Chapter Text
This is hell.
Kip’s heart is racing. His blood is rushing in his ears. He feels too heavy and too light at the same time.
This can’t be happening, he thinks, with that unsettling numbness in his chest. This can’t be happening. Not now. Not like this.
Hey. Can we talk?
Scott’s text message came in the middle of the night. Kip discovered it in the morning, when he was still blinking sleep out of his eyes, feeling instantly awake as he stared at the words.
Oh. Oh God. Finally. Finally, something, after what felt like an eternity of silence.
Hey. Of course, Kip typed frantically. Where and when?
Scott didn’t read the message.
He wasn’t online for quite a while.
And then. Then, Kip got the call.
A polite voice asked him for his name. Told him they’re calling from the hospital. Scott was injured during a game. A game Kip didn't dare to watch because it hurt too much.
This must be hell.
Because in what kind of world is it possible that your heart first beats with fresh hope and longing, only to be shattered into pieces hours later?
They can’t tell him anything about Scott’s condition. And now he’s here, rushing through hospital hallways, asking questions, getting unsettling directions …
In the Intensive Care Unit, Kip turns around a corner - and there’s Shane Hollander, shoulders slumped, head ducked, chewing on his lower lip.
He looks at Kip, his eyes widening in startled surprise.
And Kip comes to a halt in front of the other hockey player, swallowing around the lump in his throat.
A beat of silence, as they just study each other for a moment.
Kip doesn’t really know Shane Hollander. Scott sometimes talks about the younger player like he’s some kind of talented but annoying whelp. It’s normal, Kip guesses. He has seen the way the hockey players would tease each other, indulging in playful, sometimes not-so-playful, banter on the ice. Laughter, rowdy language, and even a tongue being stuck out from time to time. Right now, though, Hollander looks … haunted.
“You’re here for Scott Hunter,” Hollander says. It’s almost a question. But not completely.
Kip nods. “They called me,” he says. “But they didn’t tell me. Couldn’t tell me on the phone ...”
Please. I need to know he will be okay.
Hollander nods. “He hit his head during impact. Pretty hard.” He bites his lip before adding. “Didn’t get up after that.”
Didn’t get up.
Kip exhales shakily. A hand of dread curls around his heart. And presses. He can’t help but imagine. Scott, being hit too hard. Scott, collapsing. His body hitting the ice as if he were a puppet whose strings had been cut. Scott, not moving. Not trying to get up. While everybody is staring at him ...
“Where ... Where is he?" Kip asks.
Hollander clears his throat. “Uh. They’re doing some scans right now,” he says hoarsely, raising a hand, gesturing at his head. “For his brain.”
His brain.
Kip forgets to breathe for a moment. He shakes his head, sits on one of the chairs in the hallway. “Okay,” he mutters, tilting his head forward, closing his eyes, and folding his hands tightly. “I’ll wait for him.”
When and where?
“Okay,” Hollander says quietly. Then adds, “I really hope he will be okay.”
A hesitant hand briefly, awkwardly pats Kip’s shoulder. Then, Hollander starts to walk away. He stops after a moment, though, lingering, before he says, “You are Kip, right?”
Kip raises his head and frowns. “Yes. Why?”
Hollander looks at him, his expression calm and mildly curious. “He mentioned you when he had a ... a conscious moment. Said he can’t stay long to celebrate the win. Because he has to tell Kip something important.”
Oh.
The tears come fast. Too fast. “Thanks,” Kip says, watching Hollander nod and leave through a blurry fog.
Fuck.
This must be hell.
He shouldn’t have asked Google.
Now Kip knows too much. Knows too much about the possible long-term effects of head injuries. Knows about CTE. That degenerative brain disease that can occur after too many head impacts. Memory problems. Cognitive decline.
Or ... amnesia.
Kip shudders. What if Scott wakes up and doesn't remember him?
He wanted to talk.
He said he has to tell Kip something important.
This is so unfair.
Kip swallows and glances at Scott, who looks so frail and vulnerable in that hospital bed. His head is wrapped in a thick layer of bandages, and his skin is too pale. There’s a needle in the back of his hand, connected to a bag which probably contains some sort of pain medication.
Kip’s chest clenches. Scott is so still. He’s never this still. Always fidgets, shifts, smiles, ducks his head, runs, or suddenly wraps his strong arms around Kip to lift him up the counter and kiss him senseless. Now, he’s just sleeping. Now and then, one of his muscles twitches. But the doctor said that’s normal. That’s all he said.
Because to be able to know more about Scott’s condition, they would have to wait for the results of the scans. And, of course, they have to wake for Scott to wake up. If he wakes up.
Kip sighs. He reaches out and takes Scott’s hand. The one that doesn’t have a needle in. He gently squeezes, wincing at how cold Scott’s skin is. “Hey,” he says quietly. “I’m here. Uh. You wanted to talk to me. And … I’m here. When I saw your text, I felt so happy, you know? Because I really can’t stop thinking about you.”
He smiles weakly, a tear rolling down his cheek to his chin, dripping on the blanket. “I can’t stop thinking about you. When I close my eyes, I see your smile. When I go to bed, I feel the echo of your arms around me. And I hear your voice. It’s crazy. It has never been like this, Scott. Never.”
He wipes his eyes with his free hand. “So. I need you to come back. I need you to wake up and tell me what you wanted to tell me. Please. I need to hear it. I need … I need some kind of sign, Scott. Tell me this is worth fighting for. Because I would, you know? I would fight for it. With you. I would. You just need to tell me we can do that.”
Kip shakes his head and scoffs, smiling weakly. “I probably sound like an incoherent idiot,” he mutters. “I just want you to be okay. I’m scared. And I still can’t believe the hospital called me. Me. Did you really make me one of your emergency contacts without telling me? I really wonder. Are there more things I don’t know about?”
Well. There’s only one person who could tell him about them.
Kip squeezes Scott’s hand and lifts it, pressing a gentle kiss on it.
Come back to me. Please.
It seems kind of surreal to make smoothies at work right now and to go on with daily life, while the love of his life - yeah, Kip stopped lying to himself - is fast asleep in a hospital bed. The world is moving on while Scott is frozen.
Kip sighs and rubs at his burning eyes. He did cry a lot. Didn’t know a person could have that many tears inside.
It feels good when Elena hugs him, making a soothing noise. “Is he still pretending to be Sleeping Beauty?” She asks quietly.
Kip nods, leaning into the embrace gratefully. “It isn’t the first time he hurts his head, you know?” He says bitterly. “He told me about his injuries. Proudly showed me a few scars. Called himself an old wolf and laughed about it.”
He always loved how passionate Scott is about hockey. But right now? Right now, Kip hates that fucking game. Why did it have to show its uglier side right when Scott was reaching out? What was Scott thinking and feeling that night? What was it he wanted to tell Kip? What if he will never get the chance to say what he wanted to say?
He shakes his head, new tears welling up. “I’m scared, Elena. I’m scared it was one injury too many.”
“We can only hope,” Elena says sadly, handing him a tissue. “He’s strong. But if his injury has consequences, he will need a friend.”
Kip blows his nose. “I don’t want to be his friend,” he admits. I want to be his everything.
Elena smiles and cups his cheek. “I know.”
When Kip blinks his eyes open, Scott is looking at him. He’s lying on his side, supporting his face on his hand, his eyes wandering over Kip’s face and body with a smile. “Hey, handsome.”
“You’re already awake?” Kip yawns, then hums in pleased surprise when Scott wraps his arms around him and pulls him closer. They kiss.
I want to wake up like this every morning, Kip thinks, as his whole world centers around this one moment. Scott is everywhere and everything. Warm skin, soft chuckles, slightly chapped lips, wandering hands …
I want this to be forever.
“You make me so happy,” Kip breathes, trailing his fingers down the firm line of Scott’s spine, over his ass, and back up.
Scott looks at him, his eyes sparkling. “Yeah?”
“Yes. I just … I want to stay here with you. Can we just stay in bed today? Just us. Just this.”
Forever.
“I’d like that,” Scott says fondly. “But I think I have to shower first.”
Kip looks at him - and his breath gets caught in his throat. Suddenly, there’s a trail of blood trickling down the side of Scott’s face, coming from underneath his tousled hair. Oh God. He’s hurt. He’s -
“Scott?” Kip asks, his voice shaking.
And he wakes up.
Kip sits straight in his bed, breathing heavily, staring straight ahead.
Oh.
Oh God.
Reality hits him like a hammer. Scott is not with him. Scott is in the hospital, still asleep. Because he hit his stupid, beautiful head too hard while he was doing what he loved most.
For some reason, because apparently he isn't already in enough pain, his brain decides that now is the perfect moment to remind Kip that Scott was wearing the stupid blue banana socks. The hospital gave them back to Kip. Together with Scott's other clothes. All of them had a spot of blood somewhere.
Kip sobs and buries his face in his hands.
This must be hell.