Marcus sat against the headboard, his right hand wrapped in plaster and pins. The painkillers slurred his words as he tried to dictate his college essay. "Say I learned grit from football," he mumbled, then drifted off mid-sentence. Theo sat at the laptop, the cursor blinking. The deadline was midnight. His brother couldn't type a single word, so Theo would have to do it for him.

Theo typed exactly what Marcus asked for: grit, football, never giving up. He read it back and it sounded fake, like a hundred other essays. But it was Marcus's essay, not his. So he kept going, putting his brother's voice on the page even though every line felt stiff and borrowed.

Theo paused before the last paragraph. He could write the football version AND a second, truer one, then let Marcus pick when he woke up. He opened a new document and started typing fast, the real story pouring out of him.

Theo got so deep in the true version that he missed midnight. The football essay was never submitted. The deadline was gone. He stared at the clock, then at his sleeping brother, and felt his stomach drop.

Theo called the school's help line the second it opened, voice cracking. A tired woman listened, then sighed. "Broken hand counts as a medical emergency. Send a doctor's note and the essay today." They got the note and the true essay out by noon, and the late penalty was waived. Marcus just stared at his brother. "You almost cost me everything," he said, then smiled. "And then you saved it. Typical."