"Are you OK?" the figure asks. I recognise their voice as Mykle's. 

"I don't know. How bad is it?" I whisper.

"The doctors have done their best. They say you might have to learn to walk again, but currently they don't even know if you'll be able to stand again." they explain. It's bad news. It was always going to be.

Mykle moves their hand and strokes my cheeks with their thumb.

"What are you doing?" I quietly ask. I am confused - they have never touched me like this before. It sets my emotions off.

"I didn't know if you'd ever wake up. The shot could have killed you." Their voices begins to become croaky. 

"Don't cry," I plead, "I am here now." I didn't know Mykle cared so much, if I'm honest. Mykle moves away as the curtains rustle. 

Ryan enters the area, followed by a doctor. 

"Mr Laurier," the doctor begins. I realise he's adressing me, not Ryan.

"Yes?" I stutter.

"I would like to explain to you the details of your injury. We don't believe that you'll be able to walk again. You can try, but I think that your injury is too severe. It has mostly healed, but because you both lost a lot of blood and fell, you were not concious during that period. Mr Laurier, you were out for a couple months. It was a rather fatal injury. At points, we did not believe you would awake. The story of the event that caused your injury is still, uh, trending. It's likely that when you leave the hospital, many people will try to interview you, just to warn you. If it would be OK with you, we can release you in a couple weeks."

"OK." I muster a reply. The doctor then leaves.

"You won't believe how many times I have had to shout at journalists in the past two months." Ryan says, awkwardly. He realises he's kind of a nuisance and leaves. 

But two months. That's a long time.

"I haven't taken the throne yet," Mykle tells me, with a small smile, "I've been waiting for you to awake."

"That's kind." I whisper. Mykle takes a seat at the foot of the hospital bed. They look down at the bedsheets. Their actions tell me that they have something to say.

"What is it?" I ask. They look up and reply,

"Nothing." The answer is a lie, but then is not the time to confront them.

Two weeks seemed like a year. The doctors tried so hard, desperate to help me walk again, but the effort was useless. I won't be able to walk again. 

Cayden was not defeated, so when he comes back around, I won't be of any use. My brother may not have killed me, but he weakend his enemy. 

When the day I can finally leave comes, I am relieved, but unforutnate that I am now paralysed from the back down. It's strange wheeling myself around.

Ryan's home came out of the fight unharmed - lucky entity. We arrive at it. 

I realise that I am lucky that Ryan's spare room is on the downstairs floor. 

Aimi greets us in the living room. The return is silent. We are all still shocked from the events that happened. Aimi finally breaks the silence.

"It's late.., so I think we'd better all go off to sleep." She leaves the room with Ryan, leaving myself and Mykle behind. I turn and look at Mykle. Their face holds the expression that implies they want to say something. I wish they would tell me what. I take myself into the spare room. It hasn't changed much. Still sparsely decorated. Mykle follows me and takes their nightclothes. They then disappear into the bathroom to change. I have learnt how to dress without standing. May I tell you, it's a challenge.

I prepare myself for sleep, but I find myself unable to finally close my eyes and drift away.

"Mykle," I start. Now is the time to confront them. "I know you told me earlier you had nothing to tell me, but I can't believe that." They turn over to face me.

"I-" he mutters. I interupt,

"I don't mind what it is that you have to say, but please, tell me." They reach out and stroke my cheek again. Their eyes hold a longing look. I do not expect what comes my way. Mykle moves theirself closer. Their fingers brush my hair. Mykle is so close that I can make out the detail in their eyes. I feel confused, but I yet I feel like I should know what is going on.

"Do you remember that dream?" they whisper. It takes me a moment to realise what they are talking about - it's that strange dream in which I felt as though there was an intruder in my mind. I wondered how they knew about it, but they did not continue the conversation.

They move both their hands to touch my face. One brushes through my hair and the other holds my cheek. They pull my head in a little closer. 

And in the end, pull away.

And I don't know why they pulled away.

Or what they planned on doing if they hadn't.