A/N: Hey y'all! It's been a hot minute. A lot was going on in my life, and writing just wasn't sustainable. Butttt now I have an actual novel to procrastinate! So here I am, back at it with the misery train. Hope y'all enjoy-still don't feel great using that word for this story- and lmk any suggestions, comments, or concerns you may have!

November 3rd, 1984.

14

When I wake up, everything hurts. The blanket I lie on is scratchy, the machines around produce endless beeping, and the straps around my wrists and ankles rub them raw.. Not to mention the pain in my tummy. But then I see him, and I forget all that.

"Hi." I whisper.

"Hey." He says, with a limp smile. His eyes are cloudy with confusion and… something else I've never seen before. Something soft and kind.

"Hi." I say again, because- what else can I say? Can I tell him anything of what I have endured? Does he already know? Would he disgust me, be dissapointed, like Papa? Would he even care? I think that would hurt the most, him not caring. I don't know how to describe it but… I know I care for Mike.

"You said that already." He reminds me, smile a little brighter.

"Sorry." My own lips involuntarily lift at the edges in response to his beam. "I tired."

"I bet. Your uh… Doctor Brenner told me you had some kind of surgery yesterday. You feel okay?"

"Yeah." I lie. "Why you here?"

"Lessons. Our, uh, trip is coming up soon. It'll be fun, but we have to work on your sentences and everything to make sure you can do your… job. I talked to Dr. Brenner and they're gonna give you a break from your training with Troy for a bit to let you heal, but you'll be going double with me and Max. Okay?"

"Yes." Double? More time with Mike? It is the best consolation I could think of. I smile at him as he starts to read to me about something called "ay-mary-cuhn his story". Maybe I should not recover so quickly, but it is a particular talent of mine at this point. Keep everything sectioned off into little rooms in my mind home and lock the doors tight on the things that hurt.

Despite my various discomforts, I start to doze off to the lull of his voice.

"Mike." I mumble, half-asleep.

"Yeah, El?"

"Your voice… gold." I don't hear his response, instead falling into a sinkhole of clear blue skies and chocolate eyes and golden light caressing creamy skin. I wonder what that fluffy mop on top of his head would feel like between my fingers, and then I'm gone.