Rory
Jarvis showed up at my door three days into concussion recovery holding a container of soup he'd clearly made himself, given the slightly chaotic state of the lid and the fact that he announced his culinary triumph before I'd even fully opened the door.
"Don't get excited, it's just chicken noodle, but I made it from actual scratch and not a can, so I need you to be appropriately impressed." He held it up like a trophy, stepping past me into my apartment with the easy familiarity of someone who'd stopped needing an invitation weeks ago. "Also I brought crackers. Also I may have looked up concussion recovery food on my phone in the parking lot before coming up, so if this soup has some suspiciously specific nutritional benefits, that's why."
"You researched soup for me."
"I researc
