Amnesia: Troyler AU

III: Silence

TS

Tyler is released from the hospital two weeks after Dr. Helbig gives Troye the clearance to leave. 

It's a long and painstaking process, filling up forms and handing in insurance papers to take care of the bills and repacking the things Troye had brought in to keep Tyler company. It's a bit less overbearing (see: definitely paling) in comparison to the wait on the news on Tyler's discharge, Troye thinks. At the very least. He zips up the duffel bag and lifts it up his arm and perches it on the curve of his shoulder. It's a noticeable weight on his previously broken arm; not painful, as it has healed over time, but annoying nonetheless.

Tyler is waiting for him by the door. The same door Troye had stood in front of for the past three weeks, patient and blank and all sorts of calm as Tyler regarded him wearily; without a trace of familiarity. It's white and as dull as ever, an opening from the rest of the world to a bedridden individual. Grim, Troye muses. (How many people would have stood in front of this mere block of wood, afraid of what the other side might reveal?)

The way Dr. Hart—or, well, Hannah—fusses over their unpacking and leaving brings a smile to Troye's face. It sends memories of the time she'd had to tell him about his discharge a handful of weeks ago, not one bit like the stereotypical doctor behavior, all professional and detached, but more like..

( ..like an older sister, all demanding and straight laced and on the look out for them.

"You're being discharged tomorrow morning," says Dr. Hart.

Troye is caught off guard—he jolts out of his reverie and looks at Tyler's doctor in skepticism. Her short hair is neatly done, and he assumes the day off she'd taken yesterday played a role in making her mood better. She's grown onto him from the days where she'd break staff rules to keep him company for a chat, and most of the times, to his delight, his current miserable situation was barely made topic of their many conversations. Her hand rises up and touches his shoulder as he looks at Tyler – who'd been nibbling on the disgusting hospital food, attention fully on the telly – lips pursed and heart sinking at the slightest.

Never in his lifetime had he thought about missing the hospital.

"That should be taken as good news, shouldn't it?"

Hart smiles tightly. "Yeah, but no, not for you. Visiting hours are from eight in the morning to eight at night, I'll expect you to be here during my checkup times on Tyler."

Troye chuckles, barely enough to be considered genuine. They're both looking at Tyler, who disregards them and leans tiredly back against the bed, breathing a sigh of pain. His morphine had been lessened significantly from the last few days, just to remain on the safer side and away from the knife's edge of what could hastily develop into morphine dependency, but Troye feels for him. With a head and arm and leg and, well, full body injury like that (in additional to all the mindnumbingly boring hours they'd have to be stuck in their hospital rooms), he'd rather drown in morphine rather than be conscious in a room with two strangers and a shitty television show stuck on low volumes to follow hospital rules.

The leg of the chair scrapes against the linoleum floors as Hart moves to stand up. It snaps Troye out of his reverie.

"Hey," says the doctor, and Troye tears his eyes away from the Tyler's profile to look up at her. "You go pack up tonight, and I'll see you whenever, okay?"

Troye smiles. "Pumped to get rid of me, aren't you?"

"Any doctor would be ecstatic to get rid of an overprotective, looming husband, Mr. Sivan." The wink is there to let him know it's a joke, but nonetheless Troye struggles to keep his smile in place at the word husband. "Now we get your other half all to ourselves. So, y'know, go. Shoo."