@desolateroads
Artemis shows up before Rose’s parents even know, smoothly talking her way into her room, some perfect lie about being her sister or her cousin or something. It’s strange to lie about something that feels true.
It’s not a private room. Rose is in the very last bed, past other sad people shrouded by curtains. Artemis sweeps past them without sparing a thought, boots clicking imperiously against the floor, the steady sound probably unexpected in the stoic gray.
Rose’s body looks like it has nothing left to give. She’s small and pale in a shapeless gown, wrists and collarbone very prominent. Even her hair in all it’s rich tones looks thin and lifeless against the sterile white of the pillow. She registers Artemis with a slight opening of her mouth, a shift in her body’s position.
“You look like shit, love.”
Rose moans weakly and covers her face, but it’s too late to be ashamed. Artemis plants herself on the side of the bed and kicks her boots off under it somewhere, then flips onto her side and spoons behind Rose, wrapping both arms around her middle.
She makes a small noise but it doesn’t sound in protest, clasps her own shaking fingers around the hands on her waist. She smells like cleaning supplies.
‘Do you remember the hangover of ‘08?” Rose’s voice is tremulous, most likely from puking violently. Artemis pushes her hair aside to kiss the base of her neck.
“I remember you experiencing it, yes. Is it like that?”
“No. I wish it was.”
Neither of them say anything for a little while. It’s filled with the rhythmic beeping of various machines in and around the room, traffic noises half muffled beyond the window, footsteps and the occasional urgent voice of a nurse. Rose should probably get out of here soon, before bills pile up and her parents start getting frantic, but the odd peace is preferable to whatever is waiting for her outside.
They don’t care if you fuck up here. Nobody is a disappointment here.
“Did you call Jace?”
“Not yet.” Artemis pauses. “He’s gonna freak out and cry.”
Rose snorts. “I know. Just...get it out of the way.”
So Artemis sends him a short but succinct text (Rose is in the hospital, but ok) over her shoulder, then replaces her hand on the curve of Rose’s waist and waits for the predictable string of distressed replies. They don’t disappoint.
“I think we should hide at my place, get you out of here.”
“Can we do this there?”
“Of course, love.”









