Author's Note: Please read and leave a review. :) Thanks in advance!
Sunday, 5:00 A.M.
Arthur had woken up in a cold sweat, eyes darting around every corner of the room as though something was sneakily lurking amongst the shadows. The blanket around his waist fell to the floor as his chest heaved with painful, labored breaths. This was his nightly ritual; being tormented by nightmares in which his parents made constant reappearances, chiding him for his unwillingness to choose a practical career path as he shivered on the sidewalks of New York City, begging for someone to give him a small sum of money so that he could buy some food.
And then, he'd always wake up, realizing that he wasn't actually homeless. It was always all just a bad dream, though he couldn't shake the feeling of having failed as a writer; failed to bring any meaning to his life, and now, he was slowly dying in the shithole of an apartment he had been forced to inhabit.
At the time, he hadn't been able to take it any longer; no matter what miracle drugs he had taken , no matter how many counseling sessions he'd gone to, or support groups, nothing was helping.
And for the first time in a while, he hadn't just considered the idea of jumping off a bridge; he had wanted to actually do it.
Truth be told, he was scaring himself. He wanted to just shrug away his moment of weakness as one segment of his mind argued with him to be rational. He didn't have to end it like this. Part of him believed he could still fix this somehow; organize it in a way that could keep things in tact. The other half of his brain was telling him that he'd fought hard enough. He deserved to be cut some slack. He shouldn't have had to put up with it any longer.
Thankfully, the rational side was trumping the irrational. With trembling fingers, he picked up his cellphone, wondering whether he should call 911 or not. Surely, they'd be able to help him at a hospital. They would give him more anti-depressants; anything to make the frightening thoughts stop.
Still torn, he'd gotten up, pulled on some slacks and a button-up shirt, grabbed his keys, and made his way out the door. His hands were still convulsing by his sides as he walked down the streets of downtown New York to get to the Brooklyn Bridge. It was a quick walk and he kept himself sane by stuffing his hands in his pockets and allowing the sounds of the city to consume him.
He had been, literally, only about three or four blocks away from reaching the start of the bridge when he had passed by a familiar hospital, adjacent the university he used to go to when he had decided to major in literature. Then, his legs carried him on their own accord, and before he had realized it, he'd pushed open the doors to the emergency room, walking up to the clerk quite confidently considering the circumstances. The woman behind the desk had muttered a few things into a telephone before hanging up and looking up to face him.
"How can I help you, sir?" she buzzed in the dullest tone he had ever had to endure.
He considered the question thoughtfully for a moment. What was he supposed to tell her? He needed some anti-depressants, stat? He'd sound too desperate for a quick fix, and she would've mistaken him for some sort of addict.
After a long pause, he'd finally said rather awkwardly, "I—I want to kill myself."
The woman blinked at him for a moment, and he felt awfully uncomfortable under her gaze, feeling utterly mental (which, technically, he was).
But she remained as apathetic as ever before handing him a clipboard accompanied with a stack of papers, as well as a pen. "Fill these out, please," she drawled, casting her sight back to the computer keyboard at the desk. Her 'please' had obviously been rehearsed.
He scowled. Bloody American healthcare. Absolutely atrocious.
He took the papers from her anyway, taking a seat in the waiting room as he scribbled his name on the top page and filled out his basic medical information. It had seemed like hours before he had actually completed the forms and handed them back to the receptionist without any further comment before returning to his seat to wait for his name to be called.
Then, unexpectedly, a young man plopped down next to him, no older than seventeen years old, with a small cup of coffee at hand. "Hey, how're you doing?" he acknowledged Arthur with twinkling blue eyes, dressed in a pair of dark green scrubs. He swished the coffee cup absently as he spoke, blowing air on the surface of the hot liquid.
Arthur furrowed his eyebrows and offered the boy a churlish nod before turning his head away in the other direction, pretending to seem interested in the television that was displaying the weekly weather forecast.
The teenager didn't seem to want to let him off the hook just yet. He turned back to Arthur with a raised eyebrow, trying to look charming as he flashed a brilliant smile. "Have you got a cigarette?" he asked rather bluntly, sniffing the crisp, hospital air.
Arthur sighed heavily. Why was such a young boy smoking in the first place? "No," he firmly announced, crossing his arms protectively across his chest. Even while in the hospital, someone had the nerve to nag him.
The teen tilted his head to the side, a calculating look flitting across his features as he considered Arthur. "What's wrong with you?" he interrogated persistently, taking a long, gurgling sip of his coffee before gulping the substance down.
Arthur scowled at the boy with a scoff. "I just don't smoke."
The teen smiled at the comment, face lighting up with amusement. "No, I mean, why are you in an ER, at five o'clock, on a Sunday morning?"
Arthur's ever-present-frown deepened. "I don't really think that's any of your business… Are you a medical student or something?" he added as an afterthought, scanning the boy's scrubs for an ID tag to no avail.
The blue-eyed teen smirked coyly before standing up from his chair beside Arthur, evading his question. He took the final sip of his coffee and tossed the empty cup into the nearest garbage can. "Well, I hope they fix whatever's wrong with you." And with that, he shimmied his way across the waiting room, snapping his fingers rhythmically as he disappeared beyond some doorway.
Arthur shook his head, willing himself to forget everything that had just happened. There was no reason to allow his thoughts to linger over some foolish, and obviously loopy, teenager. There were all types of nut jobs in the city, young and old.
Yet, apparently, emergency rooms in New York didn't take you seriously unless you were in cardiac or respiratory arrest. This revelation came upon Arthur after having sat around for nearly two hours, dozing fitfully in his chair for a bit before his name was finally called.
"Arthur Kirkland?"
He jumped up in the plastic seat, bolting through the door that a kind-looking nurse had ushered him toward. He followed her into a small room where she took his temperature and blood pressure before securing a hospital bracelet with his name around his wrist.
He felt sick to the bone as he regarded the label that has been plastered upon him. He was just another number in the system; a hopeless case among many other hopeless cases. Yet, he had no room to complain and no choice other than to comply after waiting around for such a long period of time. Honestly, he was surprised he hadn't just reconsidered throwing himself off the Brooklyn Bridge during all of his dawdling.
Finally, the nurse guided him down the hallway and into another 'room' separated by a thin curtain down the middle. He took a seat on the bed, only to be told that he'd have to do some more waiting around until the doctor would arrive. He grudgingly lied down, deciding that he may as well allow himself a short nap until he was given some actual medical attention. He sprawled out on the bed, sighing heavily as a warm feeling settled into his chest. He noted that he was suddenly proud of himself; proud because he felt safer in the hospital than he would have in his living room. He still didn't know if he had made the right decision or not, per se, but he certainly felt quite a bit better knowing that he was surrounded by supposed professionals.
The doctor arrived no sooner than thirty minutes later, a bright smile on his face as he introduced himself.
"Hello, I'm Dr. Carriedo. What seems to be the problem today, Mr. Kirkland?" he asked cheerfully, readjusting his stethoscope around his neck as his eyes roamed over Arthur's figure.
"I… I've been having suicidal thoughts. I wanted to kill myself this morning," Arthur replied rather courageously, suddenly no longer embarrassed to admit his predicament, not in front of a doctor, at least.
"Hmm," Dr. Carriedo frowned, jotting something on his clipboard. "Alright then, Mr. Kirkland. I'm going to have to ask you a few questions while I give you a quick examination and check your vital signs. Standard procedure, I'm afraid."
Arthur nodded in comprehension before the doctor checked his breathing and heart rate.
"How long have you been feeling depressed?" he began his questioning gently, continuing to take notes on his clipboard.
"About two years now," Arthur muttered softly, his thoughts trailing to all the dangerous moods he'd been in time and time again. "I've considered what it would be like to kill myself before, but never actually wanted to do it so fervently."
"Did anything specific happen today that might have triggered your symptoms?"
"Nightmares, I suppose. Nightmares about failing to achieve things," Arthur clarified, twiddling with his hands as he waited for the next question.
"Are you on any medications?"
"Prozac," Arthur spoke before he could second guess himself, eyes following the doctor's movements. It wouldn't be in his best interest to lie. He'd have to spill his secrets if he was determined to get help. "But… I—I stopped."
He had admitted to his faults. Step one: complete.
"Did your doctor take you off the medication?"
Arthur flushed in shame. It had been partially his fault that he'd been feeling so miserable as of late. He'd stopped taking his prescribed medication because he felt like it wasn't helping. Besides, he was afraid that the pills were the things that were causing the suicidal thoughts. He didn't want to take the risk, but not taking the meds was probably raising an even greater risk. Thus, he'd ended up in a place like this. "No," he let out a weary sigh, "I just stopped on my own."
Dr. Carriedo tsked with a disapproving look. "You shouldn't do that, but Mr. Kirkland, I don't think you are a danger to yourself. I think we should just schedule you an appointment with our outpatient services."
Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat, sweat beading on his forehead. He couldn't go home. He would hurt himself. He didn't want to trust himself to be alone any longer. He needed help, and he needed it now. God damn it, he was done waiting for effective treatment. "You d-don't understand. I need to stay here. I need help, please. If I go back home I might do something I'll regret," he advanced, sitting up more stiffly.
"It's natural to be upset at a time like this, Mr. Kirkland, but the patients that we admit into this hospital are very sick," the doctor emphasized, patting Arthur's shoulder reassuringly. "You're next course of action would be to speak with your usual doctor to find a new medication regimen. I don't think it'll be necessary to—"
"I'm sick as well," Arthur countered, hands trembling more pronouncedly in his lap. "You're a doctor; you're supposed to help me. Please."
It was Dr. Carriedo's turn to sigh. He smiled warmly at Arthur and gave him a thoughtful look once more before saying, "Alright, Mr. Kirkland. If you insist, we'll have you admitted immediately." He signed his name on the bottom of the admittance form and stowed the pen back into his pocket. "You'll be transferred shortly. You can relax until then."
Relax? Yeah, right.
"R-Right," Arthur stammered, rubbing his clammy hands against his pants, still unsure of himself. He supposed anything was better than heading back home. He was safe here. He was going to get help. He was going to be okay.
This time, the wait had been just as grueling as before. It was another, good hour until a nurse entered his curtained room, guiding him down the white walled corridor and into an elevator. They arrived to a similar looking floor, though it was much roomier and less crowded with people. A large set of doors read 'Six North'. The nurse rang a buzzer before the doors were unlocked and he was led into a cubicle before taking a seat before the nurse, who had moved to a spot by the computer. She shuffled through a few folders and handed Arthur a thin sheet of paper. However, the man was more preoccupied with gazing at the locked doors they had just entered through. This was it; he was officially out of his mind and locked in a psychiatric ward. It had all come down to this.
"Welcome to Six North here at Spruce Street Medical Center, Arthur," the nurse chimed cheerfully. Arthur took the sheet of paper she had been holding out to him uncertainly, not bothering to read it just yet.
"Erm—I'm sorry, but what exactly is 'Six North'?" he queried in a hushed tone, overwhelmed by the sights, sounds and bright lights.
"Our adult psychiatric ward," the nurse patiently replied, her smile unwavering. She pointed down to the paper she had given Arthur. "That's the schedule. Starting tomorrow, you are expected to follow it. That means you'll have to participate in group activities, show up to meals on time, and so on. In the meantime, is there anyone we can contact to bring over some toiletries or change of clothes that you may need? We can provide them for you, but I think it's always better to have your own possessions with you. It might make you feel more at home, don't you think?"
Arthur skimmed the schedule half-heartedly. He didn't think any of his co-workers from the office would be willing to help him out. After all, he didn't have any 'close' friends. Still, he supposed it would be better to have some of his things with him. Hesitantly, he tried to come up with a plausible excuse.
"Ah, yes," he coughed lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't think I'll be staying that long… I have work tomorrow and—"
"You'll have to discuss that with Dr. Ludwig," the nurse interjected, smile faltering. "Until that's sorted out. Anyone we can contact? Anyone at all?"
Arthur choked back a groan. There was someone. His crazy, perverted neighbor would definitely be here as soon as possible, but he really didn't want him showing up. He'd probably just make the situation a thousand times more humiliating.
"F-Francis Bonnefoy, I can give you his phone number," Arthur offered with a grumble. He was going to regret doing this. He should've just jumped off of the fucking bridge, but no, he'd had to chicken out. As usual, everything he attempted to do was half-baked and half-assed.
Still, he gave the nurse the number wordlessly, letting out a long sigh after that was over with and the nurse had called the unwanted, but inevitable, visitor.
"Now," the nurse continued pleasantly, "do you have any sharp objects on you? Pocket knife or keys?"
Arthur nodded, handing over his keys without complaint.
"Great, and I'll also need your belt and shoelaces," she informed, pointing down to his leather shoes.
Arthur gaped at her, eyes wide at the request. "M-My shoelaces?" he spluttered, unable to fathom how someone could manage to hang themselves in such a brutal way.
The nurse merely let out a lofty giggle, enthused by his horrified reaction. "We can't take any chances, hmm?"
Arthur shook his head disbelievingly, but removed his shoelaces and belt nonetheless, passing them over to the nurse. He took the opportunity to read her first name on her ID tag; Elizabeta.
Just then, a rather tall man with strikingly blond hair and pale blue eyes rolled through the hallway, stopping by the nurses station. Elizabeta stood up and walked over to him. Arthur assumed he was a doctor, seeing as he was clad in a white coat.
"Dr. Ludwig," Elizabeta called after him, standing by his side. "This is our new patient, Arthur Kirkland."
Ludwig peered down at Arthur's slightly shorter stature, staring at him as though he were some sort of science experiment. Arthur's green eyes broke away from the intense gaze, uncomfortable with the man's demeanor. Dr. Carriedo had been much more… welcoming than this.
"It's very nice to meet you Arthur. How are you?" the doctor finally greeted, shaking Arthur's hand firmly.
"Likewise. I'm… I've been better," Arthur managed to reply, eyes downcast.
"Hmm, I see. Well, why don't you get settled and we'll talk later?" Dr. Ludwig smiled, though it looked very awkward and forced. The gesture seemed very out of place on the man's face.
Arthur nodded in return, not trusting himself to speak more than the basic sentences his mind could handle. Dr. Ludwig disappeared around the corner, leaving him alone with Elizabeta again. The woman called Arthur over, brushing back her long hair single-handedly and strolling down the seemingly endless hallway with him.
On Arthur's right side, a man with red eyes and grayish-white hair shouted, "I'm awesome!"
"Hello, Gilbert," Elizabeta told the man calmly before casually continuing on her way.
Arthur shuddered, surprised by the booming remark. "What was that about?" he asked the nurse.
"Gilbert?" she raised an eyebrow in question. "He's schizophrenic."
Arthur batted his eyes for a couple of seconds, trying to allow everything to sink in. "Is there a place here for people more like myself?"
Elizabeta's smile returned in full force. "We've got all kinds of patients here, Arthur. All kinds… Hey—Where do you think you're going, young man?" she broke the conversation and turned to another person who Arthur couldn't get a proper glimpse of because he was trying to hide himself behind a lone wheelchair.
"Are you aware that you missed a group session yesterday? Alfred, if you want to get out of here, you'd better start cooperating and that means participating as well," Elizabeta chided the crouched figure.
'Alfred' stood up from his poor hiding spot to face the nurse's wrath, casting her a beaming grin.
Wait a second. Arthur knew that smile. He was the same boy from the ER.
"I know, Lizzie. Don't get your panties in a twist. I wasn't feeling well, okay?"
"Liar," Elizabeta accused. "As retribution, you can give our new friend, Arthur, a tour of the place."
Alfred's sky-blue eyes fell upon Arthur with a stunned expression. He was docile for a moment before breaking into another toothy grin, eyes growing squinty from the effort. "Sure thing, sweet cheeks."
"Don't ever call me that again," Elizabeta mumbled warningly before stepping back. "I'll see you later, Arthur. Alfred will help you navigate around while we fix up your room."
Arthur nodded, watching the nurse's retreat before shooting a glare in Alfred's direction. The young boy ignored the look, sauntering down the remainder of the hallway. Arthur lagged behind, jogging the rest of the distance to join him.
"So," Alfred began in an excited tone, entering an open area that resembled a sitting room. "This is where we hang out. There's a record player and stuff… All the records are scratched," he sulked. "Some guys play table tennis. Did they tell you about the 'point' system?"
Arthur furrowed, already lost. There were a million other thoughts zipping through his mind right now. "Points for ping-pong?"
"I think the name ping-pong trivializes the sport," Alfred huffed, letting out an exaggerated sigh. "I meant points for privileges and… y'know, never mind. Nobody keeps track anyway."
Arthur let his eyes wander around the area. There were a few people conversing by some tables, and a particularly old fellow was standing by the ping-pong table.
"You can join him if you like," Alfred droned playfully, referring to the lonely, wrinkly man with a terribly vacant expression.
"I'd rather not," Arthur grimaced, turning away from Alfred and heading in the opposite direction. He'd had enough of the boy's banter for now.
"Hey, we're not done yet, pops," Alfred chased him down, trying to gain his focus again. Apparently, he was used to being the center of attention. He ran to a door just a few yards away, pointing to a plastic sign. "This is the shower. It doesn't have a lock. Hell, the only locks in this place are at the exits. Anyway, when you go in, you have to flip this sign to 'in use'. Get it?" he stated importantly, flipping the sign a few times as an example.
Arthur chose not to reply and remained bitter. He was not staying here for that long. He just needed some new meds and he'd be out.
"Hey, are you even listening to me? Look, this is important stuff, dude. I'm warning you beforehand so that no one walks in on you when you're scrubbing your balls. Actually, people are gonna walk in on you anyway. No one gives a shit in this place about privacy, let alone your balls," Alfred lazily mentioned, leaning against the door to the shower. "There's another one on the other side of the hall, but I wouldn't use that one if I were you. It'll bother Ivan."
"Who's Ivan?" Arthur asked out of sheer curiosity, unable to stop himself.
Alfred ignored him yet again, purposefully being ambiguous. He paraded his way to a phone hanging on the wall. "You can call people from here; since they're gonna take away your cellphone when they search your stuff later. Then again, you're so old you probably don't even know what a cellphone is."
Cheeky brat.
Arthur ignored the scathing comment. He would not stoop to the teen's level. "What are you even doing in an adult psychiatric ward? You're just a child."
"No, I'm sixteen," Alfred emphasized with a roll of the eyes. "The teen floor is under renovation, so I'm stuck here until further notice. Anyway, over there is the TV room," he murmured, pointing to a glass panel with a door on the side.
Arthur wasn't surrendering his opportunity at an interrogation that easily. "You're a patient? What were you doing in the emergency room? How did you even get out?"
"Hush," Alfred shushed him mildly. "ER has got the best coffee, dude. I get around pretty well; gotta be stealthy."
"Don't call me 'dude'," Arthur growled, though intrigued. "I'm not one of your high school friends. God, you're young. What are you in here for?"
Alfred's eyes narrowed, cocky smile dissipating. He became very serious, shooting Arthur a wary look. "Let's go see if Lizzie's got your room ready."
Arthur glowered, feeling slightly guilty. He shouldn't have tried to pry in the boy's personal matters. It served him well for his previous impudence, he supposed. He soundlessly followed Alfred back to the nurses' station.
"Lizzie! Come on, babe. We're dying over here. Is the room clean yet?" the teenager griped, but didn't miss a beat in taking the chance to shoot Elizabeta a captivating smirk.
"Good things come to those who have patience, Alfred. Yes, it's ready," she affirmed softly before twisting her neck to face Arthur. "You'll be staying in B12, dear. Why don't you go on and have a look?"
Arthur didn't get a chance to respond before he felt himself being yanked forward by Alfred, who was sprinting down the hall with a certain bounce in his steps. They rounded a corner and soon came to a screeching halt, causing Arthur to bump into Alfred involuntarily. He didn't apologize for the contact, considering it was the teen's fault they'd gotten into such a state in the first place.
"Welcome to B12," Alfred whirled around and spoke animatedly. "It's also known as the best room on the floor," he flaunted.
Arthur surveyed his new 'cell'. It looked much more homely than it had any right to be, apart from the straps and restraints that were tied to the sides of the bed, should they be needed. Speaking of beds…
"Why are there two beds in here?" Arthur inquired, watching as Alfred pranced forward and hopped onto the bed at the end of the room.
The boy simpered, face cracking in appeasement. "That's because we're roommates from now on! Ain't it great? Man, I've been getting kinda lonely here since Gupta left."
Arthur's face fell, throat constricting before running dangerously dry. He didn't care to learn who 'Gupta' was. "R-Roommates?"
"Yup!" Alfred cheered, lying down and stretching his legs out. "Oh yeah, lunch is in five minutes if you're hungry."
"E-Excuse me for a moment," Arthur murmured before rushing out of the room, searching for Elizabeta so that he could explain to her that this was all just some huge misunderstanding. He hadn't wanted to stay for more than a day. He wasn't planning on sticking around. He just needed—… Well, he didn't exactly know what he needed anymore.
Fortunately, he practically ran into Dr. Ludwig on his desperate scavenger hunt.
"Arthur, is everything alright?"
Arthur swallowed heavily, biting back his fear. "I'm feeling better now," he claimed, hating how his words were quivering against his tongue. "I was feeling…unwell this morning, but I'm fine now. Is there any way I'd be able to go home, preferably now?"
Ludwig considered Arthur carefully, lifting up a clipboard and shifting through the accompanied pages. "It says here you've been having suicidal thoughts and requested to be admitted."
Arthur let out a nervous laugh. "Yes, well, I had thought that I'd just receive some medication and be on my way. I didn't expect to stay. So, you see, this is all just a big mistake. I've realized that I don't belong here."
"Well, we cannot force you to stay, but you should give it some time. Your views might change. I understand that your situation is overwhelming at the moment," Ludwig offered calmly, but his tone was sharp. "You signed the consent form for treatment," he reminded.
"I understand that, but how long will I have to stay?"
"Five days minimum; no more than thirty. We'll have an evaluation on Thursday to decide if you are ready to leave," Dr. Ludwig pronounced, setting the clipboard down on the counter of the nurses' station.
"F-Five days? I have work! I can't… I don't…" Arthur gasped, suddenly feeling very weak and frail.
"ARTHUR?" A frantic voice bellowed from down the hall.
Said man swiveled around to meet the voice, eyes falling upon Francis, who was barreling toward him. Dr. Ludwig gave a curt nod and walked away, leaving Arthur alone with his oddly concerned neighbor.
"I came as soon as I heard the news, mon cher," Francis uttered, embracing Arthur into a tight hug.
"Ugh, get away from me, you frog!" Arthur snarled, wrenching himself away from the entrapment.
"I always knew you were a little stuffy, but I never would've thought you were suicidal!" Francis rambled on, ignoring Arthur's attempts at formulating unhappy retorts. "But do not worry, mon lapin, when you return home, I will visit every day to take care of you."
"Please, that's hardly necessary," Arthur breathed, wishing Ludwig hadn't left. "Besides, I don't think I'll be staying."
Francis chuckled, "Of course you'll be staying. You need help. There is no reason to leave so soon. There are plenty of new companions you can make here! Look over there!" he pointed his head to a spot behind Arthur. The confused man followed his gaze to a man who was wearing a pink skirt and a frilly white tank top. "You can make friends with the transvesti," Francis roared with laughter, swiping at his watery eyes.
"It's not funny. You shouldn't be making fun of the patients. Go away, Francis. I might just have to stay here in order to avoid your presence back at the apartment," Arthur spat venomously.
"Oh, don't be so rude, ma chérie. After all, that is no way to thank the friend who went to the trouble of bringing you your clothes," Francis finished in a sing-song tone of voice.
"Clothes? You broke into my apartment again?" Arthur fumed, snatching the duffel bag away from the Frenchman.
"It was necessary, no?" Francis smirked, bidding his neighbor farewell with a wave of the hand. "Don't worry, I'll visit again." Then, in a very serious tone of voice that was uncharacteristic of the man, he said, "Get well soon, Arthur. I'll call the office for you. Rest and relax," he punctuated, walking off. However, he still managed to shoot an air kiss in the direction of Elizabeta before fully exiting.
Arthur sighed, duffel bag hanging by his side in a limp arm. That was that then. The decision had been made for him. He'd be staying at least until Thursday. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with a small groan before reluctantly heading back to B12.
Unfortunately, Alfred had not left to go to lunch, but had fallen asleep in bed, one arm hanging off the side of the mattress lazily. Arthur supposed the occurrence was normal, considering the boy had been wandering the emergency room at five in the morning. In fact, Arthur could do with a nap himself.
Tossing his duffel bag aside and picking up the schedule, he noted that half of lunch had passed and that a class on how to manage anxiety would follow the meal. Seeing as he wouldn't be expected to follow the schedule until tomorrow, Arthur slipped off his shoes and collapsed on the bed, bones aching and mind reeling. Maybe things would seem brighter after a quick kip. He let his eyes drift shut, floating away before he could think otherwise, a quiet moan escaping his mentally worn body.
Just a commitment of five days; it wouldn't be too bad.
From the opposite bed, Alfred snored.