I Do I Did

Three

Ryan slowly and painfully watched his best friend lose all hope. He couldn't do anything to help. All he could do was sit back and watch.

The first month wasn't so bad.

Pete practically lived in the hospital. He slept in the chair beside Patrick every night. He'd wake up and talk to his husband about his dreams the previous night. Then he'd go work for about an hour or so and come back. He brushed his hair. He held his hand. He told him stories.

The second month was a little better.

Pete still stayed at the hospital but he was eating again. Twice a day. He still told Patrick his dreams. And then he'd eat breakfast with Patrick. He worked for a little longer. Maybe an hour and a half. Then he'd come back and tell Patrick about his day.

Things Patrick just wouldn't care about if we was awake. Business meetings. Conference calls. The stock market falls and rises of the week. Sometimes he'd go as far as to bring his work with him. And talk to Patrick while he was doing it.

The third month was a little weird.

Pete would sleep beside Patrick on the small bed. Most of the doctors didn't mind. He'd hold his hand and repeat memories to him. When they first met. Their first kiss. Their first time having sex. Even the first time he heard Patrick sing.

Ryan wasn't there for a lot of the memories. But he liked hearing about them. He liked hearing the excitement in his friend's voice when he talked about them.

The fourth month was weird again.

Pete was back to eating once a day. And that meal was usually something from the vending machine in the lobby. He was rarely going to work. And when he did go, people complained about his lack of attention or input on important details.

He was still holding Patrick's hand and talking to him. Telling him how when he woke up, they were getting married again. And how he was going to personally kill whoever was responsible for doing this to him.

The fifth month was where Ryan started to worry.

Pete wasn't leaving the hospital room. At all. He showered, ate and slept there. He stopped going to work. He stopped talking to anyone but Patrick. Sometimes he'd have conversations with him and speak for the unconscious man.

The sixth month scared the living hell out of Ryan.

Pete wasn't taking his medicine anymore. He was talking about crazy things. Like getting in his car and crashing on purpose so he could be in a dream state like Patrick. Ryan had to steal his car keys.

The seventh month is when Ryan stepped in.

He demanded that his bestfriend see a therapist. He threatened to have Pete taken to an insane asylum against his will if he didn't cooperate.

The eight month gave Ryan hope.

Pete was taking his medicine again. He was eating twice a day. Real food. And he sometimes left the room to go on walks outside of the hospital.

He was seeing the therapist four times a week. Ryan had no idea what was being said or happening during the sessions. But they were working so he didn't care.

By the end of the month Pete was going to work again. He was going home to sleep in his own bed twice a week. And he was speaking normally to Patrick when he held his hand now.

Today marked the start of the ninth month.

Ryan didn't know what to expect as he sat at his usual stop outside of Patrick's room door.

Pete was in there for about twenty minutes now but he wasn't speaking. He was just holding Patrick's hand as the tears slipped from his hazel eyes. He leaned over and wiped his bangs away from his face.

"Your hair is getting way too long. Brendon's probably going to sneak in and cut it again."

He laughed sadly.

"You know sometimes when I walk in I swear I see you blink or smile. And I think this is some cruel joke you all are playing on me."

He lifted their hands up and kissed Patrick's warm palm before holding it against his face.

"The doctors say you aren't improving. That you're the same as you were nine months ago. They think I should pull the plug."

His voice hardened.

"But I think they can all burn in hell. Who cares if you aren't improving? At least you aren't getting worse. I have enough money to keep you on life support until you wake up or I die. And that's what I plan to do."

He was silent for a while again.

Brendon walked up to the room. But Ryan grabbed his arm and stopped him before he could go in. He pressed his finger against his mouth. Then he pointed to the open door. Signaling for Brendon to shut up and listen.

So he did.

"My therapist, Dr. Hoppus, thinks I should move on. No one understands Patrick. No one understands how impossible that is. Or how much I love you."

Brendon placed his hands over his mouth to silence his gasp. He'd been so mean to Pete for so long. Blaming him for everything. How had he not noticed how broken the man was?

"But I need you to do something for me. I know you can hear me Patrick. I know you can! If I'm going to spend the rest of my life devoted to you, I need a sign that this is what you want. Twitch your eye. Smile. Hold up two fingers! Something!"

Pete stared at the man lying in the bed. Waiting for the movement he was begging for. Now the question was, how long was he willing to wait?