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"𝐈'𝐦 𝐬𝐨 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐉."
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Beeping wakes him up.
When he opens his eyes, he immediately knows he's in the hospital. He just doesn't remember how he got there. There's a mask over his face, probably helping with his breathing; he can feel an IV in his arm too.
What the fuck...?
He turns his head and a familiar head of dreads greets him. The panic rising in his chest evaporates, replaced by relief.
"Mir?"
He doesn't even twitch.
With a great load of effort, he places his hand on Zamir's head. The locs are soft underneath his touch and he wonders how long it's been since he's last touched them. Freshman year, maybe.
"Mir?"
Zamir bolts up, knocking his hand off in the process. He stares at him for two seconds, disbelieving, then lunges at him so fast he doesn't even have time to flinch. Solid, thick arms wrap around him tight and he goes stiff. This yo bro, he remembers and relaxes into the hug.
"Fuck, nigga, don't you ever scare me like that... fuck is wrong witchu..."
"Mir, what- what are you talkin' about?"
Zamir leans back, confused, "You don't remember?"
"To be real with you, I'm lost as shit,"
"Damn, you really might have amnesia," Zamir holds up two fingers, "How many fingers am I holding up—"
