Muggle Art, task 1: Write about facing a loss.

365: Deaf!au

Character Appreciation: "You need to relax and have some fun."

Disney, Chim Chim Cherre: Write about someone lucky

Crafty Corner, scarf: freezing, gift, sharing, wonky, comfort

Book Club, Luke: "You know I'll take care of you.", sedated, passport

Showtime, I Believe: faith

Count Your Buttons: lollipop

Lyric Alley: "I am brave, I am bruised."

Ami's Audio, On Air: red, at night, glow

Gobstones, Green Stone (regret): "How long do you think this will last?", tension, disgust

Tearoom: "Have you considered murder?"

Chcooate, milk: smooth

Word Count: 1255

"You need to relax and have some fun."

Piers glances up when he hears his boyfriend. A tired grin tugs at his lips. "Fun?" he echoes. "I have about a hundred more exams to do before I can even hope to become a lawyer. I don't have time for fun anymore."

Dean shrugs and sits across from him. "You've been studying for days. It's not healthy."

Piers sighs, pushing his thin fingers through his messy dark hair. He hasn't had much of a choice but to study. There are others in his class who have it so easy. Some are legacies and have their father's influence and wealth, while others actually have the brains to understand things without having to stay up at odd hours, struggling and desperate.

Piers is not so lucky. It doesn't matter that he's come a long way and is no longer the heathen punk he had been in his youth. He is still burdened by his past—if he had studied harder instead of roaming the streets with his little gang, if he had spent less time in a holding cell and more time helping Max.

"That band you like is doing a show at the pub down the street," Dean says. "Tonight. We're going."

Piers is certain he can find an excuse to get out of it, but there's a part of himself that actually wants to go. He shrugs and offers Dean a mock salute. "Yes, sir!"

…

"Just bring your ID," Dean says.

Piers rolls his eyes. He knows exactly what he needs, but it seems to be hiding among the clutter. He sets aside his passport and finally finds the tattered, brown leather wallet.

"Are you excited?" his boyfriend asks.

"Of course."

It's more amazing than he can ever say. Dean tends to get so caught up in his strange world of magic—a world that Piers is still trying to understand, though he knows he will never truly be a part of it—and it is rare that he has time to indulge in non-magical things anymore.

With a grin, Piers wraps his arms around Dean, pressing a kiss to his lips. There's no doubt in his mind that tonight is going to be a good night.

...

The pub is freezing. Piers moves a little closer to Dean, trying to keep from shivering.

"Want a shot?" Dean asks, raising his voice so that he can be heard over the chatter of the crowd and the opening act's mic check.

"I would love one." When Piers notices how crowded the bar is, he adds, "I'll find us a spot closer to the stage."

Dean nods and salutes, and the two part ways. Piers makes his way through the crowd, his wiry body twisting this way and that, trying desperately not to bump into anyone. It's a difficult task; the place is packed.

"Have you considered murder?" he asks himself under his breath. "That would clear the way."

He pushes the thought from his mind and finally comes to a stop. It isn't as close to the stage as he would like, but it's close enough that he can see the musicians' features clearly despite the harsh glow of the stage lights.

"Alright! Let's get this party started!" the lead singer yells into the mic. "If you came here for smooth jazz, you're in the wrong fucking place. We are The Chav Mercs, and we're here to fuck shit up!"

The crowd goes wild at that, and Piers joins, screaming and clapping. In the back of his mind, he wonders how long it's been since he's allowed himself to go out and have fun. He feels guilt gnawing at his insides. It's a miracle Dean has stayed with him through this. Piers has been so consumed by his own agenda, and Dean has endured it. He makes a mental note to find a way to make things up to his boyfriend. Some sort of gift, maybe?

He's so lost in his thoughts that he barely even notices the sudden eerie silence falling over the pub. It's only when he hears the explosion that he realizes anything is wrong. Before he can even react, he's thrown backwards, and the world turns black.

…

Piers sits up, swiping at his ears. He's disoriented, but he can tell right away that something is wrong. It feels like his ears have been blocked. There is only perfect silence.

He finally forces himself to focus, and he notices the white walls and creepy, sterile environment. There's a needle in the vein in his hand—nurses have always seemed incapable getting the veins in his arm—that connects to a bag of fluid. His heart sinks to his stomach; there is no denying that he is in the hospital now.

A sudden movement catches his eye. Piers turns and sees Dean there.

"My ears have gone wonky. What happened?" Piers asks.

Or, at least he thinks he asks. Though he can feel the tension in his throat, he can't hear a thing.

Dean offers him an apologetic before pulling out his sketch pad. For once, he doesn't have a drawing to show Piers. When he hands it over, it is open to a note written in bright red ink.

I know this is going to be scary for you, but don't worry. You know I'll take care of you.

Piers swallows dryly. That isn't the best way to start his day.

There was a freak accident. Dunno what, really. Been following the news the past few days. Anyway, the equipment malfunctioned big time. There was an explosion. They say you're lucky you weren't closer. It might have been worse.

Piers takes all this in. It still doesn't make sense. Days? How has it been days?

He forces himself to keep reading.

There's significant damage to both ears, and your brain was swollen. They kept you sedated so they could take care of you. They managed to get the swelling down, but I'm sure you've noticed the hearing loss. Don't worry. I know this isn't the biggest comfort, but I'm here for you. We'll figure this out. Pinky promise.

That's all of it. Piers hands the sketch book back, completely numb. He wants to deny it, but he can't. No amount of denial can change the fact that he is deaf.

He's disgusted with himself. How can he be a lawyer now? All of his hard work has been for nothing, and he feels like he's watching his future crumble before his very eyes.

It's all his fault.

He should have accompanied Dean to get drinks. He should have been happy to watch the show from a distance.

And now…

"How long do you think this will last?" Piers asks, it's so surreal to know he is speaking but to hear nothing.

Dean takes the sketch pad back. He plucks his pen from behind his ear and quickly scribbles an answer. The apologetic smile on his face tells Piers everything he needs to know. He accepts the pad, inhaling deeply before looking at the tidy scrawl.

The doctors aren't optimistic. I have faith.

Piers rolls his eyes. Faith. He doesn't know how that will do him any good now.

For several moments, neither of them move or make an effort to communicate. Finally, Dean plucks a lollipop from his pocket and holds it out, offering him a grin.

Piers can't help it. He smiles. His boyfriend sharing a lollipop may not solve all his problems, but it's a clear reminder that he isn't alone and he will get through this.