It felt as though the signal light would never turn green. The left side of his face still stung bitterly from the punch, the slightly metallic tang of blood lined his mouth from the fresh split lip. The crowd waiting at the crossing partly gently from him, perhaps sensing his rotten aura.

He banged his foot against the edge of the pavement in an effort to dislodge a small stone from the sole of his boot. A younger man waited nervously next to him listening to music on headphones, clearly contemplating crossing in the ebb of traffic.

Turning to check the street before crossing he noticed the truck. It appeared to be gaining speed as the driver hunched over the wheel.

Just as he was about to step back onto the pavement he noticed the younger man, his warm honey coloured hair in the sunlight, a single pace ahead of him. His arms shot out a head of him, partly pushing, partly shielding the man.

He felt the impact.

It was almost as though his whole body was suspended in jelly. He heard screams but the sounds were dulled. It was becoming harder to push his chest open and breath. The lack of oxygen panicked him, he struggled harder to gasp for air.

Then, nothing.

He eyes opened slowly, the harsh lights blurred under a sort of bokeh effect. Blinking, his vision cleared. In a fluid motion his sat himself up, swinging his legs over the edge of the gurney. The floor felt cold under his bare feet.

Surprisingly, there was no pain, just a dull ache radiating through him. Must have been one of those miraculous incidents where, aside from bruising, the victim ends up unscathed.

Kekeke, he laughed to himself, "The awesome me is so lucky!"

Sitting in the plain room quickly became dull, not that he really expected people to come visit him. His brother and grandfather still lived in Germany, while he'd moved to the UK to look for work.

Deciding that waiting was not his style he went in pursuit of a doctor. Hoping for an immediate discharge.

The hospital corridors were long, plastic and off white. Various patients and doctors meandered around, seemingly ignoring his presence. He felt lost in the sprawling turns, until he found himself oddly drawn to a door.

He peeked through the wire-mesh reinforced glass at the rows of beds. A familiar face lay sleeping, the kid. The one he saved.

The door swung open gently as he entered the room, as though it was a curtain moving in a light breeze.

The boy was sleeping steadily in the bed, he looked older than he had remembered. Possibly as old as himself but he suspected the man was a few years younger, maybe 19 or 20?

Physically he seemed unharmed, but the snaking tubes suggested otherwise. Internal damage? Gilbert felt disheartened in his efforts, sinking down into a nearby seat he wanted to wait for the kid to wake up.

Doctors and nurses occasionally made their way into the room, checking up on other patients. None of them seemed to notice him, or if they had they didn't care that he was there.

He must have at some point fallen asleep, being roused by the noisy visitor chatting hurriedly with the doctor. The man looked near identical to the one he had saved.

"Really?" His voice was loud and arrogant,

"Yes, it seems that the other victim is a near perfect match. It's almost a miracle."

"Mattie, dude, isn't it amazing? You've been waiting for this."

"Err, yes." The boy, Mattie, sat up from the hospital bed, "I just, I feel so grateful, is it really okay?"

The Asian doctor nodded, "We have already contacted the family who have consented, we also found this." Then presented a small plastic card to the two.

Leaning forward from his seat with curiosity he noticed first the photograph and name; Gilbert Beilschmidt.

It was him. His donor card, but why?

"He! What is this? Why do you have that" he stood up, shouting at the group. Not one of them turned to listen, continuing with their own conversation.

"So his name was Gilbert, huh. Wait, lemme do some math" Snatching the card out of the doctors hand he counted on his fingers Gilbert's age, "26? That's like, our age."

So he had been wrong in his assumption, the kid had just had an air of innocence around him.

"Gilbert, eh. I'm so grateful. Thank you" He turned his head towards Gilbert,

"Bitte, but maybe you could tell me what's going on?"

Gilbert waited, but there was no reply. The kid continued to look straight at him, or rather straight through him.

"So doc, how soon will you do the operation?"

"The donors brother wishes to travel here from Germany to be here when they switch off the life support."

"Ah," pausing, as if only just realising the donor would be a person with a family and friends, "I see."

"If you will excuse me, I need to talk to Matthew now about the procedure and possible outcomes," The doctor remained calm but it was clear they had been growing weary of the man's constant talking, "You can sit here or go outside,"

He passed the spot where Gilbert stood, nearly walking straight into him.

"Watch it," Gilbert stepped out of the way.

"It's not a cure, you will need to…" He listened as the doctor explained the operation, a heart transplant.

"Wait, how can you? I'm right here…" his head hurt, trying to comprehend the situation.

The door swung open as nurse entered, he slipped out before it shut. Following the signs back through the hospital to where he first woke up, pausing at the door. He felt violently sick, his clammy palm left a condensation mark on the metal push strip and he entered the room.

The body that lay in the bed looked swollen and distorted. Pumps and tubes snaked their way in and out of its veins. He could just about tell from the pale skin and tufts of white hair that escaped from the bandaged head, this was him.