Psychopaths Can't Love

Waking Up

A/N: Well, I would say I'm sorry for the last couple chapters, but that would be a lie.

This took longer than normal because of how hard the last scene was to write. I mean how bad it was to write- I mean how rough it was to write... well, you get my point.

Just read it. Please. I want to hit 100 soon.

Smut warning. I will put a warning beforehand and skip to the end of the chapter if you don't want to read it.

Trigger warning: Sickness, comas, and low self-esteem.

Jim walked through the hospital hallways, his hands tucked in his jacket pockets.

He knew the way to Seb's room well by now. Jim's regular schedule had adjusted to see Seb at some point every day. Not that Seb would ever remember, but that didn't matter.

Phillip was usually there, and he eventually gave Jim his number just in case something developed while Jim wasn't there.

"How is he?" Jim asked, walking into the hospital room and seeing Phillip sitting on the windowsill again.

"His heart rate went up a bit," Phillip informed him. "He's a fighter, ain't he?"

"Yeah," Jim agreed, sitting in one of the chairs. "That does seem like him."

He smiled, wishing Seb could just open his eyes. Jim missed Seb's eyes. His beautiful eyes. The eyes that could be bluer than any ocean one moment and stormy gray the next. Jim just wanted to see the bags under his eyes lift as he smiled again.

However, his eyes remained completely still, his eyelashes looking strangely dark against his lower eyelid. His mouth wasn't turning up at the corners. His lips had a blue tinge to them, and stood out against his face. Seb had more stubble than before, but it might've just been its juxtaposition against his pale face.

Jim hated seeing his tiger so weak and helpless. It seemed so out-of-character of him.

Jim wanted to run his hands through Seb's soft, beautiful, blond hair again. He wanted to have Seb's strong arms slung around his waist, keeping him close. He wanted Seb to bend down to brush their lips together as they passed.

But Seb didn't want him anymore. He never had.

Jim buried his face in his hands, propping his elbows on his knees. He didn't want to cry, not here. Someone could see; someone could laugh at him; someone could...

Jim broke, letting himself cry. He tried to keep himself from violently sniffling and breathing loudly and all that shit, but Phillip had apparently heard.

Jim heard Phillip's scrubs slide against the windowsill as he slipped off of it. He walked quietly over to Jim and sat in the chair beside him. He put a comforting arm around Jim's shoulders.

Jim fell into his arm. Phillip was only an inch or two taller, so he was at the perfect height for Jim to lean on.

Jim kept crying, even though he was already mortally embarrassed.

"Sh, he wouldn't want you to cry, mate," Phillip said quietly.

"He wouldn't care," Jim sobbed, a tear dripping off of the bridge of his nose onto Phillip's shirt.

"Of course he would!" Phillip said. "Nobody can not care if someone's crying!"

"He wouldn't."

The beeping in the corner signifying Seb's heart rate that Jim had become accustomed to increased in tempo, making Jim start.

"Oh hell," Phillip whispered. "He's waking up."