Animal Flow

We Can't Seem To Find The Air

Finally nearing the exit of a seemingly endless tunnel, the speck of light in the distance only marches closer. The wobbling from the incomprehensible speeds finally comes to a conclusion. The blackened, empty room of his head is finally illuminated for the first time in a couple of days. Ripples of protest crawl their way up and down beneath his felt, echoes of chattery yaps finally freeing him from his cold room of audio-deprived abyss. 

Shaky breaths escape his lips as the world around him pulls him back into itself as a part of it once again. After such a long period of absence from the joined experience, one must adjust to it again- much like himself, rendered lightheaded as he struggles to process his return to the physical environment. 

The first thing to meet his eye is his own hand, quivering weakly in the grip of another. The blue fingers of someone so familiar to him are careful as they trail tender strokes in his palm, washing upon him a feeling of intimate reassurance. Waves of vibrating air bounce against his skull, his weakened mind trying everything in its power to decipher and analyze each touch of the sound waves against his ears.

        "...Lips?"

        His eyelids flutter as he whimpers softly.

"...You feelin' alright, sweetheart...?"

Finally, his awareness emerges completely, his senses eagerly making their anticipated return to the world. The strings of gibberish poking for entrance to his understanding are finally deciphered by his barely functioning mind.

It's the band.

More like... the family.

Zoot is situated right beside him, his fingers comfortably intertwined in his as he gives his hand a gentle squeeze. Everyone else, surrounding him without a single absence- Animal, Floyd, Teeth, and Janice- have their gazes fixed upon him, a nearly uniform expression of concern plastered on their faces. 

As if it hasn't already taken him long enough to figure out that he's indeed still alive, he stalls, scanning everything that intimately surrounds him. 

Snugly tucked upon most of his body and the... bed... he lays in, is an incredibly thin and silky blanket. The air around him feels cold, the room feeling tight and cramped. The glaring, cool-colored lighting from above only confirms that he's nowhere near home.

Finally speaking, the fatigued trumpet player tiredly mumbles, "....wh're we..?"

Patient and empathetic with his beloved husband, Zoot gives his hand yet another light squeeze in response. "...we're in the hospital," he responds gently and briefly- putting forth an effort as not to overwhelm him. 

Lips simply stares at his hand in Zoot's, heart sinking and he realizes... that he is, indeed, in the hospital. He finally acknowledges the pounding ache in his head- it only sinks to his stomach as his lifelong fear of hospitals finally sets in.

His grip encircling Zoot's hand only clenches around it further in his desperate attempt to remain calm. He squeezes his eyelids tightly, mind racing as he tries to recall any past events- but nothing volunteers to fill in the blanks. All he remembers is going to bed with Zoot.. which feels like an event that took place centuries ago.