(TW: drug use, death mention)

- He had been so stupid. 

He knew this. He didn't know much of anything at the moment: where he was, what state he was in, if he was going to get a second chance. But he knew he had been stupid, reckless, -- just idiotic, overall. He hadn't done anything in a while, so he figured it would be alright; he was at a party after the show, and you weren't there. He figured it would be a sympathetic lie if he blamed his lapse in judgement on loneliness, but that wasn't true. The whole band was right there; Robin had told him not to get into any trouble as he had walked off. In that moment, as shameful as it might have been, he was glad you weren't there. You were all the way back home in the U.S., and he was here in London. 

He was there, making what he knew was a huge mistake, and you were probably asleep already, blissfully unaware of any of his wrongdoing. 

That was the worst part of it, he thought bitterly now. He was so happy that you weren't there to look out for him, hold him back, and now he might die before ever getting to see you again. 

- "Wake up." 

- Somehow, those words got through to him.

 It wasn't quite easy to open his eyes, but it wasn't as difficult as he expected. 

And there you were, so real, hand violently squeezing his. In that moment, he swore he was more relieved than he had ever been, -- he didn't quite know how he would feel about waking up otherwise, but if you were there, it was a great thing. Still, he wasn't quite sure what to say, -- how could he open up a conversation with you, after what he had done, the pain he had caused you? 

Luckily, it didn't look like he was going to have to say anything; you parted your chapped lips. When you spoke, your voice was quiet, thin, as if it took all the strength in the world for you to talk to him. "You--" 

You broke off then, one soft sob rising from your throat. You tried to hold back any more tears, turning your eyes away from him. "You dumbass."

- Judging by those words alone, the two of you were on the same page when it came to his stupidity. That got one thing out of the way. 

He just had to deal with the rest of it. 

He figured he should start with the most obvious thing; the truth that was currently gnawing at him, making him feel like the worst person on the planet. 

When he tried to talk, he sounded horrible, but he forced himself to get past that. The most important thing was that you heard him. "I'm--" 

He stopped talking for a moment, watching you lift your head to look at him. The hurt in your eyes felt like a punch to the gut. 

"I'm sorry," he finished. God knows, he meant it. 

- You sniffled in response, fixing your gaze on him in that hospital bed, forcing yourself to face the situation head-on. Somehow, you find yourself still holding his hand.

You were pissed, -- no, livid. When you had first found out what he had done, you felt as if your heart had been ripped into a million pieces, -- you had somehow gotten yourself on a redeye flight that evening, crying the entire drive over, then on the plane. It made you feel so sick: Robin had called you at 3:30 AM, voice strained. 

"Hey," he said. "I'm sorry, but I... I think you need to be getting over here. It's Trent, he... he took too much of something after the show, and we... we're sort of in the hospital. I don't really know what's gonna happen, but... Jesus..."

At this point, you had all but stopped listening. You had been on autopilot, up until that moment that plane touched down and you turned your phone back on. When you called Robin again, he told you he was fine; not awake, but in stable condition. 

That's when you allowed yourself to get angry. 

Not that he was awake; you wanted him to pull through so very badly. He was the love of your life, you needed him. You were angry with him for doing this in the first place.

For doing this to you. 

You knew that might seem selfish, but, quite frankly, you didn't care. It couldn't be as selfish as he had been. Had he been thinking of you when he did it? You weren't sure if it would hurt worse if he was or if he wasn't. 

He had told you he had stopped. He had told you that he was clean, -- "more or less," he had said, that smile on his face like it was nothing. And you believed him. 

How stupid. 

- You wondered about it on the way to the hospital. 

What else would he lie to you about?

What if he had been using this entire time, behind your back? What if there were other people, hookups on tour, off tour? What if he had been lying every time he told you he loved you, every time he looked at you with that gleam in his eye, every time he kissed you or held you or acted like he cared about you at all? What if it was all a trick? 

And for what?

- Looking at him then, though, you didn't believe any of that. The way he looked at you, -- God, he worshipped you. You can't fake looking at someone that way, with all that sorrow and shame and adoration. 

And you were so in love with him. There was no denying it, -- if something had happened to him, it would break you. In doing this, he had already smashed up a little bit of you, -- if he had really been gone, you would be ruined.

You needed him. And, regardless of any doubts you might have had, he needed you. You could see it in his eyes, so full of sadness, so lost. God, that killed you. 

- ...and recognizing that sorrow on your face killed him, too. He wanted you to forgive him so bad. He wasn't sure if you would, but he would die trying, if he had to. 

So he made his first, possibly futile attempt at reconciliation. "Come here." He looked at you, eyes cloudy and not as green as they usually were, but so full of emotion. Honest emotion. "Please."

You sighed, letting go of his hand just long enough to join him. 

- And so you held him again, feeling that anger melt away, slowly but surely. You would have some trust issues after this, for sure, but you could only place so much blame on him fairly. 

He was sick. Not sick in a way to where he wanted to hurt you and everyone else who loved him, but sick enough to where he would need help to fully rid himself of the control this beast had over him. 

Maybe that wasn't a type of help you could provide on your own, but you were okay with that. You'd do anything in your power to made sure he was able to get that help. 

- "We're gonna have to do something."

He looked into your eyes when you said that, only to find they were swimming with tears. He reached out to hold you, to comfort you, but you shook your head, wiping your own tears away. This wasn't about you. None of it was. 

"I mean it, Trent," you continued, voice stern. "You need to get help for this. This isn't something you can just power through on your own." You slipped your fingers through his, gently squeezing. "I'm with you, no matter what happens. But I can't..." You stopped, taking a deep breath, willing yourself not to start crying again. 

"I can't lose you," you finished. "I couldn't love anybody else. You're my soulmate, Reznor. My life would be a lot worse without you in it. Believe me." 

- He did believe you. He really did. 

"You won't," he said, causing you to look at him, eyes wide with surprise. "Lose me, I mean. I'm going to get help, I'll do it... I'll do it for you."

You shook your head. "For you," you corrected him. "You have to love yourself, Trent. If you loved you like I loved you, I swear..." You smiled sadly, tracing his fingers with yours. "You never would have touched any of that stuff in the first place." 

He shook his head right back. "No one loves me like you do."

- When you smiled this time, it was genuine. And God, was that beautiful to him. 

"Damn right," you said. "I love you. More than anything. And I'm going to help you through this. If that means holding your hand, like I'm doing right now... or slapping some sense into you, like I wanted to earlier... I'll do it."

You leaned over, kissing him gently, lovingly, as if he was the most fragile, precious thing in the world. To you, he was. 

- He kissed you back, wanting to thank you somehow for all you'd done for him; you kept him alive, basically. 

Though he couldn't thank you quite like he wanted to in this hospital bed, he settled for lying next to you, head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat, the very thing that made him want to keep his own heart beating. 

He was going to fight through this. Even if it was the hardest task on the planet, he would do it. For you.

And, if he was what brought that spark to your life, maybe for himself, too.