Michael had been at the hospital for hours, just for a petite brunette calling herself a nurse to um and ah at his head. She had subsequently painfully irrigated his wound using a long needle of numbing agent and saline. She had commented on how unfortunate he was to have run into the Governor but Michael really didn't listen. His thoughts were other places as he left the ER with two tiny butterfly stitches across his eyebrow.

The dorm where he lived was basically a glorified mansion, overrun with young men that couldn't cook, clean up after themselves or hold girlfriends. It had eight separate rooms, each occupied by a student who, unlike Michael, had no intention of actually following a career in the field they were studying. Michael dreamed about being an architect. He saw real beauty in buildings. The way they were designed, the way they were built and how they went from nothing to extravagant in a matter of months.

Turning his key in the door quietly, so as not to wake any of his brothers, Michael pushed on the heavy wooden door and it creaked open. The dorm was silent and only the low hum of an old movie and the flickering of a TV interrupted the night. Michael turned to the old grandfather clock they had in the hall behind the door and it read 3AM. He really had been at the hospital for hours.

One of his dorm mates, Gage Jackson, was slumped in the armchair opposite the TV. Michael leant down and flicked the TV switch on it, turning it off with a squeak. Gage snorted and shuffled in the chair, his face frowning and his mouth falling open. Content that his friend would be fine, Michael walked through the corridor to make his way to the top of a small staircase behind a wooden door.

The stairs creaked as Michael dragged his tired body down them, gliding his hands down the dark stained wood handrail as he went. The eight rooms of the house were divided between three levels. Four appeared on the lower level, the same level as the front door. Then three were on the second level and his room was a basement conversion.

His room was cooler than the rest of the house but he didn't mind. He was used to it. Inside his room was like a mini apartment. It had a separate room where his bedroom was, complete with an en suite, a lounge area and kitchenette and was pristine. Walking into his bedroom he lazily pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor, kicked off his footwear and flopped face first onto his bed.

His eyes were heavy and didn't need much help to stay closed. A tiny red light flickered on the bedside table beside him indicating he had an phone message. Even though his eyes were closed he could still see the blinking light through the darkness as it lit up the corner of the room. Blindly he reached a heavy arm across to the machine and pressed the button. The flashing stopped and a loud beep filled the air.

"You have two new messages," the machine droned before beeping again, piercing the silence. "Message one…"

"Hey Mike, it's Linc. Just called to see how you were doing but you didn't answer so I guess you're out. I'll call you later. Stay out of trouble bro," a click and the sound of the message ending blurted from the speaker. Michael sighed, eyes still closed tightly. Lincoln called him every week, once a week to see how he was doing. He never kept to a schedule so more often than not Michael missed his call.

"Message two…" the computerised man said.

"Hey Michael, it's Sara," it began. Michael's eyes flew open and he lifted his head from the pillows, listening intently to the machine. "I just wanted to make sure you were ok," her voice sounded disappointed and Michael shuffled on his belly towards the machine. "I'll call you tomorrow," and she was gone.

Michael rolled over onto his back, resting a lazy hand on his chest. He was suddenly very awake and stared into the darkness of his ceiling. Every time he closed his eyes to sleep there she was, imprinted on his eyelids forever more. Her cute red hair bounced on her shoulders and she smiled that divine smile at him, making him melt inside.

He flipped himself over onto his side and rested his head on his elbow. A smile spread across his lips as he laid there, a silvery light from the moon casting itself across his features in the darkness. Tomorrow was Sunday and he knew he would be doing nothing. His schedule has suddenly become crystal clear in anticipation of Sara's call.