"Careful on the door."

"Yes, I know."

"Are you okay? Am I hurting you?"

"No Tim, I'm fine," I replied.

He closed the door behind us and set my bags on the floor. I headed straight for the living room and admired the sight of home. I am not a sentimental person but seeing my possessions was comforting having been away for what felt like a long time.

Hospitals, being so bleak and monotone, make you appreciate having your own space without constant interruption and beeping sounds.

I heard Tim throwing his shoes off and the soft pad of his feet along the hall.

"Do you want tea, or coffee? I could make you something to eat, if you're hungry," Tim said quickly. "We can order in, from the Chinese you like. Or if you just want to sleep that's okay, I don't mind."

He lifted the remote and handed it to me.

"You could watch some TV, I recorded that documentary you wanted to see. I'm not sure if it worked though, I tried to cut it off at the ads but I didn't really know what I was doing," he laughed.

"I kept all the papers from the last week, I didn't know if you would get a chance to read them in the hospital so I thought I should hold onto them for when you got home."

Sure enough there was a small pile on the coffee table as well as one of my coveted National Geographic magazines.

"Are you warm, or too cold? I'll go get you a blanket," he said before scurrying off to the bedroom in search of more layers.

I sat down on the sofa with a sigh and an involuntary wince from the sharp sting in my ribs.

I didn't mind some physical pain, I was used to scrapes and falls from my work but this was different. I was older now and suddenly bruises and cuts didn't represent adventure, simply carelessness and the inability to accept one's age.

I listened as Tim filled the kettle and opened various cupboards, no doubt finding them empty as I hadn't been here to do the shopping. He was trying so hard to take care of me though, that I found it hard to fault his efforts.

When I had woken up, he hadn't been there. It didn't surprise me that he wouldn't be allowed to see me outside of visiting hours. Once they figured out he was not my brother as Tim had told me the nurse pretended he was. The doctor had soon put a stop to it and I would always resent him for it.

What they hadn't anticipated, I'm sure, was the effect it would have on me.

It is vague to me but Isabel informed me of what had happened and how I had been convinced that Tim had been in the car, that they were hiding the fact that he was hurt, or worse, from me.

I had ranted and argued with very little result until I took to screaming and throwing things to get my way. They had relented then and allowed him an hour that evening to see me before limiting us to the set two hours each afternoon for the week I was there.

When Tim had appeared in the doorway I felt like I was back in that day when I had first seen him. His eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks hollow from the continuous process of not eating or sleeping. Yet he looked perfect.

He brought me things to read and even went to the University to collect some papers for me. Despite being in pain from a sprained wrist, broken ribs and bruising he would make me laugh and smile. He had held my hand and cuddled close to me and I admit I loved every moment of it.

I had been shocked when I heard him just outside the door discussing my condition with the doctor the afternoon I was leaving. He knew everything about what medicine I should be taking and what injuries I had sustained. His voice was authoritative and commanding as he spoke and it sent a small thrill through me.

He returned to the living room with a mug of coffee and a blanket in hand, setting the cup on the table and resting the blanket over my lap before holding out some post for me.

"I forgot to do the shopping but I'll go tomorrow," he apologised.

"Tim, sit down," I asked him and he slowly obeyed, his eyes on me the whole time surveying for damage.

"What is it, what's wrong, are you hurting?"

I reached out a hand to cup his cheek and gently pulled him towards me. He leaned in and we kissed softly. My heart gave a double beat when he let out a deep moan. He very carefully maneuvered himself so that he straddled my legs on the sofa, his arms around my neck as he deepened the kiss.

"Mmm, Ivo, I've missed this," he smiled and swept his tongue along my lower lip.

I pushed him from me a little so that I could look at him properly.

"We need to talk."

He blinked at me.

"Is something wrong," he asked, panic in his tone.

"No. No," I reassured him firmly and smoothed my hands along his arms.

"I need to tell you something."

He nodded slightly.

"Okay."

I took a strained breath owing to how constricted my chest was under bandages.

"If something were to happen to me," I started.

"Ivo, don't," Tim whined.

"No, Tim, listen to me. If something happens to me, I want you to know that everything is yours."

He stared down at me, looking confused.

"I wrote a will last month," I told him, worried about what his reaction would be.

"You're my next of kin."

We sat for the next few minutes, Tim having given no reaction other than to stare at me.

"I just want you to be happy, even if it's not with me," I said slowly.

"I'd never be happy without you," he stated simply, tears starting to fall down his cheeks. I reached up to wipe at them with my sleeve and he re-adjusted himself so that he could lay his head on my shoulder. I ruffled his hair and kissed his temple, completely contented.

His stomach growled then and I chuckled.

"Shall we order that Chinese then?"

"In a minute," he sighed. "This is nice."

"Mmm."