Mom used to come a lot. At first, I wasn't sure what she was saying, it was fuzzy, kind of like listening to someone talk while you're underwater. But the words became clearer every time, the same way that a radio station does when you get closer to it's appointed frequency. She said a lot, so I don't remember much of the menial things. She often talked about how her day had been, and how her coworkers were faring. Sometimes she would talk about things I had done when I was much younger, looking back on my life as if reading me an elegy dedicated in my name. Other times, she just cried; called my name and sobbed to herself.

I wanted to laugh, to tell her she was being hormonal and crazy, like she always was. (Menopause was rough for my mom.) I wanted to remind her that I hated those stories about me, remind her that they brought a flush to my cheeks with their embarrassing content. I wanted to tell her that her days at the office were boring, and to read me a book instead.

But I couldn't.

What was stopping me? I had no idea. But my body just wouldn't cooperate, my lips wouldn't so much as quiver. Perhaps I should have been alarmed by this, but I couldn't bring myself to such a high state of emotion. In fact, I wasn't sure if I felt anything at all. I didn't know if I was sleeping or awake, and I couldn't open my eyes to prove it one way or the other. And so, I listened.

It seemed like mom never left, was constantly talking to me, hardly any pauses between her words. But then there were gaps. Was it me fading out more frequently, or was she speaking to me less? I didn't know. But it continued to decline, her voice, and eventually I was left completely alone in silence. Maddening, frighting silence.

If only I could beg for her to return to me, to speak to me, to remind me that I still was, still existed. Did I still exist? Had I died? If this was the afterlife, then I had an eternity of nothing to look forward to. Surely I was completely insane by now, senile, unable to touch, see, taste, smell, hear... anything. There was nothing.

Finally, mom came again, and I tried to drink in her voice as much as I could. She apologized, promising to come more often again, which I ate at face value. She talked to me for a very long time, as if to make up for all the lack thereof prior to this visit. She said a sad goodbye, and left me.

I tried to be patient, reminding myself that she had promised to come again soon. But the longer I waited, the more I suspected she had just told me that to appease me.

After what seemed like years of waiting, I gave up, deciding I would have to find another way to retain my sanity. And so I tried to think, to process, going over as many of my mother's words as I could, trying to figure out what had happened to me. But, the more I thought about it, the harder it seemed to remember. And nothing mom said ever gave me a hint; she always just apologized, then rambled.

I decided to ignore my mom for the time being, and began the all-consuming task of siphoning through my memories. But, unlike when I usually tried to recall things, my memories came in little flashes, never a full picture, and never anything longer than half a second.

First I got the feeling of my hands wrapped around something. I couldn't remember what it was, or why it was in my hands, or even how recently it had been there. But it was something.

Next was a lurch. A nauseating churning of my stomach, as if I had just leapt off of a building and was only now realising that it was unlikely I would survive the impact. Is that what happened to me? Had I jumped? But since when was I suicidal? If I recall correctly (which, actually, is pretty doubtful) I was a rather happy kid. I had friends, and a great mom, and even a sweetheart. Or... Did I? Maybe I'm just making that up.

Following that was a blinding light, the first thing I had seen since mom started talking to me, which seems so long ago. A doctor's light? A spotlight? Wasn't I in a play? I acted, right? Maybe I fell off stage?

Next was a noise, a horrible, bone-chilling crunch, like a candy bar wrapper being wadded up in someone's palm, or a soda can crushed underfoot. It made my skin crawl, or it would have if I had any idea of where my skin was.

The last thing I could grab was pain, searing, awful, excruciating pain in my head. Maybe that would explain my poor memory... But, as I remembered that, I also remembered a liquid, thick, running down my face, starting at my temple, snaking down low enough that I lost the trail.

It took me ages to piece these clues together. I put together several combinations before the obvious winner finally made itself known.

A car crash.

And as soon as I had that, I had the entire day. I remembered getting dressed in my favorite shorts, the ones that came just below my knee, and a cloud-blue t-shirt. My shoes of choice that day were my decrepit old vans, practically falling apart, but still oh-so comfortable. I hadn't slept very well the night before: I had a test in first period that had me all nerves. But I was still too wired to be feeling the fatigue. It wasn't until the tail end of second period that I started to get drowsy, all of the stress removed from the equation. I nodded off a few times in fourth period, eventually giving in and sleeping until the bell rung, startling me awake.

I stumbled to my car, having to try three different keys before I found the right one; Very odd for me, as I know all of my keys like the back of my hand. That probably should have been my red flag. But I ignored it, promising myself that I'd go to bed as soon as I got home. I started the car, turned the radio on as loud as I could handle in a bid to keep me awake, and began the process of driving home. It was only a five minute drive, and I knew I could make it.

But I couldn't. And I didn't.

One crash later, and here I was, desperately trying to maintain my sanity by recounting what had me questioning it in the first place. And now that I had figured it out, what was left for me?

I sat, basking in the nothingness, the only thing reminding me that I was still a being was the memory of that day, playing over, and over, and over. I was definitely insane now, there was no way around it.

And then, finally, mom was back. Oh how I had missed her voice! But it had changed... A lot, actually. It was a lot deeper. In fact, it was way too deep. Masculine even. And... It sounded funny, as if it had an accent. But...

Okei, this wasn't mom. This was a new voice. A very unfamiliar one. Had I met this person before? Why were they talking to me? But I couldn't really complain, and, honestly, I had missed hearing a voice that wasn't my own. And so I listened.

He was a bit hard to understand, and it took me a while to figure out what he was saying. When I did, I found that he sounded a lot like mom after all, telling me about his day and other such menial things. But at least he was talking. And his visits never waned; they began to blend together in my mind, forming one never ending visitation.

And then, all of a sudden, there was a shift.

He stopped talking about his day, and started talking about me. He complimented me endlessly, telling me how pretty I was, even all hooked up to machines. I was hooked to machines? Since when? It was news to me! But if I made them look good, then perhaps I didn't mind so much.

He told me his name, though I forgot it not even seconds later. He wished that I was awake so I could talk back. He bet that I was a bubbly, happy person when I wasn't sleeping, that I had countless friends that adored me. He wished he could be one of those friends. If I could feel much emotion at all, I'd likely have cried out of sympathy for the man, but I couldn't do anything but wait in the blackness, to hope that I could "wake up" as he said. But how, I had to wonder.

First came pain. An awful, splitting headache that made me wish I was dead. It was the first thing I had felt in a very long time, and it was absolutely awful. But it was proof, proof that I was still alive. And it seemed to dull the longer I had it. Or maybe I was just getting used to it, or even just ignoring it.

Next was a noise. A horrendous, annoying beep. A constant, slow, paced beep. Even when the man spoke to me, it persisted, it drove me insane. Didn't he hear it too? Why didn't he shut it off? Wasn't it just as maddening for him? Where was it coming from? Perhaps it was the source of my headache?

Following that was a light. A bright, white light. Only for a split second, and then I came back to the black as quickly as I had left. But I could feel it, that light, seared into my retinas, could feel the sting. Where had the light come from? Was it me recounting the crash? But it was different, less threatening. It was sterile, clean, and cold, leaving me with an even worse headache.

Next came a lurch, a sudden need to vomit. But I still couldn't move, and I didn't even know where my stomach was in the first place, if I even still had one. But the beeping, that infuriating beeping, sped up with the lurch. And suddenly, it felt less like vomiting, and more like the feeling of waking up after a falling dream, the kind where you get a start and wake up with your limbs flailing and your heart pounding.

And last came a feeling. A feeling of a hand wrapped around mine. Long, thin, but strong fingers gripping at mine. And then I could find my arm. Then my legs, and my stomach, my chest. I felt my heartbeat, felt my chest heave in what seemed like the first breath in ages. And, finally, my eyes. After some struggling and remembering how to force the lids to move, my eyes opened. They immediately closed again when the white light from before nearly blinded me. I waited, opening my eyes slowly, cautiously, until I could keep them open against the light.

I couldn't move my body, but I had control over my eyes, at least, and I looked to the side, the side of the hand that was being held. And I followed the hand holding mine up to an arm, a strong, well built arm, which connected to a broad shoulder, from which grew a masculine neck that finally ended in a face. A sharp, beautiful, unfamiliar, and terrifying face. It seemed just as surprised to see me as I did it.

There was a lot of noise after that, much bustling as others came and left the room, touched me, talked to me, tried to get responses from me. But I couldn't get my lips to move, and so all I could do was stare at them. I began to put together that I was in a hospital, though I wasn't entirely sure why. From the looks of it though, I had been there a while. I couldn't move my body, for whatever reason, and no amount of willing it to obey me worked. My back hurt, feeling like it was bruised in places, or maybe those were bedsores.

The beautiful, terrifying man that had been there upon my waking had since backed up, occupying the other side of the room instead. I wanted to ask who he was, and why he was there. Why had he been holding my hand? Did I know him? How long had he been there? But I still couldn't move, so I didn't get the chance.

The next person who entered the room was my mother; a tired, graying, stressed version of my mother, by my mother none-the-less. She stared at me in disbelief before relief and happiness washed over her features and she embraced me, lifting me from the bed, into her arms. It felt amazing, as if I hadn't been hugged in years. And, actually, what proof had I against that? Maybe I had been here for years.

She cried, calling me her baby, thanking several deities all at once, crushing my arms with the sheer force of the embrace. I wanted to return the embrace, wanted to wrap my arms around her as well, but I simply couldn't. She didn't seem to mind though, holding me that much tighter to make up for it.

She stayed like that for a bit, just holding me, eventually rocking me back and forth a bit, stroking my hair. But eventually the doctors needed to talk to her, so she had to let me go. She was reluctant, but complied, releasing me at last and helping me lay back down. She left the room after one final "I love you," and I was once again left alone with the unfamiliar man. I looked over at him, and he looked at me, both of us sizing the other up a bit. Finally, he broke the eye contact, looking down and to his right.

"...Ah'm gla' yer awake." He said, his voice very deep, very accented, and somehow incredibly familiar, though I couldn't place it. I opened my mouth, which was finally doing as I asked of it, but my vocal chords still seemed a bit reluctant, and all that I could produce was a strange sound that made my cheeks flush as I looked away with embarrassment at my folly. He didn't comment on it though, instead venturing a little closer. He looked to me to see if I would react badly to this move, but I didn't react at all. I doubted he would have been let into a hospital if he was dangerous.

"Ah was righ'. Ya are prettier when yer awake." He pointed out to himself, almost too quiet for me to hear. I blinked, trying to figure out what he meant. It seemed like it was on the tip of my tongue, one of those dreams that you can almost remember but just one detail is holding you back. I opened my mouth again, planning on giving words another try, but my mother reentered before I could say anything. She smiled at me, then seemed to notice the man for the first time, a look of surprise upon her face.

"Oh! Who are you?" She asked, her eyes narrowing just a bit, hardly noticeable. But I knew that was a look she got when she was on the defense. The man opened his mouth to reply.

"Berwald."

But the sound wasn't from his mouth, but mine. They both turned to look at me, and even I was surprised with myself. To my knowledge, I had never met this man before, but he didn't contradict me, only nodding in agreement to the name I had produced. My mother turned to me, smiling gleefully at the return of my speech. She came to my side once more, throwing her arms around me, coddling me, calling me her baby yet again.

I made faces of disgust and told her to shove off, as she was embarrassing me, but she was having none of it. I looked over at the man, Berwald apparently, a bit perplexed. I still had no idea why I was in the hospital. The only thing I had gathered was that I had been sleeping, perhaps for a while. Finally, after she had had her apparent fill of affection, I asked mom what had happened.

It took her a moment to gather herself, but she explained everything to me; A car crash which resulted in me falling into a coma. I had apparently been asleep for nearly a year. I was about to be deemed a hopeless case. A look of sadness came over her face as she admitted to me that she had begun considering taking me off of the life support that had been keeping me alive all this time. But, over the past month or so, I had been showing some improvement. It was never much, just a spike in my heart rate, or a small twitch of my fingers. She told me that she hadn't thought much of it, as there had been a couple of false alarms like that early on. But, lo and behold, here I was, finally awake.

I asked when I could go home, and she frowned. Apparently, I'd still be in the hospital for a while. My muscles had deteriorated during my year-long sleep, and I probably wasn't going to be walking for at least another month. And that was with a walker. I frowned, not liking the sound of that, but I couldn't argue. Just asking my mom short questions left me winded, feeling like I had just given a whole speech. My mouth was sore from the movement of it. And I hadn't managed to move any other part of my body yet, which frightened me.

Finally, mom turned to the man, who was still awkwardly occupying the opposite side of the room. She blinked at him, taking in his full appearance, still not relinquishing her hold on me as she spoke to him.

"So, Berwald was it?" She asked. He nodded, giving her his full attention. "Berwald, sorry to ask, but who exactly are you?"

He hesitated, thinking over his answer a moment. He had just opened his mouth to speak when the doctor returned, requesting my mother's company again. I could see the growing annoyance on her face as she complied, leaving me alone to bask in the awkwardness that was Berwald's presence. I flicked my eyes his way, questioning him silently. I was too physically tired to actually form the words, but he seemed to understand me without them. He took the seat next to my bed, the one he had be occupying when I woke up, and sighed.

He began a tale, one that was a bit difficult to understand thanks to the thick accent he sported, but I could get the gist of it. He had messed up, had gotten into a fight with a kid with enough money and an influential parent. Despite having only been defending himself, the law favored the spoiled brat with the black eye over Berwald. Thankfully, he hadn't been given a ridiculous sentence; it could have been several years in prison if he had been subject to a different judge. But he was sentenced to about half a year of community service.

He had a few choices, but most of them required heavy manual labor, going out of town, or picking up garbage. But one seemed more promising than the others, and that was offering his time at the local hospital. With no car and no desire to return home smelling like a land fill, Berwald chose to volunteer at the hospital that I was currently a patient in.

He had started with simple tasks, the staff still untrusting and maybe even a bit frightened of him. He was a big guy, after all, with what seemed to be a permanent glare to his features. He had washed bedpans, done some janitorial work, then he gained trust and was slowly promoted up to dealing with patients. He helped them get around, especially those that had walking impairments. He was strong enough to hold them or help them up should the need arise.

And, eventually he found me, laying stone still in a bed. I was in the same position every time he saw me, and he began to worry that I had died. He decided, one day, to check, to know for sure once and for all. Of course, I wasn't dead, but I wasn't really alive either. He admitted that I fascinated him. And, being as scary looking and awkward as he was, he was longing for a bit of companionship. He quickly found that in me, as I always listened to his stories. (For obvious reasons.) And it seemed to him that I must be pretty lonely as well, as I never had visitors that he saw.

He started visiting regularly, making sure to spend at least an hour with me every time that he was had community service and even sometimes when he didn't. Just like mom, he would talk to me, endlessly, mostly about his day he insisted. But my fogged mind was slowly starting to recall details from my lengthy sleep. I remembered his voice, and snippets of the visits. I remembered compliments that he had whispered to me, ones that made me flush.

I knew he couldn't have meant it when he said that I was pretty. Being a boy aside, I was horribly emaciated from a purely intravenous diet, not to mention that it had probably been ages since I was bathed, and I could tell that my hair was falling in greasy clumps. Not to mention it was way too long. Still, it was a nice sentiment on his part, and I offered him a dull smile. There wasn't much more I could do in my state, but he didn't seem offended. In fact, I would have sworn his face lit up a bit.

My mother came back in, and Berwald took the opportunity to excuse himself before he was subject to anymore questioning. Mom frowned at his back as he retreated, and I knew from the look on her face that I'd be getting interrogated about him later. But for the time being she was too busy fretting over my well being.

-.-.-+-.-.-

A few months later found me up and out of bed, and looking much better, thank you very much. I had since received a haircut, bathed several times, and had definitely put on some weight. I couldn't count my ribs anymore! And, after a few walks outside, assisted by Berwald, I was getting some color again as well.

Berwald definitely became a permanent fixture. I had worried that he wouldn't return after I woke up, but he diligently visited me every day. At first I was wary. I mean, who just drops everything for someone they hardly even know? But I came to enjoy his company, as it was the only company I had most of the time. And I quickly learned that he put the 'gentle' and the 'giant' in gentle giant. He was sweet to a fault, prepared to yield to my every beck and call. And, should I be having a bad day, regardless of the cause, he did his best to cheer me up.

When I was well enough to start walking again, or at least attempting it, he was by my side, holding me up as I tried to convince my legs to put one foot in front of the other. And when I lost patience, he was there to remind me that I would never get better if I didn't work at it. And, slowly but surely, he got me back on my own two feet again. Of course, during this rehabilitation, he made his growing affections very obvious, if my room full of flowers was anything to go by. He tried every single flower in the shop until he found my favorite, and then he would show up with huge, overflowing bouquets. By the time he finally asked me on a date, I had a lily of the valley forest.

No need to worry, I humored him, let him take me to dinner and a movie, the whole nine-yards. And it might have been pretty nice. Cliché, but nice. It suited him, to say the least. And he might have received a kiss for all of his hard work and devotion over the past months. But only on the cheek!

...Okei, so maybe it was one the lips. And maybe it was more than just one. And maybe I wanted it a bit more than he did, but only just maybe.

A/N: I promise, I'll work on not emoing so much after this one. All of my oneshots have been pretty gruesome here lately, hmm? It's not just me, right? But it ended kind of fluffy, right? Well, I tried. And why aren't I working on Fourteen Days, some might ask? I might have gotten a bit distracted. In my defense, school is seriously stressing me out right now, and this is my way of venting I think. Instead of working on one of my six projects, I write kind of depressingish oneshots. Well, at least it could still be considered productive.

Anyway, I think I got the idea for this in psychology class after talking about comas. I feel really bad for my psychology teacher, because I ask some of the weirdest questions. Little does she know that I ask them for the sake of fanfiction... Like, we were talking about autism, and I refused to move on till she had answered all of my person-specific questions. Let's just say that I accepted a new Nordics headcanon that day.

Speaking of, for those that are fans of mine from other stories and follow me elsewhere, my facebook page has a new feature: I'll be randomly posting my character-related headcanons. Here's today's post, for an example: And now for the part of the show where KuroRiya comes out and shares a headcannon of hers. Today's Headcannon:Tino has an oral fixation. A severe one. (That explains his babbling...) Berwald constantly has to point out that he is chewing on his pencils, his headphones, his lips, anything the kid can get his teeth around. But you know, with that kind of problem, you kind of have to wonder what else he likes to put in his mouth...
ZING

But yeah, random stuff like that happens on my pages. So if you're interested, please do follow me. For those that don't know me from other stories, you can check out these links. Ask me questions or just say hi, I'm sociable.

Deviantart ask profile: .com (slash)

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Facebook page: Wx3. (slash) Kuroriya

But we all know how well links work. So if you can't get these to work, the links are in my profile. (Might be a lot easier for you to do it that way, honestly.)

Alright, I'll call it a day here, I have much to do tomorrow, so I should get to bed. Please review if you have the time, but regardless, have a lovely [insert a time of day here]!

KuroRiya

九六りや