(Sienna)The couch they'd brought in was positioned at the right angle for the camera and the light and the impression of controlled stability I needed to project.I'd asked for that.I'd also asked for the coat rather than the medical facility aesthetic, for my hair done simply, for nothing that read as performance. The bandaging on my left side was visible at the collar if you looked. I wasn't hiding it. I wasn't leading with it either.This wasn't recovery.This was positioning.Adrian stood in the doorway.He'd been watching me for the last three minutes without speaking. His version of support. I'd come to understand that.Not intervention. Presence."You don't have to do this," he said."Yes, I do."He looked at me for a moment. Then he crossed the room and adjusted the collar of the coat, straightening it slightly, his hands precise and brief.Not hesitation. Decision.He cupped my cheek briefly, his hand warm and welcome. Then he stepped back."Ready," he said. Not a question.
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