You Should Have Been Here Yesterday

Joe Joe Joe Joe Joe Joe Steven

"I was dreaming that they killed him!" I exclaim.  "Do you know how fucked up that is?!  Of course I love you!  I love Tom and Brad and Mick and Joey too!"

        "Listen, I know," he cuts me off, repeatedly rubbing his thumb across the back of my hand.  Again, I oddly don't really mind.  "You should've seen him though, Ginny.  I mean, I felt bad for the guy.  He was in a bad state."

        I groan internally, feeling horrible for doing... nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

        Sure, when I was knocked out I called for Joe, but when I was awake and fully aware of everything, my constant question was, Where's Steven?  I could've been calling for anyone else.  Literally anyone else, and he wouldn't be mad.  He's just pissed 'cause it was Joe and not Tom, or not Brad, or Joey or Mick or whoever the fuck else it could've been.

        "You also kept saying I love you... and you really really wanted to braid my hair..."  He reaches for a strand pf hair on the back of his head, smirking.  I admire my work for someone on morphine and God knows what else.  "And you stared at that wall for like an hour and you kept winking at it... Which was weird.  Told me you were talking to Jimmy Page.  I dunno, Gin.  I think you're slowly but surely going insane."

        I smirk, more lighthearted than usual due to the fact that I almost... well, died.

        I sit up, ready to get the hell out of this bed and run out to Steven.  But I'm forced back down by a hand on my shoulder.  "Whaddya need?" Joe asks.  But it looks like the last thing he wants to do right now is anything.  He looks like he's been to hell and back.  First, he's wearing the same thing he was wearing on Tuesday, add a jacket.  Second, his eyes are bloodshot and drooping, and purple and bruised underneath.

        I feel bad to ask him for a favor, but apparently I'm not allowed to stand.  "Steven," I say in response to his question.

        Lips in a tight line, Joe goes to the door and disappears, only for Steven to peek his head around the door after hardly a second.

        He looks nervous almost; scared.  But the smile that lit his face when he saw my grin made it all fade away.  It was all I could do not to jump right out of bed, run over to him and kiss him.

        He made it to me in five quick strides, sitting down gingerly on the edge of the bed, instantly helping me sit up for my lips to meet his.

        When we broke apart, he held my face in his hands.  I was surprised at the way his eyes looked: like he'd been crying.  And that almost made me cry.  "You're okay," he stated, almost sounding like he was doubtful.  He grinned again.  "You're okay," he repeated, choking on his words this time as tears traced tracks down his cheeks and he brushed my hair–which really needs a washing–back and out of my face.  "My god, I missed you," he said, pulling me close to him so my face was buried in his neck.  "You're okay," he half laughed, half sobbed.

        "Yeah 'm aright," I said.  I sound drunk. Stupid hospital drugs.  "Where've you been?" I ask, feeling my eyes well up at the sight of him.

        "Out there," he resonds, nodding at the door.

        "The whole time?"  He nods, but I had already known the answer.  "You could've just come in.  Everyone else was in here," I say.  "I was awake sometimes; I kept asking for you."

        "Yeah?"

        "Mmhmm."  I don't look away from his tear-filled eyes.  It truly is a heartbreaking sight.  "I love you so so much," I said, kissing him before he could say anything.  My eyes overflowed and a tear or two dripped onto his nose.  "Stop making me cry," I mumbled, looking up at him.