#i tried to add photos of my arm post surgery and my post disappeared so I will try again in a separate post

[mycelier]

My name is Simone and I would like to tell you a tale!

I will not have access to my laptop for some days more and because writing on my phone is kind of painful (physically, because I am working on hand mobility now), this may end up in drafts and taking a while to post. I am going to share what has been happening the last 2 months because I feel like everything went from 0 to 100 in the span of a few weeks and its been really, really wild.

So!!! LETTUCE begin!

For roughly 5 years I've been struggling to get a diagnosis on an extremely painful area of my arm. There was literally nothing visible; no lump, discoloration or any other physical abnormality to indicate anything was wrong. I spent thousands on pretty much every kind of imaging you can do, and was told time and time again that there was nothing wrong and, perhaps, it was psychosomatic and I needed therapy or, more often than not, I was given a shrug and a vague "i dunno" response.

This year, something changed. I deal with chronic pain (my spine is congenitally fused in my neck and lower spine and I have baby bone spurs all over), and in the process of trying to work on that I brought up my arm again to a dr I no longer see. He'd told me my arm was SEVERAL things over the years I had been seeing him but this time said it was a fibromyalgia knot, something I had been told by a team of doctors some time before that. I said okay cool and was sent to a physical therapy rehab center where the dr worked with myofascial release and stretches to help with injuries. This amazing man fixed my plantar fasciitis and helped get my chronic headaches under control but NOTHING we did helped my arm pain. Within a month he was worried bc we had started to notice that there was a hardness to the spot that never changed with any exercise or massage.

Worried that there was a nerve being trapped or crushed (another diagnosis I'd gotten over the years), this amazing man sent me to a neurosurgeon who immediately frowned and said he didn't think my neck pain and my arm pain were connected. He ordered an MRI of my arm and despite it not being visible on an MRI 2 years before, he found something PHYSICALLY THERE where I said I had pain. He considered doing the surgery to remove it (despite being a neurosurgeon he was fascinated with this weird horribly painful spot) but eventually sent me a surgeon for an oncology center, assuring me it was because this new surgeon was one of the best in Texas for removing soft tissue tumors, not because there was any thought of cancer.

I met with the surgeon who gave me one more diagnosis of an AVM (arteriovenous malformation), snd said they were benign and not necessary to remove as well as the possibility that if removed it would likely return. Truly, at this point after 5 years of constant nauseating horric pain when someone brushed against me or if I gently brushed against ANYRHING, a pain so bad that it had basically made me stop using my right arm as much as possible (of course I'm right handed lol), I said GET THAT FUCKER OUT OF THERE MAN and my first surgery was scheduled.

Surgery one occurred Nov 5th and was an out patient event. I went home and passed out. At some point my mom said that while I'd been in recovery the dr said the thing in my arm hadn't looked like what he expected so he had sent it to pathology. I went back to work and was hanging out until the Tuesday before Thanksgiving when I went in for a super immediate meeting with a different doctor who told me that what had been in my arm was a synovial sarcoma, aka, cancer! He, this incredibly kind man I did not know, gently discussed chemo and told me I needed to have a CT scan immediately. Based on the CT, i was either in stage one or stage four if it has spread to lungs. The day before Thanksgiving I received the news that it was stage one, it had not spread, and i was so fucking happy.

Then it was time talk about next steps. My surgeon marked out a circle on my arm to indicate how much he was gonna remove in order to guarantee clear margins..but it was not enough of a meeting for me to grasp the surgery I was about to receive.

The day of my second surgery, dec 8th, came quickly and i met with the plastic surgeon, the kindest, most patient man. He moved my arm around and explained how he was going to hijack a vein from my forearm in order to keep the blood flow health to the flap he was gonna take from the donor site: My inner thigh.

It has been 11 days and I am living in an inpatient rehab facility, working on dealing with the nerve damage/pain, the EXTREME pain of my donor site, and the lost mobility that I am working on getting back, both in my leg and my hand. The majorities of my arm is numb...except where the nerve pain burns my wrist and forearm and makes it painful to wear my arm sling (I can't fully extend my arm, nor can I lift, push, pull or use my arm in any way that would stress out my new arm flap). Also may have a brand new urinary tract infection but as I write this I'm chugging water for a urine sample to hopefully get that treated. Below are some pictures I have taken/had taken of my arm! Im not ready to look at my leg outside of the bandages (which, since having the wound vac removed today, hell yeah, will need daily dressing changes).

EDIT: I tried posting pictures of my arm last night and my post disappeared immediately so I will try to make a new post with these photos in case the whole post was erased because of them. I will tag them as post surgery photos. I do not consider them gory or excessive but hey that's just me.

I intend to post more things as I keep healing and as I gain more mobility. I was given "independence" in my room yesterday which means I can officially get up without any assistance needed (using my badass new cane to help me lift my foot in and out of bed)!!!! Which also means I can get up whenever I want without the bed alarm going off. I have a badass cane that has been the best tool in helping me get around (and has inspired my mom and others to suggest and look into getting me a cane sword which makes me laugh REAL hard). See below me using the cane to move my foot in and out of bed!

Part of why I'm posting this is because I really needed to talk about it and while later posts may not be this long or expository but I wanted to have a base post to explain other ones related to this one!!!

I will update with some newer pics tomorrow night when my mom comes by to help me take newer pics. The arm flap looks super healthy (according to the drs), and when they changed my leg dressing they said its looking really good and healthy!

I......also really wanted to post my Amazon wishlist. Due to this stupid wild bad lottery ticket, I've been struggling to pay my bills and rent but!!! I have good insurance, thankfully (since I live in the US and my hospital stay and this rehab stay would have more than bankrupted me), and im hoping my disability checks will get here in time for rent!!! I'm putting up my wishlist bc I can't afford some of the "essentials" on there and, also, because I havent been able to have any kind of comfort during any of this. I never ask for anything for holidays because usually i...dont want to burden people with spending money on me since I know how hard money is, especially right now. And if I don't have enough for rent later I might have to create a go fund me...but right now everything looks good for rent and bills just...not for anything fun.

Thank you so much for your time!!! And happy holidays you wild bastards!!!

https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/36PG6BAYD18U7?ref_=wl_share

[today-only-happens-once]

Red Light

Title: Red Light

Word count: 5083

Summary: College!AU. Logan gets a call in the middle of the night from Roman from the hospital. “Virgil… He’s…He’s in bad shape, Logan…” (Can-be-read-either-way Moxiety, Platonic LAMP/CALM. POV third limited to Logan (except for the very beginning))

Warnings: car crash, blood and injury, coma, angst, hurt/comfort, sleep deprivation, food mention, hospitals and ensuing personnel, medical things and hospital procedures might not be (definitely aren’t) accurate, borderline(?) panic attack, Roman feels guilty and insecure, Logan is just trying to keep it all together, arguing, the Sides are bad at taking care of themselves but they try to take care of one another, let me know if I forgot anything.

Prompt(s): “I know you can’t feel it, but I promise I’m holding your hand.”

A/N: What is this fic? I don’t know. I don’t even know if I like it, if I’m being honest with you, but I finished it and its long and I enjoyed the process of writing it, so I figured I might as well post it. I hope it turned out better than I feel like it did? Heh. Enjoy!

Tags: @creativenostalgiastuff, @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @lizaelsparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes

…

It came out of nowhere.

That’s what most of the witnesses would say to the police when they arrived.

The dark car interior floods with a bright yellow light.

A car horn nearly shatters their eardrums. Tires scream against the pavement.

VIRGIL!

Silence.

…

Logan Sanders’ phone ringing startles the young college student out of his sleep. He squints at the too-bright screen in the dark, blinking blearily at Roman’s Caller ID photo grinning at him. He frowns and runs a hand across his eyes before answering.

“Hello?”

A rush of indecipherable noise—high and panicked but unmistakably Roman’s voice—fills Logan’s ears.

“Whoa. Roman,” Logan says, his brow knit together in worry as he reaches for his glasses and pins the phone between his ear and his shoulder. “Slow down.”

“They just plowed through the red light and there was so much blood, Logan, I didn’t see them coming and I don’t know if he’s going to be okay and they won’t let me see him and—“

Logan is on his feet in seconds. “Roman,” Logan says his name again. He sounds significantly calmer than he feels. “Where are you?”

“Valley West Hospital.”

He gives Patton’s sleeping shoulder a shove to wake him up as he speaks into the phone. “You’re in the hospital?” Those four words jolt Patton Foster to his feet almost as fast as Logan got to his.

“I’m at the hospital. Virgil… He’s…He’s in bad shape, Logan…”

“Patton and I are on our way, Ro,” Logan tells him, the rare nickname slipping out as he jams his feet into the nearest pair of shoes. “We’ll be right there. I’m gonna hand the phone to Patton so that I can drive, but I want you to stay on the line with us, okay?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah, okay.”

…

“Roman.”

Roman Prince sits in the corner of the waiting area with his head in his hands. He’s got a heavy bandage on his forehead. His nose is caked with dried blood. He looks up when Logan says his name. He’s pale, disheveled, his eyes rimmed red from stale tears. Patton wastes no time in pulling him to his feet in a crushing hug.

Logan hears the sharp inhale and notices Roman’s wince. “Easy, Pat,” he says softly.

“Right, sorry.” Patton lets go, holding Roman at arm’s length. “Are you okay?”

Something crosses Roman’s eyes that Logan can’t quite decipher. “I… Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

Roman nods, then stops himself. He lifts a shoulder. “I’ve got a cracked rib or two.” His gaze seems distant. “This is all my fault.”

“Kiddo…”

Logan frowns. “Roman, you said they ran a red light. That hardly makes this your fault.”

“But I-I should’ve seen them coming. There was…” Roman takes in a shaking breath, then cuts it off with a wince. Logan sees Patton squeeze his arms for a moment before pulling back. Roman gives him a weak but appreciative smile.

Patton hesitates, then asks, “Have you heard anything about Virge?”

Roman shakes his head. “They haven’t told me anything. I’ve tried.”

Patton tries to hide his disappointment at the news. Logan sighs as he glances down at his feet. He’s still in constellation pajama pants and a faded dark blue t-shirt with the college’s logo across the front. Neither he nor Patton had changed out of their pajamas before rushing for the car. Logan hadn’t even put socks on before he’d shoved his feet into the nearest pair of sneakers.

He takes a closer look at Roman. There’s a small blood stain the edge of his long sleeves, and Logan is reasonably confident it’s not Roman’s. Virgil’s? Logan has the feeling that its best not to ask.

“Logan?” Patton asks, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he turns on his heels and heads straight for the front desk.

The nurse looks up as he approaches, giving him a soft and faintly sympathetic smile. Logan tries his best to muster a smile in return. He has no doubt that in addition to his rumpled pajamas, he probably looks like a bit of a mess. They all do.

“Hi,” the nurse says, softly and warmly. “Can I help you?”

“Hello.” Logan adjusts the frame of his glasses. “A friend of ours was admitted a few hours ago. We were wondering if we might be able to get some information.”

“What’s their name?”

“Virgil Shea.”

“Let me see what I can do.”

Then nurse taps away on her keyboard and Logan chances a glance back at his two friends. Both of them have sat down, Roman resting his head in his hands—Logan makes a note to ask if Roman might also have a concussion—and Patton is rubbing his back, saying something softly even as he has this lost look in his eyes.

“Mr. Shea is currently in surgery,” the nurse says. “I’m afraid that’s all I’m able to tell you.”

Logan turns suddenly. “He’s in surgery?”

The nurse looks sympathetic again. “Yes, honey. I’m sure that a doctor will come to update friends and family soon.”

His friends are his family, Logan wants to tell her. He holds his tongue. The nurse is just doing her job. Logan knows the flash of frustration is misplaced, and forces a smile and nod before running a hand through his hair and blowing out a breath.

It’s going to be a long night.

…

As the doctor speaks, Logan glances at Patton out of the corner of his eye. He looks like he’s about to fall over. Logan subtly places a hand on his shoulder to steady him. Patton’s light brown eyes are wide and exhausted and fearful. Roman doesn’t look much better.

“What-what do you mean?” Patton asks.

“This isn’t to say that he will never wake up,” the doctor adds, glancing at Logan. There’s a solemnity in his eyes that makes Logan’s stomach squirm uncomfortably. “Just that we don’t know for sure.”

“What can we do?” Patton is practically pleading. Roman’s jaw clenches. Logan has never felt so helpless before in his life.

“Hope and pray, I’m afraid. You can see him, if you’d like. Room 348.”

Roman doesn’t wait. He wordlessly brushes past the doctor and makes a beeline for the door. Patton pauses only long enough to say ‘thank you’ to the doctor before following Roman. Logan lingers behind.

“What are his chances, doctor?” Logan asks, steeling himself. “Really.”

The doctor gives him a long, patient look. “He’s stable. And there is always hope.”

Logan nods absently. He had been hoping for something more definitive. Something reliable. “Thank you. Really. And… I’m sorry about Roman. He’s a little… upset right now. We all are. But we appreciate everything you’ve done for our friend.”

For the first time, the doctor smiles. “I became worried when his sheet didn’t list any family. I’m glad to see he’s got you three. Gives him something to fight for.”

Logan doesn’t know how to respond to that. He just nods.

…

Virgil looks… not good.

There’s a dark, swollen bruise on his left temple, small cuts along his nose and collarbone that disappear underneath the thin hospital gown. He’s got an IV in his arm, the steady beep of the machines managing to cut through the shocked silence that had settled between the three.

“Virge…” Patton’s voice cracks. He rushes across the room to stand at the side of the hospital bed. Patton reaches a hand out towards his face, then hesitates.

“You won’t hurt him, Pat,” Logan tells him softly.

Patton glances back at him, then lets his hand gently brush the long bangs out of Virgil’s face. It’s tender. Gentle, even as Logan can see Patton bite his lip and his eyes shining with unshed tears. Wordlessly, Logan crosses deeper into the room and grabs the armchair in the corner.

With a quiet grunt of effort, Logan pushes the chair closer to the bed behind Patton. He nudges him to sit. Patton does so without taking his eyes off of Virgil, sinking into the chair.

“Thanks, Logan,” Patton says with a certain detachment. Logan doesn’t take it personally. They’re all still in shock.

Logan glances at the doorway, suddenly realizing that Roman had frozen as soon as he’d seen Virgil. He still hasn’t moved, but he looks almost as pale as Virgil does.

“Are you all right?”

The young theatre major turns a pained, horrified gaze onto Logan.

“I…”

Logan takes a step towards him but Roman has already disappeared down the hallway.

…

“Roman?”

Logan steps into the bathroom, admittedly relieved to find it empty save for his friend and himself. Roman is gripping the edge of the sink at the far end. His face is wet, the faucet is still running. At the sound of his name, Roman looks at Logan through the reflection in the mirror before turning the faucet off.

“I’m sorry, Logan.” He swallows. “I just… seeing him like that…”

“The doctor said he was stable,” Logan replies. It sounds more matter-of-fact—less comforting—than he really means it.

“He also said that they don’t know when, or if, Virgil will ever wake up,” Roman snaps, then averts his gaze. His voice softens. “And it’s not just that. I can’t… stop seeing him right after the crash. He was unconscious and half of his face was covered in blood, slumped over his seatbelt, and I couldn’t tell with the airbag whether or not he was breathing and I thought maybe he was dead, and—“

“Roman,” Logan says firmly, crossing the short distance between them. “Breathe.”

But Roman doesn’t even acknowledge him. “Someone was screaming, and maybe it was me, but I just wanted him to answer me and I could smell burnt rubber and there was glass everywhere and—“

“Hey.”

“I should have seen them coming, I should have swerved sooner, I should have—“

“Roman.” Logan grabs his friend’s shoulders. “Breathe.”

“Logan, I—,” Roman hiccups.

“Here. In for four seconds. Ready?” As Logan counts, he keeps his hands gripping his friend’s shoulders. “Hold for seven seconds.” He counts out loud again, watching Roman close his eyes and fight to obey Logan’s gentle commands. “Out for eight seconds.”

Logan walks him through the exercise a few more times, gradually relaxing his grip with each new try. After a few times, Roman’s breathing isn’t quite as shallow and he doesn’t seem to be spiraling in quite the same way he had been a minute ago. Logan feels something relax in himself too.

Roman brushes the back of his hand across his eyes, offering an embarrassed smile. Logan just squeezes his shoulders one last time before letting his arms fall. “You wanna head back?” he asks.

Roman tries to take in a deep breath. He winces—cracked ribs, Logan remembers—before nodding. “Yeah.”

…

“Patton, you really should eat something.”

“Hm?”

Logan sets the sandwich, bag of chips, and bottle of water down on the nightstand beside the arm chair. Virgil has been in the hospital for about a day and a half. Logan had offered to go back to their apartment and grab some necessities. A change of clothes for everyone but Virgil, a few board games, everyone’s homework, assorted phone chargers, et cetera.

Logan had also emailed his professors to explain his absence from class. Being an exceptional student, the professors that had responded had been very understanding so far. He’d also done enough digging to find Virgil’s professors and email them to inform them of the situation. He’d encouraged Patton and Roman to do the same.

Now to convince both Roman and Patton to eat something. Logan had scarfed down a bagel with some cream cheese about an hour ago. He’d lost track of how many cups of coffee he’d consumed at this point.

“You need to eat,” Logan repeats.

“Oh,” he says, like the thought hadn’t occurred to him. He looks at the food Logan had tossed onto the table. “Thanks, Logan.”

“Yeah,” Logan says, rubbing a hand across his eyes under his glasses. “Don’t mention it.”

Roman’s soft snoring fills the brief silence. He’s sprawled out on the too-small couch, one arm thrown over his eyes. A forgotten Communications 101 textbook lays open on his chest, an uncapped highlighter tucked between the pages. Patton follows Logan’s gaze as he watches him sleep and smiles softly.

“Poor kid,” Patton says softly. “He’s been taking this really hard.”

Logan glances at him—sees the dark circles starting to form under Patton’s eyes—and knows Roman isn’t the only one. Logan lets the comment slide. Instead, he walks over to Roman and carefully lifts the book off his chest and closes it, setting it beside his backpack.

He grabs the thin blanket off the floor and drapes it over him.

…

“We have bigger things to worry about, Logan!” Roman shouts at him.

“Guys.”

Logan isn’t sure how they ended up here. He had come into the room with a new pile of homework and had mentioned an inquiring email from his physics professor about when he could be expected back into class. Next thing Logan knew, Roman was shouting at him about his priorities.

Logan throws his hands up, his own frustration flaring. “Failing out of college isn’t going to help him, Roman, and it’s not going to help you.”

Roman shakes his head, his jaw clenched. “So we’re just supposed to go about our lives as usual? Act like everything is normal?”

“Of course not! But we can’t live our lives in this room waiting for something when we don’t know when it will happen.”

“Guys,” Patton tries again, “C’mon. Don’t do this.”

Roman turns a fiery gaze onto Logan. “Well, I’m sorry if I want to put my friends before my grades, unlike some people.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Patton’s eyes widen. “Roman, that was—“

“I think I was pretty clear, Logan,” Roman growls. “Patton and I aren’t you. You can just… turn off your emotions but—“

Logan slams the heavy Statics textbook in his lap closed and jumps to his feet. “Falsehood,” he snaps, furious. “You think this isn’t affecting me? You think not knowing isn’t—“ Logan cuts himself off abruptly as his voice wavers. His eyes burn. There’s a beat of silence.

“Logan, I—“ Roman starts, but Logan shakes his head and walks out of the room.

…

Four days. Virgil has been in the hospital for four days. In those four days, Logan has had about two and a half hours of sleep.

The apartment is too quiet now. Forgotten dishes lay piled in the sink. Shoes scattered the floor, as do half-filled notebooks and a few wrappers here and there. The only one who had been in the apartment the last few days had been Logan, always offering to be the one to run back and get laptops, books, clothes. Logan knew he’d be hard pressed to get Patton to move from Virgil’s side for long (Patton slept either in the chair or on the couch), and Roman was still understandably skittish about the idea of driving—though the young man’s ego would never let him admit as much.

It was just as well. Logan didn’t mind making the run back to the apartment too much.

Logan strides through the apartment and grabs the textbook Roman had requested off his desk—Shakespeare and Other Influential Playwrights—and is on his way quickly back out when he trips over Virgil’s backpack.

He stumbles before righting himself. His vision abruptly blurs.

He scoffs—wet and shaky—and brushes the back of his hand across his eyes. Don’t be stupid, he tells himself. All you did was trip over a backpack. That’s it.

Except that isn’t it. Because it was Virgil’s backpack. Logan had momentarily lost control when he tripped over it. Logan always had control. Over himself and over situations. Logic and reasoning allowed him predict events with relatively reliable accuracy, and therefore prepare for potential outcomes. Logan had always found comfort in it. But now…

Even though every fiber of his being is telling him that the sudden tidal wave of emotions over something so small is illogical, Logan can’t help but feel like losing control of his footing was losing the last semblance of control he had.

The tears come hard and fast and Logan stands there in the empty apartment and listens to the too-loud silence until he’s calm enough to pick the book back up and lock the door behind him.

...

“Lo?”

“Yeah?”

“When was the last time you slept?”

Logan shrugs. “Yesterday,” he says dismissively. He fiddles with the Rubix cube in his hands, glancing up from it to lock gazes with Patton.

He shakes his head. “For longer than twenty minutes at a time.”

Logan barely holds back a sigh, knowing Patton isn’t going to like the answer. He offers his friend a wry smile and tries to deflect it instead. “I appreciate the concern, Pat, but I’m fine. I’m an engineering major, remember? Used to running on no sleep.”

Patton’s frown deepens. His dark brown eyes are sad but sincere. “Logan, don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?”

The knowing look in Patton’s eyes makes him feel suddenly exposed. “Kiddo, you can’t just run on coffee. We’ve got one of us in the hospital already. I don’t think Ro and I could take it if it was both of you.”

Logan can feel the fight bleeding out of him. “Patton, I…” He doesn’t know what to say. How to explain this to him. He sets the Rubix cube back on the table.

“What is it?”

“I’m…” Logan sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He’s exhausted. He can feel that in his bones. And yet… “I can’t.”

Something softens even more in Patton’s expression. “What do you mean?”

Logan glances at Virgil—still pale, still unconscious, his bruises have darkened, his cuts have scabbed over, his chest rises and falls with quiet routine breaths—and swallows past the lump that has started to form in his throat. He shakes his head. “It’s illogical.”

“Doesn’t mean it isn’t real, kiddo.”

He doesn’t reply right away. “I can’t… relax, Patton.”

Patton purses his lips. “Can’t because you physically can’t, or because you’re afraid to?”

Logan looks at his hands. Leave it to Patton to see right through him. He still doesn’t know how to explain this. Talking about feelings and emotions had never been something he was particularly good at. He felt like he barely understood it himself. All he really knows is that if he tries to let himself fall asleep, there’s a good chance he’s just going to fall apart instead.

He isn’t supposed to be the emotional one. He’s supposed to be the rock of the group. Especially now. Especially for Patton and Roman.

“Logan,” Patton says when Logan remains silent. “We’re here for you too, okay? We’re all going through this together.”

Logan doesn’t trust himself to speak. He just nods.

Patton gives him a small, sympathetic smile. “Please, Logan. You can sleep on the couch, if you want. You’ll be right here if anything happens, and we’ll be right here with you. When Roman comes back from the cafeteria, I’ll make sure he knows to keep quiet. But please… get some sleep before you just collapse.”

Logan hesitates, then nods again. “You’re right, Patton. I… thank you.” He pushes himself out of the chair and moves to the sofa, stretching out along the length of it and closing his eyes. Had the hospital couch always felt this comfortable?

“Don’t mention it, kiddo.”

…

The engineering major has a cup of coffee in his hands the next day when he rounds into room 348. He’d memorized the pathway from the main entrance to this room so well that he’s reasonably confident he could walk it blindfolded. He stops short in the doorway, however, when he realizes that Patton is talking.

“So anyway, I guess the moral of the story is to not eat fifteen cupcakes before accepting a challenge to run a race against your cousin. Suffice it to say that he won,” Patton says, breaking off with a faint, weak imitation of his usual laugh.

“I know we didn’t know each other then,” Patton continues, “but I’m pretty sure that if we did you would’ve convinced me that doing that was a bad idea.” Logan quietly leans against the doorway, watching as Patton squeezes Virgil’s hand. “All the more evidence that… I need ya back, kiddo.”

Patton reaches up and brushes Virgil’s long bangs out of his eyes, letting his thumb brush his cheekbone before pulling his hand back. He grabs Virgil’s hand again. “I know you can’t feel it, but I promise I’m holding your hand. I’m not letting go, so you’re not allowed to either. Okay? I’m… we’re all struggling without you.”

Logan swallows and looks at his shoes for a moment. He feels someone come up behind him, and pause. They place a hand briefly between Logan’s shoulder blades. He looks up. It’s Roman.

“He’s right, Virge,” Roman says, announcing his presence as he steps away from Logan and further into the room.

Logan adjusts the frame of his glasses before slipping his hands into his pockets and following Roman to stand on the other side of Patton. Someone squeezes his shoulder, but Logan doesn’t take his gaze off of the young man in the hospital bed. He looks smaller somehow. More fragile, even though Logan has believed for quite some time that Virgil was perhaps the strongest one of the four of them.

Logan doesn’t know if Virgil can hear them. “We need you, Virgil.”

…

There’s a quiet knock on the door. All three of the young men share a glance. They were all in the room, and the nurses and doctors usually just came in. Roman had already given his statement to the police earlier on. Appearing the in ajar doorway is an older man—Logan guessed in his early 40s—with a trimmed beard and receding hair line.

He awkwardly clears his throat and nudges the door open a bit more.

Roman makes a noise in the back of his throat that catches Logan’s attention. When he looks over, he notices the color has drained from his face. His eyes look almost murderous. It takes Logan about a second longer to figure it out. He was the other driver. The one who ran the light.

“What do you want?” Roman asks, slowly rising to his feet.

Patton frowns, looking to Logan in confusion. Logan meets his gaze for a moment before standing up as well. Patton stays sitting in the arm chair beside Virgil. Both Roman and Logan move to stand protectively at the foot of the bed, barring the man’s view of Virgil.

The man holds his hands up. “I’m sorry, I feel terrible about what happened. I just wanted to check in on the kid—“

“He’s in a coma,” Logan tells him pointedly, not buying the clearly flimsy excuse. “So if you were coming to see if he was going to press charges, he’s not the one to talk to.”

“Your light was red,” Roman says in a low voice. He’s practically shaking. “Red.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Logan sees Patton’s eyes alight with understanding. They quickly turn apprehensive. “Roman, maybe something was wrong with his car. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

The man averts his gaze. Logan feels a swell of anger. “Is that the case, sir?” Logan already knows the answer. And perhaps it is petty of him, but he wants to make the man admit it out loud.

The man scratches the back of his neck. “Well, not… not exactly.”

Logan silently arches an eyebrow. He sees Roman clench his fists at his sides.

“Look, I’m sorry,” the man blurts out. “I didn’t mean to hit you or the kid—“

“Virgil Shea,” Roman bites back. There’s a faint tremor in his voice but Logan isn’t sure if it’s from anger or something else.

“What?”

“His name is Virgil Shea,” Logan repeats for him. “He is 20 years old. He is a junior graphic design major. His name is Virgil Shea, and we would appreciate it if you would use it.”

He glances at Roman beside him. His hands are shaking, and Logan takes a step forward, putting himself between Roman and the man standing in the doorway. The man stammers out embarrassed apologies, glances at Logan once more, and then hurries out of the room.

The door closes behind him.

…

Virgil has been in the hospital for a full week when Patton stands up so fast he nearly falls over. Logan looks up from his textbook, a crease appearing between his brows.

“Patton? Are you all right?”

“I…” Patton’s eyes are wide as he glances at the engineering major before looking back fixedly on the young man in the hospital bed. “Virgil? Honey, are you awake?”

Logan feels his own eyes widen, even as concern and doubt constricts in his chest. “Pat…”

“He squeezed my hand, Logan,” Patton tells him, with so much certainty and confidence that Logan pauses.

Logan opens his mouth but it snaps shut when he sees Virgil’s other hand twitch against the thin blanket. He’s on his feet in the next second, his book spilling from his lap and onto the floor. The heavy thud startles Roman awake from his nap.

“What?” Roman says, bolting upright. Nobody answers him, all too shocked and hesitantly hopeful to pay the question much mind. Logan crosses over to stand at the side of the hospital bed opposite Patton. Roman slowly walks to stand beside him. He looks both hopeful and afraid that the hope is misplaced. Logan understands the feeling.

Patton brushes his fingers through Virgil’s bangs. “Virgil? Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?”

Logan sees his fingers twitch again and grabs his hand. He watches the faint, steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath. It makes Logan realize that he’s holding his. In fact, Logan is pretty sure that—for just a moment—Virgil is the only one breathing in the room.

Virgil’s breath catches before he takes in a much deeper breath.

Logan can feel his heart in his throat. Roman looks like he’s either going break out in song or collapse entirely. Patton bites his lip.

And then Virgil’s eyelashes flutter open. Patton releases a sound that sounds like something between a sob and a laugh. Virgil squints at the bright fluorescent hospital lights. Logan rushes over to the wall and flips the switch. Only the lamp in the corner and the late afternoon sun streaming in through the blinds keeps the room from being plunged into darkness.

“Virgil?” Roman asks.

Virgil looks confused for a moment before his light brown gaze finds Patton, then Roman, then Logan as the latter comes to stand beside the bed again. Logan presses the call button on the wall.

“What…?” Virgil says, his voice like sandpaper.

“Sssh,” Patton soothes. “Easy, Virge. You’re in the hospital. We’re here. It’ll be okay.”

There’s a soft knock on the door as a nurse hurries in. Logan steps back from the bed to let the nurse have easier access to the machines and vitals she needed to take from Virgil. For the first time in a week, Logan feels like maybe Patton is right.

It’ll be okay.

…

A little over a week later, Virgil sits on the edge of the hospital bed in his classic purple shirt and hoodie. He’s nodding along as the doctor gives him instructions about the various medications he needs to take, when his next follow up appointment is, how he shouldn’t rush into anything strenuous just yet, to take it easy mentally given his relatively serious concussion, and so on.

Logan listens carefully as well, taking mental note of dates of appointments and amount of medication just in case Virgil forgets (because Logan knows he isn’t going to want to call the doctor’s to double check, but those details are important). Patton hovers worriedly. Roman leans against the wall with his hands in his pockets but Logan can tell he’s just as anxious to get out of the room as Virgil evidently is.

“You know,” the doctor says at the conclusion of his instructions, “I think some of the nurses are going to miss seeing you all around. They got used to it these past couple of weeks. Not that we aren’t glad you’re well enough to leave, Virgil.”

“Well, of course!” Patton interjects, practically beaming. Logan shakes his head, even though a small part of him has to admit that he’d missed Patton’s brightness. It was nice to see it back in full force.

The corner of Roman’s mouth twitches. “This room was basically our home away from home these past few weeks. But I am hardly saddened to bid it adieu.”

“Likewise,” Logan adds, shifting his glasses further up his nose. “As grateful as I am for everything the staff here was able to do for Virgil and to accommodate us, I also hope to not be back for any extended period of time soon.”

Virgil scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I, um… sorry, guys.”

“Nonsense,” Logan replies. “None of what happened was your fault. Any of you,” he adds, throwing a pointed look to Roman. The young theatre major looks away.

Virgil shrugs, then grimaces slightly. “Yeah, but still. I’m sorry I worried you. I’m… not really worth all the trouble you went through.”

“Falsehood.”

“You’re our best friend, Virge,” Roman speaks up emphatically. “We’d do it all again if we had to. Not that we’re trying to do this again,” he adds in a rush.

Patton jabs a finger at Virgil. “If you keep being self-deprecating, I will physically fight you, Virgil Shea.”

The doctor chuckles. “I’m not sure I would advise that course of action, Mr. Foster.” There’s an amused twinkle in his eye before he nods back at Virgil. “Make sure you follow my directions, and you should be back to normal before you know it. Just don’t rush anything. Let your friends help you. You’re in good hands, it seems.”

“Yeah,” Virgil says with a small, shy smile as he glances around at the three of them. “I am.”

…