A tiny part of Stephen seemed to be expecting Michael to tell him to get out, despite the fact that he knew his friend would have never said something like that to him. He mentally scolded himself for acting like such a kicked puppy. Michael had never hurt him. He'd done that all on his own.
"Hey," He replied softly approaching the edge of Michael's bed, "I came to see how you are. That bludger during the game... That looked pretty awful."
It was almost like being reunited with a long lost friend. Stephen had gotten so good at avoiding Michael, he'd almost forgotten what his company was like. But it didn't take long for the memories to press against the floodgates and threaten to spill over and overwhelm him.
"I made you something. I thought it might help... if you're still sore," Stephen indicated to the little clumsily stitched rice sack in his hands.