I woke up in a sweaty daze, my mind fogged by pain meds. My bare legs stuck to the sand paper bed sheets, and my mouth tasted horrible. My throat was burning with a strong thirst, but I ignored it, assessing the rest of the damage done to my tired body. I lifted the sheets on my right side, checking out my wound. The dressing gown I had been wearing was ridden up to my ribcage, exposing the sterile white bandage tightly wound around my torso. I contemplated sitting up, but I was completely stoned, and the rational part of my mind knew that wouldn't turn out so good.

The first thing I was able to really notice was the weight holding down the hand that had the Iv in it. My vision was a little bleary, but I could still make out Sam's form. He was sitting in a chair, leaning his head on the side the hospital bed, one arm hanging limply, his finger tips almost brushing the ground. The weight on my hand was actually his fingers, loosely intertwined with mine. His mouth was open slightly, drool staining the sheets, and the room filled with quiet snores. I smiled a little at the freckles dotting his nose. I'd never noticed that before. He looked like a dork, but a cute one at that. I carefully tried to remove his hand from mine because I was a little uncomfortable with the whole hand holding thing.

"Uhhhn," he groaned and blinked the sleep out of his eyes.

Whoops.

Sitting up, he ran his fingers through his hair with a yawn, not noticing that I was awake.

"You drool in your sleep, Evans," I spoke, my throat scratchy from lack of hydration.

He looked at me, relief and surprise written all over his face. I barely had time to breath before he was crushing me with a hug. My side throbbed.

"You're. Hurting. Me."

He immediately released me from the hug, but left his hands on my shoulders. I never expected to be hugged by the president's son sitting on a hospital bed, recovering from a gun shot wound that I received while jumping in front of him to save his life, but there we were.

"You're awake," he stated.

"Well, obviously," I retorted, sarcastically.

"Stop ruining the moment, Baker. I'm trying to thank you for saving my life."

I snorted, laying my head back on the pillows," I never thought I'd hear those words come out of your mouth."

"Please. I say those words all the time."

"Really? Is that when you thank your blonde friends for a good night?" I raised my eyebrows.

"I... Whatever."

"You know I'm right, just admit it."

"No... What did you say about me drooling?" he asked.

"That was two minutes ago."

"Just answer!"

I rolled my eyes and shrugged," I said you drool in your sleep."

"I do not! Wait.. were you watching me sleep? Ha! You were!" he pumped his fist into the air triumphantly. I ignored him, changing the subject.

"Where are my parents?"

"I assume they left to sleep, but I really don't know. I was out, remember?" he replied.

"Why aren't they here?" I bit my lip.

"It's like," Sam pulled his phone out of his pants pocket," three in the morning!"

He was still wearing his suit, but he'd taken off his coat and tie. The blood on his shirt, my blood, had dried hours ago, leaving the the bright red of the sticky stuff brown and crusty. I inwardly cringed at the sight of it. I still remembered the feel of the bullet entering my side, and the blood slowly leaking out of my side.

"Why are you here?" I asked, trying to get the memories out of my head.

"I fell asleep," he shrugged," Anyways, visiting hours don't start 'till ten. Your stuck with me."

I groaned and rolled away from him, forgetting about my injury. A blinding pain shot through my side, turning my vision white. I gasped and put my hand on my side, willing the pain to subside. Unconsciously, I reached for Sam's hand and held on for dear life. I was afraid that if I let go I would tumble into the dark void. His hand was my tether to the world.

"Poppy. Poppy! Do I need to call a nurse?!" his concerned voice broke through my mind barrier.

"No, no. I... I'm good," I breathed out.

"Are you sure? I can-" I cut him off with a wave.

"Mmmmm... Stop talking. I feel
like I'm going to puke," I chocked out.

My eyes were closed tightly, willing the nausea to go away. I held my breath and tensed my muscles, hoping that I wouldn't throw up all over Sam. Who cared though? I didn't like him... he didn't like me. We just had a mutual understanding.

The room quit spinning, but the pain stayed, a dull throb in my side. I peeled my eyes open, searching for those bright green eyes. I didn't want to be alone. That was my biggest fear: being alone. When I was alone, I felt like the walls were closing in on me, ready to crush me into Poppy powder. I hated silence when I wasn't with someone. It reminded me the nights I spent alone in my room as a little girl, waiting for mommy and daddy to come home. I could only bare it if I had music on. That's why I always kept earbuds plugged into my IPhone, just in case I ended up in a situation like that night, alone in a bathroom with nothing but a book to keep me company.

I guess that's why I loved reading so much. I first turned to books when my dad got into politics, and my mom started her law firm. They were never home, and Hanna didn't always want to play with me. It was almost ten, I remember, but I wanted to wait up for my parents. I sat alone in the giant living room, the walls seeming to inch closer every time I blinked. My eyes landed on the floor to ceiling bookcase, and I found myself pulling a book from a shelf. With the words on those pages, I didn't feel quite as alone as with them. In  a way, books were my savior.

"Poppy?" Sam's voice broke through my thoughts. I would always associate the unique sound of his voice with his face. I could picture it when I closed my eyes. Tousled chocolate brown hair, emerald eyes glinting with mischief, perfect heart melting smile, and those freckles. Of course, my heart wasn't melting at his smile.

"Poppy?" He said it again, my name.

"I'm fine now. Just tired," I faked a yawn for emphasis. It was one of my many amazing talents, including making perfectly burnt cake.

He sat back still holding my hand. Actually, I was the one holding his hand, my sweaty palms sticking to his. He didn't seem to mind, and I wondered if I'd ever let go.

"Of course. You've had a long night, what with the billet that was lodged in your side. Thanks again for that, by the way."

I sighed," Sam. How ma-"

He cut me off," I know, I know. You just happened to be there when a guy had a gun pointed at me. It's no problem... I'm here to tell you that it should be a problem. Well, not a problem exactly, but-"

"I get it. And your welcome," I cut him off that time, smiling a little. It was his weird way of saying thank you, and I would take it anyway I could get it.

We sat there like that, smiling and awkwardly holding hands, until Sam cleared his throat," I'm going to grab some coffee."

I agreed, waiting for him to take his hand out of mine. When he finally did, I watched him walk out the door before closing my eyes, and burned into the back of my eyelids was his retreating figure. This definitely wasn't just a mural understanding.
::::::

A/n
Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait. I've been busy. Do you think I have enough chapters to enter this into the Watty Awards? Tell me what you think in comments. Love ya!
-Stargazer12647