Manthony ✨

No, I Don't Think So

~ NO, I DON'T THINK SO ~

ATTENTION: This is FANFICTION and none of this is CONFIRMED. No hate to ANY of the Chase Atlantic members or their girlfriends, please! Enjoy <3

~Christian~

The hospital lights are far too bright, making pain sear through my head as I squint my eyes, the room spinning. There's a ringing in my ears and my throat feels drier than a desert. I open my mouth to speak but barely any words come out, at least not in a normal way. I feel someone's hand on my forearm and when I turn to look at them the light shines brightly over their face, blocking my vision,

"Who-" I start but someone hands me a cup and tells me to drink. I'm in no position to object so I tilt the glass back and feel relief swim through my system as the cold liquid runs down my throat. After a couple of minutes, my vision returns and I take deep breaths, my eyes meeting Mitchel's as he holds my arm,

"Hey, you okay, bub?" He asks and I nod my head gently, turning to see an IV in my arm. I sigh,

"What the hell happened, Mitch?" I ask and he takes a seat, holding my hand now,

"You passed out, must've been heat stroke or something," he says and I groan, my head aching like hell,

"I need some Tylenol or something," I mutter, rubbing my temples just as a nurse walks in,

"How are you feeling Mr. Anthony?" She asks and I take another sip of my water,

"Okay, I guess, but I have a killer headache,"

"I'll go get you some medicine for that, in the meantime, please try to finish that glass of water," she smiles kindly and walks out, heading down the hall,

"How long have I been here?" I ask Mitty and he leans back,

"About a day, you're severely dehydrated, man," he rubs his eyes, "I told you you should've been drinking more water," he rolls his eyes and I start to laugh before coughing,

"Sorry, I guess I just forget to," I lay back and close my eyes,

"Well, I'll be your personal reminder," he winks and I playfully slap him, eyes still closed, a smile on my lips. I hear the nurse walk back in,

"Here's another cup of water and the pill," she hands me a little cup with the medicine in it and I knock it back, followed by some water, "You should be good to go home in an hour or so, we just need to have you check out with the receptionist," she informs me and I nod, giving her my thanks before she leaves again,

"I missed you," Mitchel says quietly, "You really scared me, Kras," he looks at me with those storm cloud eyes and I frown slightly,

"I'm sorry, my love, I'll drink more water, okay?" I squeeze his hand and he nods,

"You better," he says, before leaning in and whispering, "Or no head," and I blush, earning a wink from him, his eyes swirling with sparkles that mimic lightning.

A few hours later

I stare out the window, trying not to focus on my gaunt reflection in the glass. Mitchel's driving with Clinton in the passenger seat and I feel something strange inside of me: almost like something dark has been planted inside my heart. A sudden sadness washes over me and I roll down the window, letting the night air kiss my face. I wonder, have I been pushing everything to that small, dark corner of my mind? The question feels rhetorical, unanswerable, impossible, so I just close my eyes and let the wind tangle my hair.

~Mitchel~

He doesn't speak. It's almost as if he's not even there, the only noise is the wind through his blonde hair as I glance at him from the mirror. Something feels different about him: he seems distant, aloof. When we get home, I ask how his head's feeling and he mumbles something incoherent and crawls into bed. I frown, but leave it be and go to the kitchen, getting out some stuff to cook so he has food when he wakes up, but hours later, when dinner's sitting on the table and Clinton and I are eating, he doesn't come out to eat, and when I go into our room to ask him if he wants to come eat with us, he mentions that he's not hungry. Something's wrong and I can feel it,

"He's not coming?" Clinton asks as I sit back down,

"No, he said he's not hungry," I say and he frowns, taking another bite,

"Is he okay?" He asks and I glance over at the bedroom door, sitting slightly ajar,

"No, I don't think so,"