A/N: I should feel bad, putting these two in the hospital et al, but at the same time, even I want to see where this goes. I'm horrible. But a good horrible.

Paul got into the car, humming to himself a part of a song that had been in his head for weeks. He was probably going to hear that same song live later that day and act like a total idiot when the band starts to play it.

"And I say please don't take your time, 'cause I just really wanna call and show you love, show you love now," George sang, going along with what Paul was humming in perfect sync, picking up where Paul left off. Which wasn't hard, since he listened to it every waking moment without fail.

Paul smirked, bobbing his head to the drumming that was going on in his head that was in the song. Finally, he opened up his mouth to sing, "And I say please don't change your mind,
'cause I just really wanna call and show you love, show you love now."

"You can show me love right now," George suggested, wiggling his eyebrows at Paul and smiling without a care in the world.

Not wanting to be a bad boyfriend, he brought George in for a tight hug from behind. His head rested ever so lightly on the younger's right shoulder and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. The giant blush that was left behind on the skin his lips had touched let him knew that he certainly got the job done.

"You're making it so tempting to stay at home," Paul whispered into George's ear. "But, we've got a big concert to get to. Last moment of freedom we'll have before finals. Plus, the tickets were expensive."

"So we're going no matter what?"

"Wanted to make it seem like you have a say in this, or is Georgie too smart for me now?"

"Always was, always will be. Just wanted you to feel like you have a few working neurones up there."

Paul moved back, snickering at what George said. He was slowly losing his cool as his shoulders continued to shake, which then intensified to near body shaking laughter, head thrown back, eyes closed kind of laughter.

"Thanks for the confidence booster."

●

Paul jolted awake, breath heavy from what he just woke up from. He closed his eyes as he did in the drug-induced dream, trying to calm himself down. All he could see behind dark eyelids was Georgie, still smiling at him, suspended in a time where hurt, harm or danger came near him.

It was obvious at that point that closing his eyes wasn't going to help.

He opened his eyes to see Buddy leaning against the door, just staring at him with all kinds of emotions Paul couldn't properly identify swirling around in his eyes. For that short minute, they didn't say anything, not quite ready to say anything that could ruin the peace that was so hard to come by in the last couple of hours.

Buddy pushed himself off of the doorway, eyes just as unreadable the closer he got to Paul as they were far away.

"You seem calm," Buddy said as he sat in the small chair by the bed. It took Paul a moment to try to figure out how to properly look at him without bothering his stitches and gave up in the end. A small frown flitted on his face, finally giving the elder one noticeable emotion. "They have a remote for that. To move the bed up and down and all that. You shouldn't use it right now, though."

Still, he leant over to the small table next to them that had said remote on it and placed it in Paul's hand. There was no move to close his hand around the remote or even to say a quick thank you, not even a look over to his friend just to acknowledge that he was there.

"Alright in there, bud? You're starting to act like a statue right now."

"Why'd you give it to me then?"

Buddy tilted his head at that, not really following what was put out in a seemingly random way.

"Forget it," Paul said with a sigh and moved the remote around in his hand without any serious thought. "Any word on George?"

That question was avoided in a fashion too obvious even for Buddy Holly of all people. He stood up in such a hurry that his chair nearly tipped over in the process and he hardly bothered to stop it as it tried to right itself.

"You need ice chips. Or, at least you will. Remember after surgery I was so thirsty but they kept saying I couldn't get water until . . . well, I forgot. But I'll get it."

Just as quickly as he blurted out the little fact he was out of the room without so much as a quick reminder that'd he be back shortly. Judging by how quickly he left and the reason for it, he would have been lying if he'd said that anyways.

So Paul was left to his thoughts, which weren't at all comforting, just like the mattress and blanket he was given. He'd have to remember to ask for a second one of those anyways, the blankets in hospitals are certainly described as thin for a reason.

A small rap at the door tore Paul from his already darkening mind and he accepted the distraction, hoping Buddy would explain to him why he ran off and then talk about George in great detail.

The person at the door wasn't at all who he'd hoped it would be. Instead of it being his friend—who had a lot of questions to answer, by the way—he was staring at a doctor that seemed way too happy to be there. It was the complete opposite of the quiet staredown he had with his close friend, which was them just confirming they were both safe and hoping things were going to get better from here. This was the guy standing in front of him was looking at a medical miracle.

It took the patient clearing his throat for the doctor to actually do something. So he got a dud. Brilliant.

That was also all it took for the doctor to start rambling about how cool it was to watch people open up his body and dig around in there. But to do that himself—

"Can we stop the narrative on how I nearly died?"

"There's no way you would have, though. Our doctors are kickass, the best in Liverpool and one of the best in England. There was this other guy that came before you with this serious head injury, I'm not so sure about him."

Paul nearly cried out for him to stop again and at the same time he couldn't help but want to ask him to go into detail. This was the first person to really say what he'd been wanting to hear for a long time and even though he was annoying, he could certainly put up with it to get to know about George's condition.

"I mean, his face wasn't hurt that bad, maybe a scar at the worse and then you just look up a bit and it was like his brain was just out there! Or . . . that's what one of my friends said. She over exaggerates, though. It wasn't an easy surgery, took hours, she said. Now all they're waiting for him to do is wake up."

"Why?" Paul asked, making the doctor pause as he checked his feet. He still moved the cold metal up the left foot and wrote down how Paul squirmed away from the touch.

"As I said, his head was a mess. There was a lot of pressure in there and he was lucky to get here on time to relieve it. I'd start being a Christian if he comes out without some serious problems."

The test finished at that, his scribbling on the page with a final flourish. It left Paul to his thoughts once again, fiddling with the crappy blanket that was on him. Speaking of . . .

"Do you think I can get another one of these blankets?" Paul blurted out. He was still looking at the slightly frayed edges of the one he had, playing around with loose strings and wondering which one was the one to make the blanket become a nice ball of string.

"What?" the doctor asked, close to laughing as he looked back at the person who wouldn't look right at him. "Oh, those things. We have a tonne of them so don't worry about it. I'll have a nurse bring one to you soon. Stay comfy, you might be here a while."

And with that, the doctor left.

Paul pulled at one of the loose strings and it only got longer, not falling apart like he quietly hoped it would.

"Stay alive for me, George. I can't go on without you."

A/N: This was definitely shorter than I expected! I'm no good with plots, but I feel like something's on here, which is brilliant. So these short chapters have a meaning, along with a thing I read recently saying that people like shorter chapters. Hehe, je ne suis pas bonne avec petites histoires. (Is that feminine??) And I read that a patient post-abdominal surgery only gets a glass of water after they . . . pass gas. ^^ Awkward, but I see the reasons for it. You see I've been reading a bit too. Still, have a lovely day, all!