"No, I don't suppose you can." The nurse shook her head, smiling a genuine smile as Nate silently communicated with Shane. She turned to leave, but before she did, she looked back over her shoulder at the two young men. "Whatever you're doing, Shane, it's working. Nate is very lucky to have you."

Shane knew that the words were important, but he barely heard them as he settled back into his chair. As he silently made it clear that he wasn't going anywhere, Nate continued to fist Shane's shirt as though it were the only object in the world that his hand wouldn't pass through. Shane felt the importance of Nate's eyes on him and he slowly, carefully turned the chair so that he was facing Nate, looking into those heartbreakingly gorgeous eyes.

It hurt to see so much pain in his friend's expression, but Nate was showing emotion, and nothing could scare Shane more than Nate's previous, blank stare. Shane could feel his phone repeatedly vibrating against his hip, but he didn't break any of the minimal contact that he had finally made with Nate – he was afraid that if he so much as reached into his pocket to switch off his phone, he might lose the progress that had been made.

"What is he still doing here?" Shane's unwavering gaze nearly faltered as he heard the voice of Nate's mother outside, clearly raised to the nurse. "He's not a family member and I will not give permission for him to stay longer than the select visiting hours!"

"With all due respect," the nurse began, "it's not solely up to you. Your son is 18 years old, and by reaching out to Shane Grey he has overridden your request to restrict Shane to the regulated visitation hours." Shane frowned, hoping that Nate could tune this out.

"Reaching out? How can you tell he's reaching out if he won't fucking speak?" Nate's mother spoke with a biting tone of voice.

"He is literally clinging to Shane," the nurse retorted. "If you don't believe me, go ahead and see for yourself." Shane didn't look, but he was sure that Nate's mother was looking into the room and he feared the reaction that was sure to follow.

"That is MY son! I should be the one that he's holding onto!" Shane gulped slightly as he heard the backlash, but kept his focus on Nate.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but in cases like Nate's, things like this sometimes don't make sense. Everyone has been handling your son's situation differently; we had no idea who, if anyone, was doing what Nate needed – it turned out that someone was and it happened to be Shane's method that worked. You should be happy that your son is making progress, not angry because it's not your t-shirt he's clinging to." Shane felt a huge swell of admiration for the nurse as she attempted to set Nate's mother straight. The argument died down, and Shane was able to turn his full attention to Nate.

Shane looked at Nate, focusing on the young man's eyes, trying to find and read some sort of reaction to the conversation that they had over heard, but all that he could see was the same pain and broken sorrow that had been there wince they first made eye contact. Nate's ability to deny a physical reaction made Shane wonder if maybe what he had hoped for had happened – perhaps Nate had been able to tune out the dissent between his mother and the nurse. The pain that Nate felt was evident not only in his eyes, but in the one other form of communication that the men had. The grip that Nate had on Shane's shirt was far tighter than necessary; his knuckles were almost white from the force he was exerting to hold onto Shane.

Shane wanted to tell Nate that even if he let go, Shane would stay, but he didn't want Nate to feel as though the tight grasp annoyed him in any way. Nate was clinging to Shane out of some sort of necessity and Shane wasn't about to deny him that in any way, shape or form.

Nate held onto Shane for hours. He didn't let go when the doctor came in to check on him, he didn't let go as the nurse fed him his dinner, he didn't even let go when the doctor came back late that night to change Nate's drip, adding some drug to aid Nate in a dreamless sleep. Only once the drug kicked in and Nate began to fall asleep did his grip relax, but still, Shane didn't leave. He rested his head on the side of Nate's bed and closed his eyes, falling asleep determined to be the first thing that Nate saw when he woke – this was the way that he knew of to let Nate know that, even if he wasn't holding tightly to him, Shane would be there, he wouldn't leave Nate alone.

Shane woke up before Nate, surprised by how rested he felt despite the pain in his neck from the angle that he had slept in. Nate hadn't moved at all and his hand was still resting right beside Shane's shoulder, where he had been holding tightly to the shirt the day before. Shane stayed where he was, not wanting to be the reason that Nate woke up. He didn't know how much sleep Nate had been getting since he disappeared, but he knew that Nate's medical report had specified exhaustion. This was not the first time that Shane had seen Nate asleep, but it was the first time that Shane had watched Nate sleep. Shane instinctively monitored the way that Nate's chest was rising and falling as his medically regulated breath moved through his body.

In the three months that he had been gone, Nate had not only lost all of the weight that he had gained since and during their last tour, but some extra as well, and his hair curly hair had grown shaggy. Nate's skin was pale – more so than Shane had ever seen it, and it displayed a strikingly stark contrast to both his brown hair and the fading, but still visible ring around his left eye. Shane didn't understand how anyone could beat Nate; Nate had always been beautiful and everybody knew it, himself included, and Shane couldn't fathom how anyone would mar that beauty for any reason.

As the thought pulled at his mind, Nate slowly opened his eyes, looking at Shane with the same, silent expression as before – hurt, sad and needy. Shane bit his lip, cautiously and slowly extending his right hand to Nate. He was surprised when Nate looked down at it, and even more surprised when slender, cool fingers met his, not holding his hand, just barely resting in his palm.