Hold On (I Still Need You) // muke

chapter seven

The year long ride in the ambulance down the highway hurt every second he was stuck in the hot, crowded vehicle. Watching them yell over Michael's still body, poking him with needles, and placing a mask on his face to help him breathe all felt like a punch to his gut. He was glad he was crying so most of it was blurs of white, but just hearing them and knowing any second his boyfriend could die was enough for him to want to cry. The heart monitor was the worse. He could hear just how slow it was beating. It was so close to stopping.

He couldn't leave him. Not now. Not ever.

His hand was cold and unresponsive to his, but he still held it. He squeezed it. He probably cut off all circulation in it, but he'll hold it as long as he can. Right up until they rip them apart by force will he be by his side.

He wanted to believe this was just some nightmare. He wanted to think that if he just pinched himself hard enough that he would wake up with Michael wrapped in his arms and cuddled up beside him. Maybe he'd wake up to his gorgeous smile, light eyes, and a happy little, "Good morning, sweetheart."

But when his arm was bruised and aching and a paramedic set a hand on his own, he realized this is real. This was happening. They were really here, and it hurt even more.

"It's okay."

It's not okay. Nothing that is happening is okay. He's breaking. He's falling apart.

Michael's not okay.

He had his free hand in his pocket with his fingers crossed, hoping and praying that he'd be okay. God, Goddess, Heaven, Hell, whatever powers that could save his Michael, please save his Michael.

He'd do anything for him to wake up from this.

-

His bones were shaking when he watched his boyfriend wheeled out from the ambulace and rushed into the hospital. He ran to keep up with them, but a doctor set a hand on his chest to keep him from following in.

"You cannot go in there." He stated firmly.

"That's my boyfriend. I-I have to go." He begged as he looked over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry. You need to wait out here."

He watched, subconsciously curling his fingers into the man's arm as the doors shut inside of a room. He was screaming. He couldn't tell how loud he was, but the doctor was trying to shush him. People were staring. Kids were pointing. He didn't care.

"Please don't leave me, Michael."

"It's going to be fine. We're doing all we can." The doctor promised and Luke let go of him when he realized that he was actually holding on to him.

He nodded and then walked away, his legs shaking beneath his body as he paced back and forth inside the waiting room. He couldn't feel his face, his hands, his feet, all he could feel was the ache in his lungs and the pain in his heart. It hurt.

Was he breathing? He can't tell.

Luke pulled his phone out and then dialed his best friend's number with trembling hands. He waited, but when it went to voicemail, he sighed. He wasn't surprised, it was late after all.

"Ash, I-I'm not making it to work in the-in the morning. Tell our boss I had an emergency. Michael's in the h-hospital. I..." He swallowed the lump in his throat.

He raises his nails to his mouth and then looked around as a new wave of tears filled his eyes. "I'm scared, Ashton." He whispered into his cellphone. "I'm so fucking scared. I can't breathe. I-I can't think. I can barely speak, I'm shaking. I can't stop shaking."

His eyes were glued to the floor, counting the specks in the tiles and counting the squares around him. "If I stop walking I'm scared I'll pass out and just collapse."

He was talking to himself at this point, but it felt better than staying quiet in a room full of sorrow. He needed someone, anyone, even if it was just his best friend's answering machine.

"I'll tell you what happens. I'm ready to sell my soul for him to be okay, I don't think you understand just how bad it is." He tore his nail from his finger.

He looked at his thumb and then sighed before ending his voicemail. He pressed his cheek against the device and then spat his nail out, not quite caring if it was gross or if his thumb was bleeding the littlest bit on the sides. He get went on to his next nail, counting down the seconds it took for the doctors to come out and tell him Michael's going to be okay.

He's not strong enough to let go of him, not so suddenly and not so soon. He couldn't start new or lead a life without him. He can't even think of packing his things away or watching them collect dust if he doesn't make it. He can't imagine a life without him, without the weight of his body beside him, without waking up to his face in the morning, without staying up until ungodly hours just laughing.

He just wants to hear Michael's voice, whether it's something as basic as a greeting. He wants to see him walk up to him, grab his hand, and tell him with a smile, "Baby, let's go home."

He needs it.

He needs to go home with him. He just wants this nightmare to be over with.