It wasn't Johnny's first time taking a tumble, but it might've been the worst, rivaling with the time he got into the accident in the first place. All he felt after the painkillers was humiliation, though. How could he have lost his head that much? The stomping feet happened so quickly, tackling Johnny to the ground, the sharp heel of the boot against his thigh, the ripping of his stitches, the jeering of the crowd... Christ. Johnny tried to convince himself that it sounded a lot worse than it actually was, but he wasn't fooling anyone, and his ma was practically glued to his side, cooing about if he wanted applesauce, how he shouldn't move a muscle. The pain wasn't nearly as bad compared to the fear of never playing rugby again. He needed this. Rugby was Johnny's life, and a tiny tear in his thigh would not be the falling of it. Johnny needed to get back on the pitch, and soon. He'd already spend nearly a week of precious time in the hospital, not to mention the daunting idea of spending another week there for the doctors to monitor his progress. It was driving him insane.

Johnny tortured himself by watching an Ireland rugby match on the telly, cupping a sandwich in his hands (his second one) and scarfing it down. There wasn't much else to do in this place besides eat, sleep, and watch television, and get interrogated by old nurses asking you to take your jocks off. Johnny didn't have a private room, but he had a partition separating him from some kid with a lung infection who Johnny didn't bother meeting. He heard a knocking on the door and set his sandwich down, expecting his da. Edel never knocked, she just walked straight in like she owned the place.

Instead, the door creaked open, and Johnny heard soft footsteps, and... wheeling. He reached out to pause the telly and craned his head to look at the doorway. Standing there was a girl. Johnny shouldn't have been alarmed by this, but the girl standing on the threshold was cupping an IV pole in her hand, that was rolling alongside her and attached to her arm. Johnny knew immediately that this was one of the chronic patients, the ones who'd been here long before Johnny, and would stay for long after he left. He couldn't place exactly what landed her here, but what shocked him the most about the girl was how beautiful she was.

Her pretty, although knotted hair tumbled down her back loosely, her unfixed eyes darting around the room as if she'd never been in one before, dwarfed by the gray and white patterned hospital gown that fell past her knees, the rest of her body exposed by the thin straps that held the fabric together. She really was a tiny, sickly thing, quivering from the cold despite the room temperature. Her face was delicate and pointed, small and exact. A sharp jolt of sympathy shot through Johnny's nerves, along with the growing excitement at the sight of her pretty face.

"Uh..." Johnny shuffled to sit up in his bed, feeling a bit uncomfortable at the sight of her. "Did you..." He paused to clear his throat. "Did ya' walk into the wrong room?" Johnny asked stiffly, feeling like a complete eejit.