"Thanks for being here."

Hazel grasps my hand. The firmness of his grip is reassuring; the sight of him—dressed in a hospital gown and hooked up to a heart monitor and an IV bag—is less so.

He'd regained consciousness on the beach after less than a minute, but it had felt like an eternity. Ignoring his repeated declarations that he was 'fine,' Dave had helped me get him into Dave's van and drive him to the hospital, where we've been for the last three hours.

"Where else would I be?"

He gives me a lopsided smile. "You could have gone back to the beach with Dave."

I make a face. "I'm not a complete asshole."

"Speaking of assholes..." He checks his phone. "Still no word from my dad."

Hazel had called and texted him several times (at my insistence), but received no reply.

"I'm sorry." I give his fingers a squeeze, rubbing my thumb over the back of his hand.

"He's probably grading papers. He hates grading, so he does it all in one day. He always turns his phone off to avoid distractions."

"Is there someone else we can call? Another professor, or one of his grad students?"

Hazel shakes his head. "Nah. It's Saturday. He's working from home. Don't worry about; I don't want him here, anyway."

That's a lie, and I can see it on his face.

Upon arrival, a nurse had assessed his case. It was a relatively slow morning in the ER—at least to start. After ensuring Hazel's vitals were stable, hooking him to an IV for fluids, and drawing some blood, the nurse had left us alone. That was two and a half hours ago. While I'm somewhat reassured that Hazel's case has been deemed less urgent than the kid with a broken arm or the guy who came in screaming about the aliens in his shower drain, the wait is wearing on both our nerves.

"I'm all for an unorthodox date," Hazel says apologetically, "but I swear this isn't what I had in mind. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Besides, I think this earns you a pity pass. We can still go."

He grins. "I love you."

I open my mouth, taken by surprise and instantly conscious of where we are. Privacy screens shield either side of the bed, but it's hardly private. Doctors, nurses, and various staff walk past constantly, and the beds on either side of us are filled.

Hazel's grin falters, and the same sense of clarity I'd felt on the beach comes back to me.

"I love you, too," I say, speaking softly, yet loud and clear.

🐚

"Well, young man, you have had a lucky escape."

After another half hour, a physician finally appears, clipboard in hand. He's male, mid-thirties, and tall, with olive skin, dark hair, and signs of early pattern baldness. He glances at our joined hands and lifts a thick brow. Heat floods my face, but I'll be damned if I let go of Hazel now.

"Losing consciousness in water is no laughing matter," the doctor continues, his light accent somehow adding gravity to his words. "You're fortunate you did not get any in your lungs."

Pulling up a padded stool, he sits down and consults his chart.

"First, I will tell you the good news: your blood work came back mostly normal. The only concern is that your glucose and electrolytes are low. When did you last eat?"

"Um..." Hazel's brow creases with concentration, as if he's trying to recall the answer to a much more difficult question. "I know for sure I had breakfast."

The doctor starts to make a note.

"Um... yesterday," Hazel amends.

The doctor looks up. "What about this morning?"

Hazel shakes his head. "I can't eat before I compete. No appetite."

The doctor tilts his head back and takes a deep breath through his nose, giving us an unwanted view of the hairs growing therein. He bounces his pen off his knee as if playing drums. "According to your medical history, you have a prescription for Adderall for the treatment of ADHD. Have you been taking it?"

"No. Not recently. I don't like the side effects and I haven't needed it." He winces. "I thought."

Making a note, the doctor nods. "I suggest you talk to your primary care physician about alternatives. In the meantime, I'll send a refill to your pharmacy."

I clear my throat. "Um... I'm sorry, but how does that relate to what happened? Is Hazel alright?"

For the first time, the doctor smiles and glances at our hands. "You're the boyfriend?"

Swallowing, I squeak a "Yeah," and clear my throat. "I mean, yes. I'm Hazel's boyfriend, Charlie."

"You two live together?"

"No." I shake my head, unsure where this is going.

"Well, perhaps you should." He nods at Hazel. "This one needs looking after. Now, a low glucose level is commonly associated with diabetes, but I don't think that is the answer here. Rather, I believe we have a case of acute hypoglycemia and dehydration, cause by unintentional self-neglect and exacerbated by exercise, resulting in sudden hypotension and loss of consciousness."

His words percolate through my brain, translating slowly until I understand.

"Wait... Are you saying he fainted because he didn't eat his Wheaties?"

The doctor scribbles something on the chart and fixes Hazel with a no-nonsense stare. "In layman's terms, yes. The best I can prescribe—aside from your existing medications—is food and rest, in that order. A nurse will come by soon to get you out of here, and don't forget to follow up with your regular doctor as soon as possible."

He leaves, off to the next patient, before I can gather my thoughts enough to thank him properly.

"Hazel..." I give him a look and he flinches.

"Sorry."

I sigh and hang my head as tears sting my eyes. "Fucking hell."

Hazel rubs my arm. "Are you okay?"

I nod and squeeze the bridge of my nose, fighting for composure. "Yeah. I'm just... confused. Like, I'm pissed I was so worried for nothing, and also so, so glad it was nothing. Or at least, not something worse."

"Hey. Come here." Sitting up, Hazel pulls me into his arms. "I get it. Believe me."

I'm supposed to be the one supporting him, but in a reversal of roles, he ends up holding me while I cry on his shoulder until the nurse comes to set him free.

🐚

A few days later, as Lana and I sit on the floor, watching a random episode of Avatar and eating instant ramen for dinner, there's a knock at the door.

Frowning, I set my bowl down and get to my feet. "Did you invite Trey over again?"

Lana gets up as well and follows me. "No. I'd have told you if I had; I know you don't like unexpected guests."

Peering through the peephole, I'm surprised to see Hazel standing on the other side, and open the door.

"Hey, what are you... doing here?" I trail off as I see he holds a duffel bag and a large wheeled suitcase. "Are you going somewhere?"

He gives me a lopsided smile. "Actually, I was hoping I'd arrived."

I hold the door open to let him in. "I don't understand. Did something happen?"

He shrugs and sets his bag and suitcase against the wall. "Had a massive blowout with my dad, is all. I was hoping I could crash with you for a few days. It's okay if you say no—I got a standing offer from Dave, but his place is always a mess and it smells like old socks."

"Uh... no. I mean, it's no problem, as long as you don't mind my tiny bed."

My face grows warm and Hazel winks.

"I don't mind at all, and this way you can make sure I eat my Cheerios, or whatever. But I can sleep on the couch or the floor, too."

I shake my head. "Come on."

In my room, I help him unpack. One benefit of my dad's strict budget is that I don't have many superfluous things, so there's plenty of closet space to share.

"What happened?" I ask, as he unloads what appears to be everything he owns.

Hazel keeps his back to me as he speaks. "My dad blamed me for not taking care of myself like 'an adult,' and I blamed him for..." He clears his throat. "Anyway, shots were fired, and I guess some hit home."

"He kicked you out?" Incredulous, I lift my brows.

Hazel runs a hand through his hair and sighs. Giving up on unpacking, he joins me on the bed, sitting down heavily and making the box spring creak. "Nah. I left. I couldn't handle his bullshit anymore."

I reach for his hand. "What bullshit?"

He shrugs. "Saying he cares about me. Acting like he gives a fuck."

Hesitantly, I say, "I'm sure he was worried."

Hazel scoffs. "He was worried sick. But then he gives me a lecture about 'adulting' and taking care of myself, when he's the one who won't deal with shit. He'd rather pretend everything is fine until it's not, instead of—"

A sob escapes him, cutting off his words, and he covers his mouth with his hand and turns away.

"Is this about your mom?" I ask softly, taking a guess.

He nods and sniffs. "My dad's not dumb. He chose to believe her when she said she was fine. He chose willful ignorance, because the truth was too hard. He knew it, but he didn't accept it until it was too late. He wasn't there for her because he was too fucking scared to face reality, so he buried himself in his books until he had to bury her in the ground. Fucking coward. And even now, he still..."

Bolting to his feet, he scrubs away tears with his sleeve, but more spill down his face as fast as he can wipe them away.

Rising, I reach for him. "Hey. Hazel, come here. I got you."

He surrenders in my arms, and it's my turn to hold him as he cries, years' worth of grief and pain pouring forth in wave after wave, carried on sobs that wrack his frame. Maybe it should scare me, but all I can think of is the words I spoke in the hospital, and how true they are.

Some time later, when we crawl into bed, clean, full of ramen (yes, I made sure Hazel ate) and all cried out, I repeat them aloud, thinking life is too short to live in fear.

"I love you, Hazel MacDowell," I whisper as I fall asleep, "and I don't care who knows it anymore."