Help Me

He Woke Up

Rye

Rye hadn't left Mikey's side in over two days.

They had originally made a rota, wherein someone was always with Mikey, talking to him, and keeping him company, just watching over him.
But recently Rye had taken over that role. The boys would still turn up for their shift, but Rye would refuse to leave, only briefly popping out to use the toilet, or to get changed into the clothes the boys had brought in that day. They always brought food aswell.

Rye ended up sleeping with his head on Mikey's bed, having pulled the chair close enough to hold his hand.

Rye watched his friend like a hawk. The bruises to his neck and face slowly healed over the course of a few days, but they still lingered on Mikey's skin like shadows. The cuts on his face and chest were still very much prominent, and Rye feared that they would scar. He wouldn't mind them himself, but he knew that Mikey's self esteem wasn't the best in the band. He hated to think how Mikey would react. What had he even been thinking?

Mikey was shirtless, with thick bandages wrapped around his waist, containing the line of stitches needed to close the stab wound. He was so pale, and Rye just watched his friend breathe.

In, and out, in, and out... A pattern he had observed many times.

Then Mikey squeezed his hand. Rye's eyes widened, and squeezed back, waiting, waiting for a sign...
Nothing. Had he imagined it?
Mikey's fingers twitched, and then he was still.
Rye felt relief flood his body, looking up with bright eyes as Jack walked in.

"He squeezed my hand Jack."
"Are you serious?" He replied, dropping heavily into the chair on the other side of the bed.
"Yeah... But it's a start though, right?" Rye asked, and Jack smiled.
"He'll wake up soon Rye, you'll see." Jack spoke, picking up Mikey's other hand and holding it between both of his.

***

Two days later Rye shot up, wide awake, and he felt Mikey squeeze his hand again, before softly letting out a moan.
"Mikey?" He asked timidly, praying that this was the moment where Mikey finally woke up. He'd been talking to himself all day.
A soft groan was heard, and he saw Mikey's hand unconsciously move to his waist, and watched as his knee jerked slightly.

Rye immediately pressed the button beside the bed, alerting the doctors. It was clear that Mikey was in pain, and it hurt Rye to see it.
Rye watched carefully, watching his chest move up and down quicker than normal, small shaky gasps escaping is mouth. Rye ran a hand through his hair to try to calm him, and he shifted his head in distress, turning to face Rye unknowingly.
"C'mon Mikey... Wake up." He pleaded, looking up as the doctor came bustling through the door.
"He's... I think he's trying to wake up, but he's still in so much pain." Rye said softly, over the beeping of the monitors.
The doctor nodded. "I'll administer this, and he should go right back to sleep."
Rye felt a tear trickle down his face as he nodded.

He looked away when the needle was injected, instead staring at Mikey's face for a sign... For any sign...

The stress lines around his forehead slowly began to fade with each passing second, and Rye watched in relief as Mikey relaxed back onto the bed.
"He should stay like this now until he wakes up." The doctor spoke, watching Mikey with something akin to pity.
"Thankyou." Rye whispered, brushing a strand of hair out of Mikey's face. He heard the door close, and couldn't stop the tears from spilling.