Ivan Petrov

When I wake up, it's all white. The lights are white, the walls are white. The curtains, tables, beds, clothes, everything. So white, I'm blinded.

Can't hospitals be rainbow-themed or something?

My right hand is wrapped with a fiberglass cast. My forehead has some fresh bandages. There's a pack of ice beneath my knee and some more against my back.

I feel sleepy even though I've just woken up. Tired. And my wounds don't hurt as much as they did last time I was awake. I must be on painkillers.

I stare at myself. My shirt is replaced with some long white hospital gown. My boxers are the only other thing I'm wearing. Truly drag.

"Motherfucker," I murmur, running my left hand through my black hair - perhaps the only nonwhite thing in this room.

"Wise words," I hear someone behind me. I try to turn around and see who's speaking even though I can recognise the voice without another thought. But he straightens my neck. "Don't do that, gosh. The last thing you want right now is an injured neck."

I smile wryly, wincing slightly. He's right, I really shouldn't twist my neck when my ribs are cracked. I stare at Hope. He's wearing a black sweatshirt paired with ripped blue jeans. Not one bit of his outfit is white so he really stands out against everything else.

His hair is unruly and his eyes have bags beneath them, giving me the impression that he didn't sleep last night.

"Is everything alright?" I ask. I can't think of any reason why he'd be up all night.

"Me?" He's bewildered. He pushes the white chair towards my bed and sits on it. "I'm supposed to be asking that question, not you. You think I'm the most imperfect human being alive now that I've shown you my scars?"

I laugh, my chest hurts a bit, but not much. He laughs too, and man, is it a sight for sore eyes. His back is pressed to the chair, legs spread and his head is thrown backward, eyes looking at the (white) ceiling. His hair catches all the light the white walls are reflecting.

His scars are more visible in the light. And even then, I can't tell there's a flaw on his body. Maybe his scars only add to his beauty.

Alexander Hope. The boy who makes his scars look like beauty marks.

He stares into my eyes, mouth curving into a smile. "I can't believe I did that."

Did what? I want to ask but stay quiet.

He inches closer and extends his hand, brushing his thumb against my bandaged forehead. "How bad is it?"

I avert my eyes. "Honestly, it doesn't hurt very much. I know they've given me painkillers. I can feel it. I feel tired and drowsy but I don't want to sleep, y'know?"

He nods.

"I can't figure out if I like them or not," I say, still talking about the drugs. "They remind me of my team. I'm supposed to like their presence but I don't. "

He chuckles, his fingers stroking other parts of my forehead, parts that don't have any bandage on them. Bare skin. My blood is on fire. My forehead is burning because of his touch.

Do foreheads blush?

"I almost forgot, your doctor has to see you. I'll tell him, just a sec." Hope picks up his phone and sends someone - the doctor? - a text. When he turns his attention back to me, I'm staring at him like he just drank kerosene and gobbled a lit matchstick. And subsequently exploded.

"What?" he asks.

"You just texted the doctor?"

"Well, I obviously had to let him know you were awake," he explains.

I'm still confused as hell. Even he is, weirdly. "The doctor, Hope. Why on earth are you texting him to come see me? You stole his phone number or what?"

"His gmail, actually." He smiles sheepishly. "Your doctor's pretty old school. He still uses Hangouts."

"Hope, he's the doctor. Not your bestfriend or something."

Hope's about to respond but the white door flings open and white doctor wearing a white coat walks into the all-too-white room. The doctor smiles at me. My eyes widen.

"Richard?" I can't even hide my surprise. "I mean, Doctor. Doctor Ro-err, Hope. Doctor Hope? I'm sorry."

The doctor stands beside Asshole Hope, his son. "No, Richard'll do. We know each other."

"I'm sorry I didn't know you were a doctor, Doctor."

Dr Hope looks at me strangely. "Is everything all right?"

"Ivan couldn't believe I was texting his doctor on Hangouts. And now he knows why," Asshole Hope says, the corner of his lips curving into a crooked smile.

The doctor laughs. "You told our dear Ivan that I use Hangouts? You just let him in our biggest secret?"

"I also told him that you're such an old-fashioned moose, Anna Wintour would put you in a Natural History museum."

He shakes his head jokingly. "Who's Anna Wintour? Besides, I might let you know that I just signed in to Discord. It's... an interesting platform, isn't it?"

"Let me guess," Hope sighs. "You don't know how to use it?"

"I mean, it is hard to navigate, but I'm more tech savvy than you think, my boy."

Hope raises his brow, he doesn't believe a word Dr Hope is saying.

Dr Hope sighs in defeat. "You're right, son. I know absolutely nothing about those surfers."

"Servers," Hope corrects him.

The doctor shrugs. "Whatever. Now, back to you." He locks his eyes with mine. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible," I say. "Absolutely, irrevocably terrible."

Dr Hope knits his eyebrows. "It shouldn't be that painful."

"It's not the pain, Doctor. It's the drugs. I feel unalert and inefficient. It doesn't feel very good at all, sir."

The doctor smiles wryly and sits on the chair beside Hope's. "Ivan, I care for you. I truly do. All of us do. When I was treating you, I did it more out of love and affection than out of compulsion. You're more like my son than my patient."

"Not son, Dad. Please," Hope mutters. "It would seem... He isn't a brother to me."

"He's right," I agree. "We'll never be..." My voice trails off.

Dr Hope nods. Does he understand? "I'm not going to interfere with whatever you both have together. But you are loved, Ivan. And you've been through too much. I'm sorry I haven't been here for you. We should talk, you and I. About basketball or the current music scene. Why does Danger Days sound so..."

"Different?" I offer.

"I was going to say pathetic." He laughs.

I smile, not sure if laughing will increase the pain in my chest. "I actually liked the album, Doctor. Not as good as their others, of course. But any MCR is better than no MCR."

"Richard," he corrects me. "Please."

It takes me some time but I finally nod. "Can you do something about the painkillers, though?"

"You have a fractured arm, three cracked ribs and a dislocated knee. Not to mention your black eye and the fact that you're only just recovering from a concussion. I'm glad you slept for so long, but if we stop the painkillers, the pain will be too much to bear."

"But I'm used to it. The pain."

"But you shouldn't be," Richard says in a worried tone. "However, I might be able to lower the dosage. I'll see what I can do."

I smile. "Thank you, Doctor."

He nods. He leans forward and presses his lips on my forehead. "I wish I'd known you sooner."

Forehead kisses, is that a Hope thing? But here's something: Richard's kiss and Hope's kiss were as different as Danger Days and all the other MCR albums. Robert's kiss on the forehead was a promise. I'll be there for you.

Hope's was... an excuse to touch me? Yearning? There's so much I wish I could do but cannot? I'm probably just imagining things.

Robert walks over to his son. "Take care of him."

Hope nods and they have a small conversation I don't pay any attention to after which Richard walks out of the room.

Hope walks over to me, pure silence. I stare at his face, his scars. They're all I can look at right now. Utterly beautiful. That's how he's been looking since that night. It's hard to stop looking at him once you start.

He breaks our silence. "I'm sorry."

I cough. "What?" The actual fuck?

"I shouldn't have let you go to your dad's place. This wouldn't have happened."

"I was the one who rode off. And your friends were there, Hope. They can't know I'm living with you."

"Well, my friends can fuck off. I'd rather have the world know than see you like this."

My heart skips a beat. "It's my fault. I don't know what I was thinking that night."

"Of course you didn't. It was your mother's funeral, Ivan. I was supposed to be there for you."

"You're not supposed to be there for me," I counter.

"I want to." He breathes. "Be there for you. Help. You just won't let me in."

I close my eyes because I can't look at him anymore. But my mind isn't helping. All I can see is Hope and his beauty scars. And my eyes are bloody shut.

"You know me more than most people do," I say, opening my eyes because my brain obviously isn't helping. I stare at a white wall. Much better.

"Then most people don't know you at all," he says. He checks his phone. "Dad said Tyler's stopping by."

"Okay. Do you need my permission or something?"

"Partly, but I know you'll agree. But I don't trust him."

"And he doesn't trust you either. Tyler's my friend. In my team as well. You can trust him."

"Even Vinny's in your team. And I can't trust him now, can I?"

I sigh. "Tyler's different."

"Fine, I'll let him in. But let me talk to him first."

"He's been waiting? What the heck, Hope?"

He shrugs and opens the door. He tells Tyler something and goes and stands against a wall. Tyler walks over to me, more puzzled than ever.

"What did he tell you?" I ask, gesturing at Hope.

"If I lay even a finger on you, he'll break all my knuckles and make sure I won't be able to hold a basketball ever again."

I chuckle lowly and look at Hope, who's still standing inside the room. "You're supposed to be outside."

"I'm not leaving you alone with him," he says. He crosses his hands against his chest. "Make out if you want, I won't judge."

I narrow my eyes at him and turn to Tyler. "He's being moodier than usual. Don't mind him."

"Since when did Hope become so protective of you?"

Uh.

"And moodier than usual? You're speaking like you've been living with him for five years or something," Tyler continues, suspicious as ever.

Not that long, Tyler.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"Nothing," I say.

He raises his brow. "Ivan, is everything alright? It obviously isn't, I know. But you and Hope? What's going on? Is he... I don't know, doing something he's not supposed to do? Holding you hostage?"

"He's a good guy," I say.

"Are you okay, Ivan? Did he drug you or something?"

"I'm on painkillers, Tyler. But believe me, he's... not as bad as I thought he was."

He smiles in confusion. He looks at Hope and then back at me. "Is it true? The video? Your father..."

I nod gingerly. "I wish I could deny it."

I wait him to say 'So you're gay?' or 'I'm proud of you, damn,' or even 'So you and Kellin were actually a thing, huh?' but he just nods. That's it. Nods.

His first words are these: "Your father actually kicked you out?"

I nod. Tyler does care for me.

"When?"

"It's been a few months, I don't know for sure."

His eyes widen. "Months! Ivan, I-- so where are you living now?"

I stay silent. Hope's been listening too and he fake coughs into his fist. I stare at him and raise my brows as if to say 'What the heck?' He shrugs in response.

Tyler watches this exchange between us and his jaw drops. "You're living with the Hopes?"

"I, uh... yeah?"

"How? What? When? Why? Wh--"

"Long story," I interrupt. Tyler probably knows more WH words than my English teacher. "I could write an entire book about it."

"And he's treating you..."

"Better than my own parents did," I say.

He's still suspicious about the whole deal. "You know you can live with us if you want."

"Tyler, I'm fine. Honestly."

He nods. He looks at Hope warily. "I can't believe it. But if you're alright with it then there's nothing I can do. The offer's always open though. Any day, come over like you used to."

I smile. "Sure."

Just then, his phone starts ringing. My boss, he mouths and picks it up.

"Hello?" Pause. "I'm on my way. There's just a lot of traffic--" Large pause. "Oh, you're on your way too? And there's no traffic? We might be on... different lanes?" Small pause. "I'm sorry. Five minutes, I'll be there. Yeah sure. Bye."

I stare at him. Hope actually starts laughing. "I like your boss."

Tyler and I glare at him. Then Tyler turns to me. "This guy?"

I shrug. "He's better sometimes."

"I really hope so," he says. Then he brings something out of his bag. A few apples and a couple of mandarins. "Fruits," he says. "Mom asked me to give these to you. She insisted on coming but..."

Work. His whole family works too hard. For a single mother, she does manage things quite well. And Tyler, he's the best son ever.

"It's fine, Tyler."

"I really have to leave," he says, hastily zipping up his bag. "I wish I could stay longer but... Take care, yeah? Call me and..." He walks to Hope. "Take care of him, alright? Something happens to him and I'll kick your dick so hard, your future wife will regret it."

Hope winces and then nods. Tyler waves at me and hurries out the room.

Hope walks over to me. "Do you know how many people have asked me to take care of you? It's a privilege, really."

I shake my head. "Tyler offered to let me stay at his place."

"I heard," he says slowly. "And everyone knows already now. About your sexuality. You can leave if you want to, I guess. Nothing's holding you back and..." His voice trails off, his eyes trained on the bed.

"Do you want me to?" I'm being too blunt for my own good. "Leave, that is?"

Our eyes meet for a moment and then he averts them again. "I mean, there isn't any pressure and all. I mean, I'm not blackmailing you or anything. If you feel like - you probably don't like it here and it's not li--"

I cut him off. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No," he exhales. He meets my eyes. Finally. "I've liked our time together and I sincerely wish you'd stay longer."

Sincerity is sexy. "Okay." I can't stop smiling.

"Okay?" he asks, shocked.

"I wanna stay as well," I say. "Not because of you, loser. I'm afraid Prince will miss me too much."

"Prince?" he asks with puppy-dog eyes.

"Jeez, don't do that." I look away.

He laughs. "So you'll stay with me?"

"With Prince and Sebastian and Richard and Emelia, you mean? Yes."

He shakes his head. "Will you miss me if I leave?"

"Leave?" Now it's my turn to be confused.

"It's a hypothetical question, Princess. Now answer."

I sigh. "I'd run away."

"Run away?"

"With you, idiot," I say. "With you."

He smiles. "I don't know if you're joking or being serious."

Flirting, I want to correct him but don't. "Your choice, sucker."