Play my heart

Chapter XX

"Listen, you're really cute, but my arm's kinda dying, wake up."

Some jostling under his head makes him grunt in his sleep; he squeezes his eyes shut tighter, unwilling to wake up just yet. The jostling only intensifies.

"Move, idiot, you're heavy."

The annoying voice makes its way through his muddled brain, and a series of alarms start going off one by one. Darren blinks, the white lights far too bright for his poor eyesight, and grimaces as he sits up. A sharp pain shoots down his stiff neck. Rubbing his eyes to get them open, he can already feel his mood souring.

"Well hello there, sleepyhead."

Darren freezes. Slowly, he takes his hands away from his eyes and peers at the boy in the hospital bed.

Dark eyes stare back at him, alert and unyielding. As he watches, the boy struggles to sit up, resting his back against the wall, and stretches his right fingers.

His vision goes blurry, something hot rolls down his cheeks.

"Oi- what the fuck."

Lee's awake.

A hysterical kind of laugh bubbles from the back of Darren's throat as he makes to wipe at his tears. Why is he crying? His thoughts turn into a rondo, going back over and over again to the same theme: he's awake, he's awake, he's awake.

Awake enough to send him a puzzled look, forehead wrinkled and right hand hanging awkwardly in the air between them. Darren's tears stick to his fingers, but more and more keep coming behind them.

"You bastard," he manages, breathless. "I was so worried, what the hell."

He gets the feeling his face might be bright red, though it doesn't really matter at this moment. Lee is awake, he's talking as if nothing had happened, he's alright, he's gonna be just fine. The crushing weight in his chest goes away, causing more tears to come rushing out.

"H-hey," Lee tries. He stretches an arm until his fingertips graze Darren's wrist. "Stop that. I'm fine, see? You're making this weird."

He's not wrong. Darren shakes his head and swallows through the knot in his throat, wiping away at the last stray tears and holding back the rest. Lee appears clearer on his vision then, bruises and scrapes standing out against his tan skin. Even like this, injured and tousled and confused, Darren could stand to look at him for hours. Which doesn't mean anything.

"That's what you get," Darren says, lowering his hands to his lap.

"Tch." Lee averts his gaze and bites the inside of his cheek. His face grows serious for a bit: "M'sorry."

Darren blinks. A hesitant smile tugs at his lips.

"It's okay." You're okay, is what he means. Lee doesn't seem convinced. "It's alright, hey. How are you feeling?"

Through gritted teeth and with feigned nonchalance, Lee admits his head and his ribs hurt like hell, though that was to be expected. He can move his right hand just fine—he proves that much and proceeds to complain about Darren drooling on his arm.

"Shut up," Darren quips. "I've been up since before sunrise, had enough of a hectic day before lunch, and then you go and do this. Give me a break."

Lee snickers, but it soon turns into a pained growl as he holds his rib cage. Darren presses his lips in a tight line full of concern until Lee waves him off, rolling his eyes.

"It's nothing."

"Right."

A nurse shows up then, checks over Lee's vitals and asks him some routine questions to make sure everything's alright. It is, for the most part, but she tells him he's going to have to stay for at least four days more, for some or other reason Darren doesn't listen to. She's gone after a few minutes.