Don't Go

Tom, Eric, Brandon and Mikaela were partway through another YouTube live stream in which they were playing Cards Against Humanity. The room was filled with giggles, smirks and playful nudges all around, as well as grateful shoutouts to their many avid fans that kindly donated to their pay checks. It was late in the evening, nearing nine o'clock, so the four were among the only ones left in the building; their film crew had been condensed down to only two people, and everyone else had headed home for the day.

Despite it being mid-Spring, it was already dark and bitter out, and Eric had not long slipped his denim jacket back on. All day, the Sun had shone pleasantly and the studio had been warmed through, so jackets and jumpers had been discarded early on. Tom's was still strewn across an empty seat in the break room. He had arrived at the studio flustered and agitated that morning, and it had only worsened throughout the day. In his eyes, nothing was particularly wrong or out of the ordinary—except the aches and pains gnawing at his stomach. They had kept him up most of the previous night, and unsettled him all day. Ignoring his own constant fidgeting and anxious lip-biting, he still ate and drank as usual, so it was only a natural stomach ache, wasn't it?

"Okay, and we'd like to give shoutouts to SailorHearth, Wyldfyre25565, BambooPony7, CaféIori and Gibbigob! Also, we have a message from DottedCube in the UK who has just donated £10!"

A small cheer arose from Brandon and Mikaela, thanking their fan and waiting eagerly for Eric to read out the message. Tom managed a small smile and a thumbs up, which was a far more reserved reaction compared to normal.

"And the message is: 'Tom's looking a little pale. Is he alright?'."

The trio all turned to wordlessly interrogate Tom, who was busy maintaining the brightest expression he could muster.

"I'm fine, really, just...tired," he mumbled.

"Do you need a break or something?" Eric asked, comfortingly resting a hand on his shoulder.

"No, let's carry on. Who's turn is it?"

So, their game continued half an hour longer. All while laughing and joking with the others, Eric kept a keen eye on Tom. He had grown increasingly agitated, seemingly not knowing whether to hunch over or to straighten his spine, unable to decide between clasping his hands on the table or clutching at his stomach. His breathing had become more laboured and his nostrils were flared.

"Your turn, Tom!" Mikaela sung out, leaning over to wave her hand in front of his face to bring him forth from his thoughts.

He proceeded to read out the next black card, but not before wiping the crowded beads of sweat from his brow.

"You sure you're feeling okay?" Eric whispered while Brandon was still fussing over his white card.

Tom hummed a quick response and gave a little smile. That smile was replaced all too soon by a horrifically-pained expression. BANG! His head hit the table hard, sending cards flying everywhere. Messages were pouring in left, right and centre at an unbelievable frequency, all concerned for the young man whose head had involuntarily met the desk. Everyone was on their feet, rushing forward to tend to their friend.

"I'll—I'll call an ambulance," Brandon announced among the chaos, stepping outside with his phone at hand.

"Tom? C'mon, please wake up," Eric begged, taking hold of his shoulders and gently jostling him.

There was no response.

"Wait, don't do that! He should probably stay still," Mikaela urged.

In a state of defiance, Eric latched onto Tom, refusing to leave his side. His indigo nails dug into his arms deeper and deeper until their friend had to force him away.