Archive of Our Own

The smell of disinfectant was burning its way through Pete’s nostrils and down his throat as he paced back and forth in the cold, desert corridor, looking at the nearby closed doors every two seconds. The front of his shirt matched his back, sticking to his skin because of the blood and sweat, offering a disconcerting spectacle to whoever passed by, but he didn’t even notice, let alone care.

Vegas had been in the operating room for a couple of hours by now.

He was rushed there as soon as they had arrived at the hospital. Pete had called for an ambulance while still sobbing over Vegas’ body, drenched in his blood. A couple of bodyguards from the Main family had reached them by the pool, trying to move him away from Vegas’ ghastly figure, but Pete had reacted like a rabid dog, shouting and thrashing his arms, pushing away the hands that wanted to separate him from the man he loved. The paramedics had arrived shortly after, moving Vegas on a stretcher and carrying him to the ambulance parked near one of the secondary exits of the compound, avoiding all the chaos inside the residence. Pete had mentioned the Theerapanyakun name while on the phone, which explained why those people seemed to know their way around the place and asked no futile questions: they were probably part of the hospital staff on the Theerapanyakun family’s payroll, specifically alerted and sent there to take care of the matter.

Pete had hopped into the ambulance alongside Vegas and the vehicle had immediately departed, sirens wailing. On their way to the hospital, Vegas kept on losing a lot of blood, quickly staining the gauzes pressed on his wounds. A bag of fluids hung to the side, squeezed by one of the paramedics to quickly resuscitate the lost volume. The man was shaking his head, a somber expression set on his face as he looked at Vegas’ vitals on the small monitor.

“He’s not gonna make it to the hospital at this rate.”

Pete’s panicked voice stuttered out of breath, “What do you mean?”

“He’s losing too much blood. He needs a transfusion asap.”

“Don’t you have blood sacks or something?”

“Not right here.”

“Then take mine.”

The paramedic shook his head again, explaining, “Blood types need to match, you can’t just—"

“I’m O negative. He’s AB. There shouldn’t be any problems, right?”

The other man regarded him for a few more seconds, then nodded. “Alright. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing. Let’s hook you up.” He gestured at his colleague, “Here, keep pressure on this,” then retrieved all the necessary items for the procedure.

Pete had spent the entire ride staring at Vegas’ pale face, silently praying that the blood flowing through the small tube connecting them would be enough to keep the other alive till they reached the hospital. That thin, red tube felt almost like an embodiment of the thread of fate connecting Vegas and Pete. The latter kept his eyes fixed on Vegas’ features, as if afraid that by averting his gaze even just for a second, the other’s condition would suddenly worsen. It was totally irrational, but Pete was convinced that as long as he was looking at Vegas, the latter simply wouldn’t die, couldn’t die.

As a matter of fact, Vegas’ vitals remained more or less stable for the rest of the ride to the hospital. Upon their arrival, after being unhooked from Pete, Vegas was immediately brought into the operating room.

In the cold light of the corridor, Pete rubbed the bruise already forming on his wrist, where the paramedic had punctured his artery with a small needle. It should’ve been painful, but he didn’t feel a thing. One of the nurses there tried to convince him to go sit in a waiting room, but he simply refused and remained right where he was, pacing in front of the closed doors. He checked the time again. It had been almost two hours and a half now. Pete took a deep breath, brushing his hair back with his blood-stained hands.

After a while, he heard a distant ruckus coming from the opposite end of the corridor, somewhere around the corner where he couldn’t see. He didn’t really pay attention to it until his brain registered a short silhouette rushing towards him and pushing him against the wall.

“Why are you here?! Where’s my brother? What happened to him?”

Pete stared right into Macau’s eyes. The boy’s face was contorted in a fierce and pained expression. A couple of nurses as well as a doctor grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him off from Pete before the latter could even open his mouth.

“Khun Macau, please calm down,” the doctor was saying, “Khun Pete is the one who called us. He came to the hospital with Khun Vegas.”

Macau shrugged off the hands of the nurses, sparing Pete one last glance before turning towards the doctor. “What happened to my brother?”

“Please, let’s go to the adjacent room and—”

“What happened to him?!” shouted Macau.

The nurses flinched, while the doctor shut his mouth and changed his whole demeanor in response to the boy’s sudden outburst. After a beat, he replied, “Khun Vegas is currently undergoing surgery after being shot in the abdomen. He has lost a lot of blood, but was more or less stable when he was brought to the operating room. From the CT scan that was taken upon his admission, one of the bullets appeared to be located in his spine, so it’s going to take a while before you get any updates from the surgeons inside.”

Macau listened to everything the doctor said with an expression that became more and more preoccupied after each word that fell off the other’s mouth. His forehead was glistening with sweat. “But he’s going to be okay, right?” He folded his arms in front of his chest to stop the shaking. “Right?”

The doctor regarded him with a placid look in his eyes. “We still don’t know. You need to be patient and let the surgeons do their work. I can assure you your brother is in good hands.”

Macau bent down for a moment, resting his hands on his knees, then immediately straightened up again, taking a deep breath. He continued to ignore Pete, who was feeling more and more light-headed, due to the blood loss and the current stress. As the rush of adrenaline at being tackled against the wall dissipated, he felt his knees starting to give out and he caught himself against the handrail running along the wall.

“Khun Pete!”

Pete thought he had just closed his eyes for a second, but when he opened them again, he was lying on a wheeled stretcher in some kind of waiting room. Macau was by his side, sitting on a chair, worrying his fingernails as he stared into the void in front of himself.

Pete tried to sit up, but Macau suddenly turned towards him and pressed a hand on his chest, pushing him back down. “Don’t. The doctor said you might faint again. Here, have some water.” Macau uncapped a bottle of water and handed it to Pete, helping him raise his head a little in order not to choke while drinking.

“Thanks,” murmured Pete. He then attempted to sit up once again. “Is there any news—"

“I told you to stay down,” Macau’s voice sounded exasperated as he grabbed Pete by the shoulders and prevented him from rising up, not exactly in a gentle way.

Pete eventually stopped resisting and let his head fall against the padded stretcher, looking at the ceiling. After a few minutes of silence, a low whisper broke the crystallized atmosphere.

“Thank you.”

Pete turned towards Macau, looking questioningly at the young man who was currently avoiding his eyes.

“I was told Hia is alive also thanks to the blood you gave him. So, thank you.”

Pete remained silent and searched the other’s profile. He had hardly ever interacted with Macau since he was hired as a bodyguard for the Main family, which made it more difficult for Pete to read him the same way he read other people he knew. He didn’t know what to say. Moreover, he didn’t exactly care about anything else other than Vegas’ health at the moment, so he didn’t force himself to say things just for the sake of being civil and simply asked again, “Is there any news of Vegas?”

After a moment, Macau replied, “Not yet.” He looked at Pete and then back at his hands. “Why did you do it?”

Pete had no idea how to answer that question. Not because he didn’t know the answer, rather he wasn’t sure the other would believe him even if he told him the truth. To be honest, he wouldn’t blame Macau for it, considering for all he knew, Pete was still working for the people that almost got his brother killed. In light of this, he decided not to go into details, instead vaguely replying, “Vegas needed a transfusion. And I’m a universal donor.”

“I get that. But why did you do it? You work for the Main family…”

“Not anymore.”

Macau blinked, staring at Pete. The latter could see the doubt and confusion in the other’s eyes. Macau then got up to his feet to go lean against the opposite wall. Pete tentatively pushed himself up on his elbows. Not experiencing any sort of dizziness and noticing Macau wasn’t trying to stop him anymore, he sat up completely, throwing his legs off the stretcher and staying like that for half a minute before standing on his feet.

Macau was still regarding him from the other side of the room, his features set in a worried and pensive expression, arms crossed, back against the wall. His eyes raked across Pete’s figure, from his disheveled hair, to the blood-stained shirt and eventually landing on his now blue wrist. He didn’t say anything and just pursed his lips, staring intently at Pete.

Pete was displaying the same cautious demeanor, although probably for different reasons. He took in the other's tense silhouette, really focusing on him for the first time since he got there. In that moment, Macau looked so much like Vegas that Pete's heart almost skipped a beat. The weary and exhausted expression painted on the boy's face was one Pete recognized all too well. It was the same look Vegas had when he had first opened up to him at the safehouse, talking about his own father. It made Pete's heart ache even more, for once knowing exactly what kind of turmoil had taken over Macau’s mind. Vegas' words suddenly came back to Pete.

'Macau is no different. It's unfortunate to be born in the minor family.'

Only now, he could truly understand what Vegas meant by those words. It was not just about one's efforts not being acknowledged, it was about being completely isolated all the time, having no one to rely on, especially at times like this. Actually, maybe Macau had someone, but that same person was currently lying in an operating room, with no guarantee of coming out of there alive.

Pete could feel Macau's pain because it was his own as well. It was clear in Macau's eyes how desperate he was to have someone by his side right now, how much he hoped to be able to trust Pete, yet not willing to take the risk, keeping a precarious balance on a very thin rope.

Contrary to his previous resolve, almost without even realizing it, Pete heard himself start talking, answering Macau's question.

"I truly care about Vegas."

Macau's eyes widened a bit and he stopped breathing for a second. It was the second time already that Tankhun's bodyguard, ex-bodyguard, had referred to his brother without using any honorifics. That, together with what he said, left Macau completely speechless.

Meanwhile Pete, trying to swallow the lump in his throat that was making his voice waver way too much, continued, "I know you probably won't believe me and I'm not asking you to." He took a couple of steps forward, gradually closing the distance between himself and Macau. "But I..."

I love him.

He couldn't bring himself to say the words. He simply stared at Macau, whose eyes were just as glazy as his. Then, something inside them clicked.

Macau pushed away from the wall, quickly wiping one of his cheeks as he said, "I'm going to the bathroom. You can stay here, in case one of the doctors brings some news about Hia." He then quickly left the room, leaving Pete by himself, but also, paradoxically, less alone.

***

After almost 6 hours, a surgeon wearing scrubs finally opened the doors and came out, looking for Pete and Macau. He found them in the nearby waiting room, both with dark circles under their eyes, mostly because of the anxiety gripping at their stomach, rather than an actual lack of sleep. The surgeon stepped closer, addressing both Pete and Macau, who had immediately sprung to their feet, "You're Khun Vegas' relatives, am I correct?"

"I'm not. He is," clarified Pete, pointing at Macau, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Then, may I ask you to please leave us alone for a little while?"

Before Pete could even retort in any way, to his surprise, Macau intervened, "There's no need. He can stay. How's my brother?"

The two split seconds that passed before the doctor answered were the longest of Pete's entire life.

"He's stable."

The air left Pete's lungs in a relieved sigh.

The surgeon continued, “He’s being moved to the ICU as we speak. One of the bullets had seriously lacerated his small intestine, so we had to remove a short segment, but nothing major. He was pierced through and through by two more bullets, but luckily none of them hit any vital organs and in those cases the lesions to the intestine were small enough to be simply repaired without removing any more segments. The wound on his left arm was also taken care of without much difficulties, so it shouldn’t leave any permanent damages.”

Pete shifted uncomfortably and cast a quick glance towards Macau, before focusing his attention back on the doctor.

“On the other hand, the bullet that did remain in his body caused quite a lot of damage, though it could’ve actually been much worse. It pierced through the liver, right above the pancreas, avoiding by miracle his aorta and damaging the right crus of his diaphragm, grazing his inferior vena cava—”

“His what?” asked Macau with an apprehensive look, not understanding the great part of what the doctor was saying.

“It’s the largest vein draining blood from the thorax down. That’s also the reason why he lost so much blood. We repaired the diaphragm and the small lesion in his vein, but the real problem is actually is spine.”

“The other doctor said something about it. But what does it mean? Is he going to be alright?”

“The bullet hit the intervertebral disc and caused a partial fracture of his T12 vertebra. We were able to decompress and stabilize his spine, repairing the fracture and replacing the disc, although it’s not actually standard procedure at that level. But it was the only favorable option, given his circumstances.”

“What circumstances?”

“Why don’t we take a seat first?” proposed the other man, gesturing at the chairs that Pete and Macau were occupying just a few minutes before. He then turned towards Pete. “May I ask you to go fetch also a bottle of water, Khun…?”

“Pete,” offered the other.

“Right. Thank you. Khun Macau here looks like he could use a sip or two.”

Pete looked conflicted, but in the end, after casting a glance in Macau’s direction, he nodded and quickly left the room, saying, “I’ll be right back.”

Once he was gone, the surgeon turned once again towards Macau. “Sorry about that. I thought it would be best to be alone for what I’m about to say.”

“I told you he could stay.”

“You’re free to update him as soon as he comes back, if you want. However, I’m required to disclose this information only to Khun Vegas’ next of kin. It’s none of my business whom you decide to speak to afterwards, but you should at least be given the chance to carefully choose those people, given your family’s… peculiar circumstances.”

Macau squinted at the doctor. “Just say what you have to.”

The older man searched Macau’s face for a moment, then explained in a practical tone, “The bullet that hit Khun Vegas’ spine also damaged his spinal cord. The severity of the lesion is yet to be determined. I’m afraid we won’t be able to have further details until he wakes up and undergoes a complete neurological evaluation.”

“What does that mean?” Macau’s voice was slightly trembling, still not understanding.

“It means his walking function might be impaired to a certain extent.”

Macau’s eyes widened in shock as his mouth fell open, blood completely drained from his face.

“There’s nothing certain, yet,” reassured him the doctor, “but you should be aware of the possible consequences. When Khun Vegas arrived here, he was in spinal shock. He still is, actually, which means there has been in fact a certain damage to his nerves, but as I said before, we cannot yet tell the entity of such damage.”

“So… you’re telling me this now, but you don’t actually know.”

“Technically, no, but—”

“So you don’t know,” repeated Macau, more firmly.

The doctor looked at him and eventually replied, almost defeated, “No, we don’t.”

Macau nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. Vegas was going to be fine. His brother had always recovered from every injury he had received during the past years. This would be no different. He was certain of that. Vegas was strong, unlike him, he wouldn’t be broken by something like this.

A few seconds later, Pete was back in the room with them, interrupting Macau’s train of thoughts, holding the bottle of water he had bought at the vending machines a couple of floors above their heads. His breathing was a little ragged. He had definitely been running.

“Here’s the water.” He cluelessly handed the bottle to Macau, as the surgeon lightly shook his head and gave the boy a pitiful smile.

“We’re keeping your brother sedated for the time being, but you can visit him in the ICU in a couple of hours. One of the nurses will show you the way. Now I have to go back, if you’ll excuse me.”

“What?” asked Pete, disconcerted, “Aren’t you going to explain about Vegas’ circumstances?”

The older man retrieved a beeper from the front pocket of his scrubs and after casting a quick glance at it, he replied to Pete, “You’ll have to ask Khun Macau about that. Now please excuse me, I really have to go.” And with that he left the two of them alone in the room.

What the hell.

Pete was staring at Macau, clenching and unclenching his fists, not sure what to expect from the other. Luckily, Macau seemed to have taken a decision before Pete could even start gathering his thoughts and ask him directly about it.

Closing the bottle from which he had taken a few sips, Macau said in an disconcertingly calm voice, “The surgeon said one of the bullets damaged Hia’s spinal cord, but they’re not sure if there will be any lasting consequences.”

Pete felt his mouth go dry, a deep frown gradually forming on his face.

“He also said he might have some difficulties walking when he wakes up, but they don’t know for sure. He mentioned some more tests he’ll have to do once he wakes up. But I’m sure he’s gonna be alright.” Macau’s expression suddenly hardened, almost angry. “Why the hell are you looking at me like that?”

Pete was pulled back from his spiraling thoughts and became instantly aware of his own expression. “I wasn’t… I mean, Vegas…”

“What? You don’t think he’s strong enough to overcome this?” Macau looked like a wild animal pushed into a corner, the sudden change in demeanor left Pete almost dumbfounded. “Just wait and see. He’ll be just fine. You don’t know him like I do. He’s been through a lot worse and has always got back up,” Macau’s voice was too broken to hold any bite, “So stop looking at me like that. Hia is going to be alright,” tears started spilling out the corners of his eyes, “He’s…He’s going to be alright…” He pushed the words out, trying with every fiber of his being to keep his composure, yet failing miserably. He threw the bottle of water on the ground, fisting his hair with his hands and turning away from Pete.

There’s no fucking way, thought Macau.

A sudden touch on his shoulder had him jerk to the side, as pierced the older man with a stern look. Pete’s eyes reflected the cold light of the room with an almost excessive glint in them. Macau turned away once more, squeezing his eyes. And again he felt that gentle touch on his shoulder. It was unbearably kind.

“Get off!”

Albeit his command, Macau felt himself being grabbed by the shoulders and spun around, his chest colliding against something warm, a firm pressure placed at the back of his head. He struggled to free himself from the unwanted touch, tears spilling again even from his still closed eyes, but the other’s grip on him was stronger than ever. Eventually, Macau stopped resisting, his body now shaken only by stifled sobs. Everything was dark and not just because his eyes were still shut.

However, the warmth coming from the other’s body started to gradually spread through his chest, the feeling surprisingly grounding. Macau wasn’t used to it. He didn’t even remember being offered this, aside maybe from a couple of times by Vegas when they were much younger. Without him even realizing it, Macau’s hands fisted Pete’s shirt in an attempt to pull him even closer. For a brief instant, it felt like being wrapped in his brother’s arms once again, his presence always reassuring. When Macau opened his eyes, though, it wasn’t of course Vegas he saw, but strangely enough he didn’t feel repulsed by the close contact with Tankhun’s ex-bodyguard.  Macau’s sobbing became less and less insisting, until it stopped completely.

Feeling Macau calm down in his arms, Pete slowly pulled back, stroking the boy’s left arm in a comforting gesture. He fished something out of his pocket and Macau soon realized it was a handkerchief. Pete handed it to him and Macau wiped his runny nose, completely ruining the piece of cloth.

Pete didn’t care. He didn’t say anything, he himself shaken after what he had heard from Macau, and simply guided them to sit on the nearby chairs in the waiting room.

Macau took a seat and started fidgeting with the crumpled handkerchief in his hands, at times sniffling and dabbing his nose. He felt like his entire world had just crumbled: his father dying during the attack at the main residence, Vegas being shot as well, now this… He had barely had time to register the news about his father when the bodyguard over the phone had also informed him about Vegas’ condition. Macau had rushed to the hospital, clearly not expecting to find his cousin’s bodyguard right outside the doors of the operating ward, covered in blood.

Macau cast a glance towards Pete from the corner of his eyes. The other was sitting with his head hung low, worrying his lower lip, hands clasped together as if praying. His concern did seem genuine, after all. And although Macau wanted to scream at Pete to leave him alone, at the same time he couldn’t deny that the other’s presence was unexpectedly calming.

Macau looked back down at the ruined handkerchief in his hands. “Will you come visit him with me?” he asked in a low voice.

Pete gave a start, forcibly pulled out of his trance by the sudden words. He turned towards Macau and the two just looked at each other for a few seconds, then he silently nodded.

“Hia is strong,” repeated Macau, almost as if trying to convince himself, “He’s gonna make it just fine.”

Pete certainly hoped that was the case, but from the way Macau was speaking he was also quite sure that the other was still in denial of the idea that something irreparable might happen to his brother. However, this was definitely not the moment to make him confront the frightening eventuality, so he hummed and nodded again, instead saying, “The doctor said we could visit him in a couple of hours. Let’s focus on that for the time being, alright? One step at a time.”

“Okay,” murmured Macau.

The corners of Pete’s lips curved upwards in a small, reassuring smile, deliberately ignoring the aching in his own chest.

***

A little less than two hours later, a nurse was guiding them along the corridors leading to the ICU, where Vegas had been moved. Pete was wearing a pair of disposable scrubs, which one of the staff had kindly provided him, allowing him to get rid of the stained clothes that had by then assumed a rather unpleasing brownish hue.

When they arrived in front of the entrance, the nurse had them wear also a non-surgical gown, gloves and a mask, eventually opening the door for them.

Pete wasn’t a stranger to suffering and pain, not to mention death, given he had killed people himself in the past, but he wasn’t prepared for what laid in front of his eyes.

A series of beds occupied by strangers in more or less critical conditions was aligned to the side of the large room, separated from the space with the doctors’ desk and monitors by a partition wall with large windows and sliding doors left open. Each patient was connected to various machines with a series of different tubes and wires, most of them unable to breath on their own and presenting various forms of mechanical ventilation.

Usually, Pete wouldn’t be so fazed by the sight of people on the verge of death or anyway in really bad conditions, but he couldn’t stop the sudden tightening in his chest at the scene presenting in front of his eyes, painfully aware that Vegas was just like one of them now. As the nurse led them across the room to a more secluded area, Pete kept staring at each of the beds they passed by. In his line of work, Pete was the one causing the suffering, at the same time trying to avoid getting killed during his missions. He was used to violence and death, but in a totally different context. Seeing people, even complete strangers, desperately trying to hang on to dear life with all the little strength they had left had him feeling an overwhelming sense of pity in his heart, forcing him to avert his eyes from the depressing sight.

At his side, he felt Macau’s shoulder slightly brush against his, as the boy started walking closer to him. It was probably the first time for him as well in a place like this. Pete rested a gloved hand on the other’s back as they approached the last bed at the far end of the room. Another partition separated it from the rest of the patients, allowing a little more privacy.

“Here is Khun Vegas. If you need anything, I’ll be right there at the desk. Don’t hesitate to call me.” After that, the nurse left them alone at the end of the bed to go take care of some bureaucratic matters at the computer.

Vegas was lying completely still on the intensive-care bed, his eyes closed, a tube coming out from the side of his mouth, while a smaller one was taped to his nose, vanishing into his nostril. He was totally naked, covered only with a folded green cloth placed over his private parts, concealing the final portion of another small tube draining his urine into a bag hung at the end of the bed; his abdomen was hidden to the sight by a large dressing, same as his neck, his left shoulder and his right wrist. From each of these places, except his shoulder, a small tube emerged and connected him to either a drainage bag or a series of machines on his left and right, showing his vitals and administering the necessary medications. His legs were wrapped in what looked like a pair of plastic leggings, that vaguely resembled some taekwondo shin guards, serving of course a different purpose.

Although his face was less pale than the last time Pete had seen him, such as right before going into surgery, it was still a shock seeing him like this. Pete felt tears starting to form in his eyes, but he vehemently pushed them back, refusing to cry again. Vegas was alive, that was what mattered. He pinched his own arm, seeking in the painful sensation a distraction to the overwhelming feeling in his heart. He then took a couple of steps forward, moving to stand at one side of the bed, leaving the opposite one free for Macau, so that the boy could stand turning his back to the poor scene that was the rest of the ICU room.

“Hia, it’s me. It’s Macau.” The boy looked up at Pete. “Do you think he can hear us?”

“I don’t know,” replied Pete, keeping his eyes on Vegas’ dormant face.

“Why did they leave him naked like this? And what the hell are those things around his legs? I though he was not injured there…”

“It’s probably easier this way to check on him,” offered Pete, “But I have no idea what those are for. We can always ask the nurse.”

“There’s still blood on his face,” commented Macau, “I’ll go ask the nurse if there’s something we can use to wash his face without causing any problems.”

Pete was about to reply that it wasn’t certainly a priority at the moment, but he stopped himself short before even opening his mouth, realizing that doing something practical was probably what Macau needed the most right now, in order to overcome the shock of seeing his brother like this. Pete’s own helplessness was gnawing at his insides, making the whole situation a thousand times worse. He wished there was something he could do to improve Vegas’ condition right away.

After casting a quick look in Macau’s direction, who had left to go talk to the nurse, Pete discreetly shifted his hand to take a hold of Vegas’ left one, stroking its back with his thumb. Through the latex glove, Pete could feel how the other’s skin was slightly colder than his own, Vegas’ blue veins clearly visible on the back of his hand. His chest was rising and falling to the rhythm of the machines on the side, while the puffing sound and the beeping of the monitor created quite a miserable concert. Vegas’ moles stood out more than usual, Pete didn’t know if it was because of the lights or due to the enhanced contrast with the pale hue of Vegas’ complexion. His soft lips were unbelievably dry, pulled in a downside arch by the tube taped to his cheek. There was no sign of motion under his eyelids, indicating that whatever sleep Vegas had fallen into was probably devoid of any dreams. And nightmares, hopefully. Maybe he was actually listening to what was happening around him. Pete really hoped at least a small part of Vegas was aware of his and Macau’s presence there, that he had not been abandoned.

Pete’s hold on Vegas’ hand tightened a bit. “I’m here, Vegas. I’m still here,” he whispered from behind the mask.

Suddenly, Macau was back in his field of vision, holding a damp gauze in his hands. Pete quickly let go of Vegas’ hand, as if he had just been discovered doing something illicit.

Macau had of course noticed Pete’s gesture and also his sloppy attempt to conceal it, but he didn’t comment on it, stamping instead the scene in his heart as he delicately passed the gauze over the dried blood on Vegas’ face.

“The nurse said those things around his legs help preventing the formation of blood clots,” explained Macau as he continued with his ministrations, eyebrows furrowed with concentration as he gently wiped away the last residue of blood, careful to avoid the tape on his brother’s face. “I also asked her about the visiting times and so on. She said usually people come here for a couple of hours in the morning or afternoon, but in our case, they might make an exception and allow us to stay even longer.”

Pete didn’t fail to notice the way Macau had increasingly been using the plural lately.

“They can also arrange a room for us in the corridor reserved to our family,” continued Macau, “If there aren’t any complications, Hia should be moved there in about a week. At least, that’s what the nurse said.”

Pete hummed and took the dirty gauze from Macau’s hands, throwing it in the nearest bin, desperate to be useful in any way. “I can stay here at the hospital if you need to go to school.”

“I won’t be going to school until my brother wakes up,” stated Macau.

Pete didn’t object and the two remained silent once again.

After an hour or so, they both left the ICU to go grab something to eat. Pete’s stomach was completely in knots and he didn’t feel like eating anything at all, afraid he might actually vomit whatever he put into his mouth. However, he needed to maintain his energies to properly take care of Vegas, so he forced himself to swallow every bite of the ham sandwich he had bought at the cafeteria of the hospital.

He had no idea what time it was, since he had totally lost count of the hours spent downstairs waiting in front of the surgery ward. He checked his phone to at least know if what he was forcibly eating was supposed to be his breakfast, lunch or dinner. Apparently breakfast.

Once they were done eating, a member of the staff showed them a room in one of the corridors on a higher floor, the same were Kinn had been staying after getting shot. The person escorting them explained that Vegas would be moved to that room once he no longer needed to stay in the ICU, while their room was just a couple of doors away in the corridor. It was slightly smaller than the other one. Or maybe it appeared so because it presented two beds instead of one, with a shared bathroom in its left corner.

Pete let his body sink onto the mattress as he sat down on one of the beds. He felt all the tiredness of the previous night crashing down on him all at once. He looked at the light-blue scrubs he was still wearing. He needed to get his hands on a new set of clothes; he didn’t even know what had happened to his ruined ones.

“You really need a change of clothes if you want to remain here as well.” Macau seemed to have read his mind.

Pete had no intention to leave the hospital any time soon, though. He retrieved the phone from his pocket, only to find eleven missed calls from Porsche and even a couple from Kinn.

Right.

Pete had totally forgot about anyone else other than Vegas. Of course his friend would be worried. He needed to call Porsche as soon as possible to update him on his and Vegas’ condition, as well as to receive an update himself on the situation at the Main family’s residence. But not right now. Pete felt a piercing headache starting to spread from the front of his head to his temples, making it very hard for him to keep his eyes open without a certain amount of strain. He let his body slowly fall to the side, lying down on the mattress and closing his eyes.

“Are you going to faint again?” asked Macau in an alarmed tone.

“No. I just need to rest a little.”

Pete heard some rustling coming from the side, while the darkness behind his eyelids seemed to get even deeper as Macau drew the curtains closed. A low thud let Pete know that the other as well had taken a seat on the nearby bed. In a few hours, he would call Porsche and ask him if someone could bring him a change of clothes, hoping there was still somebody left willing to do him a favor now that he had left the Main family’s service.

He half turned, lying with his back on the mattress, resting a forearm over his already shut eyes and taking a deep breath. He needed to sleep, but he couldn’t get the image of Vegas in the ICU out of his head. He couldn’t fathom how the people working there could possibly be so calm in front of such scene, treating Vegas as if he was just another patient to treat and not… He knew they had their job to do and other patients to assist, but in Pete’s eyes and mind there was only Vegas, blinding him to the needs of anyone else. It was selfish and irrational, but he truly couldn’t help feeling this way.

Pete pressed his arm against his eyes, preventing the tears from spilling out. His headache was getting worse. He concentrated on his breathing, counting each time the air went in and out of his lungs. Eventually, the exhaustion accumulated till then had the best of him and he sank into a restless sleep, drowning in nightmares.

***

After ten days in the ICU, the doctors there considered Vegas stable enough to be moved to his private room, of course with all due precautions. He still had to be closely monitored, but he no longer needed the support of mechanical ventilation, neither the parenteral nutrition, having already switched to a liquid formula administered through the nasogastric tube. After the first crucial week in which the doctors had insisted on the importance of keeping Vegas’ blood pressure over a certain threshold, they had then gradually weaned him off the norepinephrine and later also the desmopressin.

They had interrupted the sedation for short windows of time to check Vegas’ response to various stimuli, but he appeared to be still non-responsive, which had worried both Pete and Macau quite a great deal. The doctors had though reassured them that it would be probably just a matter of time before Vegas woke up. They needed to be patient and continue to stimulate him by talking to him and at times also touching him, preferably on the top of his head, his face or also on his hands and arms, avoiding the parts of his body that were still healing or presenting an IV access.

Pete and Macau had quickly fallen into a perfectly orchestrated routine. Macau had even started to address Pete as ‘Phi’. The two of them had gradually become closer, drawn together by the mutual affection for Vegas. After ten days of absence, Pete had convinced Macau to go back to school. The latter wouldn’t hear any of it at first, but Pete had managed to be quite convincing, insisting that Vegas wouldn’t be pleased with his little brother falling behind because of him. So, given Vegas was also out of imminent danger according to the doctors, Macau had eventually agreed upon it, but he still rushed to the hospital first thing after classes, of course, completely neglecting his friends.

Pete, on the other hand, had stayed in contact with Porsche, giving him short updates over the phone and asking about the rest of the family as well as his friends among the bodyguards. Everyone was fine, even Tankhun, apparently, although he missed Pete very much.

No one from the Main family ever came to visit Vegas, probably too busy running their business and recovering from the attempted coup. Pete didn’t even care at this point. Actually, he was almost glad. He didn’t want anyone to intrude this private little bubble he and Macau had carefully built around themselves and Vegas. He felt his guts twist at the mere thought of someone else laying their eyes on Vegas in his current state, completely defenseless and profoundly asleep, with a myriad of tubes and wires coming out of his body.

Each night Pete went to sleep lulled by the beeping sound of the monitor, the bed in his own room practically left untouched. He left the hospital only in rare occasions, confining himself in a voluntary captivity, spending all day and night in the room with Vegas, talking to him and sometimes begging him to wake up.

Pete also insisted on having the nurses teach him how to properly take care of Vegas’ body, from giving him sponge baths to moving his arms and legs to avoid pressure sores. He even shaved Vegas’ stubble every two or three days, so that he would always look kempt. It was probably something trivial, but even that felt important to Pete. He wanted Vegas to wake up and know that he had been properly taken care of while in a coma, that he had not been abandoned.

After almost a month since the day of the shooting, Pete woke up as usual in the armchair next to Vegas’ bed. His neck was killing him, due to the uncomfortable position he had slept in all night, but he had learned to ignore the soreness in his own body, focusing instead on Vegas’ needs. He quickly showered and changed into a new set of clothes, a shirt and a pair of black trousers, then he headed back to Vegas’ room to have breakfast, sitting at the table placed against the opposite wall from the bed. He started chatting like he always used to do, but for some unknown reason that day it felt harder than usual.

“Macau has completely caught up with classes by now,” he said at one point, “You won’t need to worry about him when you wake up.” He took another spoonful of rice and chewed it slowly, feeling a little nauseated. He dropped the spoon back in the plate and turned towards Vegas. “You’d better wake up soon enough, unless you want me to starve to death, you hear me?”

Predictably, there was no answer.

Pete pushed away the plate with the rice and got up to his feet, moving closer to the bed. “I said I’m starving, Vegas,” he attempted again.

Still nothing.

Pushing down the nausea, Pete went to grab the necessary items to give Vegas a sponge bath. He started with his face, gently wiping the clean cloth over his smooth skin, which had by now regained almost all its color compared to a few weeks before. He moved down to his neck, mindful of the plaster covering the healing point where the central catheter was formerly located. He then washed his chest and shoulders, proceeding with his arms, taking his time with Vegas’ hands and fingers.

Pete grabbed the thin sheet covering Vegas’ lower half and pulled it away. He avoided the abdomen, although the wounds from the bullets and surgery had mostly healed. He swiped the damp cloth over the other’s thighs and legs, eventually reaching his feet. He then unfastened the tabs on each side of Vegas’ diaper and taking a clean cloth he proceeded wiping his genital area, careful of the catheter. After changing the diaper, he disposed of the dirty items and pulled up the covers over Vegas’ body, washing his hands in the nearby bathroom.

After returning at the side of the bed, Pete brushed back a few strands of hair that had stuck to Vegas' forehead while he was washing his face.

"If you don't wake up soon enough, I'll have to cut your hair myself and you definitely wouldn't want that, would you?"

Pete sighed and picked up a book from the table, one Macau had brought for him to pass the time and which Pete had eventually ended up reading to Vegas. It was a science fiction novel, not exactly Pete's genre, but he didn't mind. He kept reading even when the nurse came in to check on Vegas’ condition and administer his medication. He turned page after page, until his throat was hoarse because of the continuous talking and his eyes were tired from focusing on the small characters.

At noon, Pete closed the book and put it back on the table, where a tray of food had already been placed some time before by one of the staff. He didn't feel like having lunch at the moment, so he just headed towards the wide window and stared at the city skyline. His stomach growled, but he ignored it, still feeling a little nauseated. It was a very sunny day, with just a few clouds in the distance, the ideal weather for a quick trip to the countryside or the sea.

Pete pursed his lips, shoving his hands into his pockets, feeling the heat of the sunrays warming his skin. The world outside hadn’t stopped its frenetic race; people still went to work and eat every day, the long lines of cars moving along the streets was proof enough of that. Everybody’s life was still the same. Only Pete’s world had been completely capsized, with time flowing differently inside the hospital, each day seemingly never-ending, but also rapidly piling up to form weeks and now almost a month.

Looking at the swarming of people across the streets from the high window of the hospital always gave Pete the impression to be observing a formicarium, only he was the one in an enclosed space, not the other way around.

Today was indeed going to be harsher than usual.

As Pete closed his eyes, little did he know that the person behind him had just opened his own.

Pete simply stood there, bathing in the sunlight streaming in through the window, wishing the heat on his skin came instead from Vegas' touch.

Please, Vegas. Wake up.

***