Chapter 2

Dylan wakes up to a buzzing sound and constant beeps. His head feels heavy and fuzzy. Soft, yellow light spills from the small wall lamp in one corner of the room, dim enough to not hurt his eyes.

The woman standing by his bed sighs when he meets her gaze. "This is the second time in three weeks, Dylan," she says in a tone weighed with clear disapproval. "Second time. I thought we were making progress."

He doesn’t acknowledge her, doesn’t give her the satisfaction of a snide remark or even a facial expression.

Dr. Brynich sighs again and drops her head. Dylan wonders if she’s thinking he's a hopeless case, or if she's on the verge of giving up trying to help him. She should. Because he doesn’t need her help. He doesn't want to be here, doesn’t want to deal with this shit they call life anymore. 

He pushes the tip of his tongue between his lips, hates how dry they feel. A sharp, unpleasant taste clings almost everywhere inside his mouth. 

Then he remembers what he did, remembers the disinfectant he stole from the janitor's cart, and remembers swallowing almost half the bottle's content. 

The chemical’s burn is still fresh in his throat. He tries to lift his hand to wipe the dryness away but he's not able to move his fucking arm. He's restrained — wrists strapped to the bed's railing. The synthetic leather chafes against the bandage around his right wrist whenever he gives the strap a sharp tug. He feels the sting of the cut underneath the gauze but his brain refuses to process that he's in pain.

"Your mother was here," the doctor says and Dylan’s eyes snap up to meet her calculating gaze. Her face is lined with aggravation and perhaps anger or frustration but Dylan doesn't give a damn — doesn't care what's going through her head because she has no right — no right to drag his mother into his now fucked-up world. He opens his mouth to speak but then she adds, "Your brother and your friend were here, too."

Dylan’s eyes widen and he manages to croak out, "Friend?" His voice cracks, sounding hoarse and filled with static. 

The doctor nods, says, "Yes," with what Dylan thinks is feigned sympathy and she looks straight into Dylan's eyes. "They're deeply worried about you, Dylan."

No shit, they are.

For a moment, remorse washes over him but then a thought snaps at the back of his mind. "You called them," he says, not hiding the acerbity in his tone. He doesn't miss the pinch of guilt that flashes across the doctor’s face. "How could you?"

Dr. Brynich’s jaw hardens visibly as if Dylan has said something inappropriate, and the look she fixes him with is stern. "Your mother has every right to be here for you." The doctor’s words were like a jab at his heart. "And she was the one who called your brother and your friend, I believe. They care about you, Dylan. Why can’t you just accept that?"

No. They don't. They…

"Leave me alone," he spits out. Everyone should leave him alone, should stop trying to create a crack on the thick wall he hides behind, should let him waste away from this pitiful existence. "Fucking leave me alone!" His voice sounds like it’s spoken through a broken megaphone. 

"Alright." The doctor straightens up, her head held up high. There isn’t a tinge of resignation on her face, which is what Dylan expects to see, but more like a hard mask of determination in its place. "I’m going to recommend additional sessions with Dr. Kern. Don’t think that we’re going to give up on you, Dylan," are her last words before striding out of the room, leaving Dylan with no chance to dissent. 

*

Dylan thought he was prepared for this — for Sean's passing. His older brother had been battling a terminal illness for years. When he stopped responding to treatments, the doctor told them that they had better be prepared. But it still felt like he was gradually breaking apart.

Lance held him together, helped him deal with the grief. Lance became his sole source of comfort.

The night before the funeral, Lance spent hours in Dylan's hotel room. It was off-season so Lance flew in with his father from their hometown to pay respects. They stayed awake, lying on Dylan's bed. Dylan held him close, basking in the comfort of Lance's presence. "Won't your dad wonder where you are?" Lance's father knew Sean because they had watched games together when Sean was still strong enough.

Lance pressed himself closer against Dylan's side. "Dad knows I'm with you." He took a deep breath then and it would be an understatement to say that Dylan was shocked when Lance said, "I think he knows about us."

Dylan's head sprang up and he stared at Lance in disbelief. "You told him?"

"Hmm? No!" Lance's eyes widened for a second then he started laughing. Dylan watched him with furrowed brows. "He um… Dad asked me." 

"He asked you if we're together?" 

The scenario instantly swam around Dylan's head: Bill asking Lance if he and Dylan were dating. But the image faded behind Lance's soft laughter. "No. Not that exactly."

"Then how?"

Lance lifted his head up and shifted enough until his chin was resting on Dylan's chest. 

"He just says things like how close we are, and how he thinks you're a good man, and how he's glad I have you as a friend.." One of Lance's shoulders jerked in a shrug. "It's weird the way he asks what we do when we're together, stuff like that. Maybe it's because of your injury and all so he knows we couldn't be playing ball. I guess he wasn't too dense to figure it out."

Dylan didn't want to read too much into Lance’s words and tried to convince himself that Bill was just being… Bill. But Dylan thought it best to be vigilant about it.

Bill hadn't treated him differently though, not that Dylan noticed. In fact, Bill even wrapped an arm around Dylan's shoulders after the burial and said, "I'm here for you, son. I'm all ears if you want to talk," then walked off, leaving Dylan staring at his back, dumbfounded.

Lance was sent off to training two days later while Dylan flew back home.

He found a wrapped box in his bag when he went through it to unpack. It was a scrapbook filled with pictures of him and Lance. This made him yearn to see Lance again. His boyfriend must be on a plane bound to Moorisen.

Dylan was browsing through the photo book when his phone rang. It was his mother, checking if he made it home all right.