s one way to put it.”
The IV went in smoothly—a small pinch in my arm and then the nurse was taping it down. Gabe explained what was about to happen, his voice calm and reassuring but I was only half-listening. The sedative was already creeping into my system, making everything soft at the edges.
“Just relax,” Gabe said. “Count backward from ten.”
“Ten,” I managed. “Nine... eight...”
???
I woke up in stages.
First, there was sound—muffled voices, someone laughing. Then sensation—the dull throb in my jaw, the cottony feeling in my mouth, the strange heaviness of my limbs. Finally, light—too bright, making me squint.
“There he is.” Gabe’s handsome face swam into view. “Welcome back, Derek. Everything went perfectly.”
I tried to respond but my mouth wasn’t cooperating. Something that might have been “thanks” came out more like “thmmph.”
“That’s normal,” he assured me. “The numbness will wear off in a few hours. I’ve got your aftercare instructions ready for...” He looked over his shoulder. “Théo, was it?”
And then Théo was there, stepping into my field of vision, and even through the haze of sedation, my heart leapt embarrassingly in my chest.
He was wearing one of my hoodies again—the faded gray one—and his dark hair was curling around his ears. He looked worried, a small furrow between his brows, but when he saw me looking at him, his expression softened into something almost tender.
“Hey, you,” he said.
“Hey,” I slurred. “You’re rilly purty.”
His lips twitched. “And you’re high as a kite.”
“S’true though. So purty. Like a... a snow... a snowdrop.” I was very proud of myself for remembering that.
Gabe cleared his throat, clearly amused. “So, Théo, here are the aftercare instructions. Soft foods only for the first week—nothing that requires chewing. Ice packs for the swelling, twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off. He’s got a prescription for pain medication but over-the-counter ibuprofen should be sufficient after the first day or two. No strenuous physical activity for at least 48 hours.”
Théo was nodding, eyes darting across the page of aftercare instructions. “Got it. Soft foods. Ice. Pain meds. No exercise.”
“And no spitting, sucking through straws, or smoking. We want to protect the surgical site.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Wait—” I raised a hand, my voice thick and slurred from the sedation. “No sucking? For how long?”
Gabe blinked. “About a week. We don’t want to dislodge the—”
“Aweek?” I turned to Théo, genuinely mournful. “A whole week.”
His eyes went wide. “I think you’ll survive.”
“You don’t know that.” I let my head fall back against the headrest. “This is the worst day of my life.”
Gabe looked between us, clearly deciding he didn’t want to know. “Any other questions?”
“No,” Théo said quickly. “We’re good. Thank you.”
