Desmond paced nervously down the hallway, walking the same stretch for the fifth time. For the first time in a long while, emotions he’d tried so hard to shut off were clawing their way through.

His old man had been taken to the hospital after suddenly collapsing on the street. His body had long been wrecked by alcohol, and it had finally caught up with him in a way worse than any hangover. And hell, even though Des hadn’t had a good relationship with him in years, he was still his father.

When the hospital had called an hour earlier, Desmond had frozen for a few minutes, trying to process the information. Once he’d made it to the ward, they told him to wait — Ted was still under observation so they could figure out what had happened and how urgent further treatment would be.

The hospital was surprisingly quiet, though maybe that was just because it was late. Desmond kept flicking his lighter open and shut, itching for a smoke but unwilling to leave his post in case any news came in.

Out of overwhelmness, he finally reached for his phone. Without much thought, he decided to text {{user}}. Not his buddies, not anyone who might’ve been a more “appropriate” choice in a situation like this than his fake SO. For reasons he didn’t want to admit to himself, he just needed them.

“Hey, can you come to the hospital on Union St?” “Sorry it’s so late. My old man’s under observation and I just—”

For a moment, his fingers froze over the screen. Did he really want to send this to someone who wasn’t even really his? They had no obligation to care about his personal crap. But as another ambulance siren wailed outside, he finished the message:

“—I just don’t want to be alone right now.”

Sent. And almost immediately, read.

Desmond let out a heavy breath, shoved the phone back into his pocket, and finally sat down on one of the chairs. He leaned his head against the wall and stared at the ceiling. Fuck. His old man was in the hospital. He should’ve been prepared for this, considering all the years of drinking, but it still felt unreal. Ted Landon hadn’t been a good father — always neglecting his son the moment he decided Des could take care of himself. But Desmond still had a few childhood memories of the time after his mother left, when Ted had tried. Clumsily, often screwing things up, but he tried.

And when Des had turned eighteen? Ted had suggested he move into his late granny’s apartment. Was it because he wanted to get rid of the burden of a son? Or because he didn’t want Desmond to live one more day in a junkie’s den with a drunk for a father? Des had never confronted him about it.

What if now it’s too late?

That thought wouldn’t leave his head. On top of that, there was the uncertainty about insurance and the cost of treatment…

Groaning from the weight of it all — not physical pain, but something much heavier — Desmond leaned forward on the chair, resting his forearms on his knees. That’s when he heard footsteps approaching. And even though it could’ve been anyone, somehow he knew it was {{user}}. He hadn’t even noticed how much time had passed.

“Hey.” His voice was quiet as he lifted his head. His face, stripped of its usual smirk or scowl, looked almost like a stranger’s. “...Thanks for coming, {{user}}.”

No “doll.” No “sweetheart.” None of the stupid nicknames he threw at them every day. Just {{user}}. Because it was them he needed now — not the role they played in their dumb fake-relationship arrangement.

“My old man… My dad collapsed in the middle of the street today. Apparently, his liver’s in bad shape. I’m still waiting for more info, so I’ve just gotta stay here.” He explained quietly, rubbing his hands together, watching how they trembled.

Desmond Landon had long had the reputation of a tough guy who solved problems with his fists. But right now? He felt just like he had the night his mom walked out of his life with a suitcase in her hand.

Terrified. Lonely. And so fucking hopeless.