Anderson had a bad feeling twisting his gut the moment his eyes opened that day.
It was out of the blue, so misplaced that Anderson almost pushed it off as the beginnings of a cold working through his system, but the feeling never subsided, only increasing with every passing moment.
In some way it was a familiar dread knotting his insides, but Anderson struggled to place it-
Or maybe he'd denied the feeling was what he knew it to be. This had happened before, moments where his life was fine one minute and the very next it was as though the ground had split and crumbled beneath his feet.
He called Morgan, praying the man would answer but knowing that ultimately he would be ignored. It was this damn tightness in his chest, heavy and thick and getting worse with each second he wasted tripping through his home. In the end, panic consumed him and Anderson gave up the fight of finding appropriate clothes to wear. He grabbed his keys and stumbled out the door in nothing more than a worn pair of boxers and a ratty t-shirt that he'd stolen from Morgan in their time together.
Morgan.
Anderson moved faster. Morgan only lived a few apartments down but every second that passed seemed to sicken Anderson a little more. He didn't knock on the man's door, but instead pounded on it with fists that stuck wood with enough power to rattle hinges. And then he was still, but only long enough to press his ear against the door and listen for any movement.
Nothing. No grouchy groaning about being disturbed, no sharp profanities at the sudden attack on his door-
Just silence.
The next time Anderson hit the door, he did so shoulder first, driving all his weight behind the blow. The wood splintered and folded immediately under the force and Anderson fell unhindered onto Morgan's living room floor. It would occur to him later that his first instinct upon feeling such a terrible dread should have been to call Cove and check in on him. Cove was his boyfriend, after all.
But Morgan was the only thing on his mind.
It was a shame that Anderson knew to go straight to the bathroom. Any other person would have called out and taken their time, maybe glance around Morgan's bedroom first.
Anderson wasn't just anyone though. He'd been here before, in this exact situation, more times than he cared to admit. He knew where to go and what he'd most likely find, and he tried, oh fuck how he tried to prepare himself for the reality of it but that was never possible. He still held out hope, every breath a desperate plea for his bad feeling to be a mistake.
It was never a mistake. Just the unseen forces warning him that his heart was about to break.
Anderson used to believe that people were merely trying to be philosophical and crafty when he read books and they said sappy things like 'his heart stopped with terror', or 'cold fear ran through her body'. He thought it was some sentimental word play.
But those things are real. Anderson is living breathing proof that such feelings exist and he resents them. He stepped into Morgan's bathroom, bracing himself against the fear that welled within his chest as though his heart had sprung a leak. He braced himself-
But there was no force in the universe strong enough to ward off the crippling heartbreak Anderson experienced upon entering the room to find Morgan exactly how he'd expected, how he'd dreaded and prayed against. Anderson stood in devastation and selfishly he wished it had been something else, someone elseanyone else.
Nothing ignited the fire in his blood like Morgan. The mother fucker was oil, and he'd spilled all over Anderson in their time together, leaking and staining the man with his sly smiles and grumpy remarks. Now, there wasn't one ounce of Anderson's blood that wouldn't catch fire if he dropped a match.
Morgan was just as he'd been the two other times Anderson had walked in on such a scene, slumped pathetically against the bathtub with his head lolled lifelessly to the side. There was a moment in which Anderson was frozen in place, reminded of those sappy things he'd read on paper as he felt nothing stir in his chest, wondered if his heart had stalled out. Everything stilled as Anderson took in the ruin, the love of his life crumpled in a helpless heap on the bathroom floor. Morgan still had a used syringe held loosely between dead fingers-
No, not dead. They still twitched in irregular patterns.
Anderson felt as though someone had taken that syringe and injected a pure dose of acid into his spine. It wasn't cold. It was hot, searing, eating away flesh and bone and burning Anderson's soul away.
The next four hours of his life were complete chaos.
Anderson hardened himself in desperation, his only goal in life to get Morgan into a hospital before the unthinkable happened. His life had been harsh, and at most times unforgiving. Losing the right to call Morgan his own had almost broken him, but the man had still been around. He was living and breathing and alive.
If Anderson lost him, it would be the end of all things good and warm in his life.
He was at Morgan's side before his mind processed the movement, hands careful but firm as they pressed against the man's neck in search of a rhythm. He almost missed it, body trembling in a way that made it difficult to discern if it was Morgan's pulse he felt or his own. It was weak and thready but there. Anderson spared only a minute to call 911, listing off their address with a steadiness he hadn't known he possessed, his tone demanding they hurry. The operator was in the middle of explaining how he could do C.P.R. but Anderson was already ten steps ahead of him.
He could remember the first time he'd been forced to do such a thing, place his hands over Morgan's chest and breathe life into his body, but he chose not to. It was something he dreamed about often enough.
This was hell, a nightmare he was reliving.
Start with chest compressions. Anderson told himself; if you cry when you look at him you are wasting precious time, so don't cry. He told himself; If he's cold it doesn't mean you have to panic, don't think about how warm he's supposed to be, or how warm he was in your bed when life was good. Actually just don't think. Its just bad circulation, you can help.
Anderson swore to himself; everything is going to be alright.
Morgan is going to be alright.
Start with chest compressions. Trembling fingers fell along Morgan's chest, trailing down the appropriate two inches. He had to push strong and fast, it had to be a rhythm. The first operator he'd ever spoken to suggested he sing a song to help, maybe stayin' alive by some feel good disco band, the Bee Gees if Anderson remembered correctly.
He wanted to think about anything other than the daunting discolored bags beneath Morgan's eyes.
"And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive." Anderson spoke the words in scattered mutters, just under his breath when the panic threatened to overwhelm him.
"Ah, ha, ha, ha," He had to compress on each syllable, focus on keeping his own heart from withering away in his chest.
Each time the repetition started over he had to lean forward, mouth catching Morgan's to transfer warm breath, gooseflesh rising on his skin as he felt the chill of the mans lips. Morgan should never be this cold. It was only by sheer force of will that Anderson managed to swallow back a sob and keep going. He carefully pinched Morgan's nose and forced two full breaths into the mans body. He watched Morgan's chest rise, and started over.
"Stayin' alive, stayin' alive."
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The paramedics had to pry Anderson away from Morgan's prone body upon arrival. His biceps burned and he was completely breathless, chest heaving under the effort of breathing for two, but he couldn't stop. In the time it had taken help to come Anderson had fallen into unwavering focus, convinced that if he faltered for even a moment that would be the end of things. Morgan's heart would stop and Anderson would never be able to get it started again.
The paramedics managed to move him enough to secure work room, but it was impossible to make Anderson release Morgan's hand. One medic tried, a broad shouldered man with a firm voice. He reached to tug on Morgan's wrist, but stopped short upon hearing the threatening noise that escaped Anderson. He couldn't form words, but that sound alone had been enough to ward everyone off. They worked around him, and made room for him when it was time to load Morgan into the ambulance.
Anderson doesn't remember the drive to the hospital, faces of the medical team or any of the questions he'd been asked. All he could focus on was Morgan. He could recall how tiny the mans hand had felt curled against his palm. He knew in detail every little bruised puncture wound that ran along Morgan's forearm and the exact rhythm of his heart beat.
What he remembered most vividly was the moment they arrived at the hospital, when the paramedics unloaded Morgan and rushed him through the trauma entrance, a place that was strictly personnel only.
Anderson hadn't even gotten to say goodbye.
He didn't get the chance to tell Morgan that they weren't finished, he was not finished. Morgan needed to know that Anderson had never stopped loving him. He needed to know that while Cove was good and perfect and wonderful it didn't matter, because Anderson had already given his heart away and there was no going back.
Anderson stood alone on the pavement, ambulances blaring around him and stars sprinkled in the sky above him. There was so much distraction but Anderson's mind was gone. He fell against the pavement, expression listless and lost as he remembered.
"So, you're finally over me, huh? Us?"
Morgan asked the question casually, but Anderson noticed a flash of emotion cross the mans face. It lasted only a heartbeat, and it hurt. It sent a physical ache throughout his entire body. If Morgan cared, Anderson couldn't fathom why he'd fought so hard to end their relationship. In a moment of spite he'd gazed at Morgan with his harshest stare, angry that he couldn't commit to Cove because of a love this man would no longer return, devastated by how hopeful he was to see Morgan still felt something about him dating another person. He wanted Morgan to ache like he ached.
So Anderson had stared him down, and said with all the false confidence he could muster,
"Get over yourself. There is no us anymore. I love Cove."
The memory was enough to choke him, cutting off air and finally forcing tears to spill. As he folded in on himself, one thought threatened to consume him.
Morgan's going into his grave with me a liar.
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When Morgan finally opened his eyes, Anderson was the first thing he saw. The man looked rough, rugged in a way Morgan had never seen him. His hair was an unbrushed and matted mess, dirty and parted strangely as though he hadn't been able to keep his hands out of it. And his face-
Morgan could only gape at the swollen skin surrounding his eyes and nose, splotchy and raw as though he'd been crying his entire life. He was slumped in a chair that had been pulled as close as possible to Morgan's bed, his head lolled uncomfortably off to one side as he snored.
Morgan tried to lift his hand, intent on reaching out and brushing a stray strand of lavender hair from Anderson's face as he recounted his latest memories, humbled and aching when he realized that he must have overdosed.
And once again, Anderson had come to his rescue.
Morgans hand wouldn't budge. He glanced down and wasn't surprised to see that Anderson was hold the one hand in both of his. The big guy had always been a sentimental sap, but despite the hard time Morgan gave him for it, he secretly adored Anderson's affectionate habits.
It was terrible, to love him so much. Loving him and living without him had contributed to his latest slip up.
"Hey," Morgan was startled to find the snoring had stopped and Anderson's voice had sounded in its place, scratchy and raw from his obvious emotional turmoil. When he glanced up, the man was staring at him. His eyes were the shade of purple he'd expect to witness in the late evenings, in the moments just before the sun fell away completely and the sky was bathed in a pink and purple haze. Anderson was staring and his eyes were glassy, face suddenly pinched as though he struggled to keep his expression in check.
Morgan realized with a delay that Anderson may have not been expecting him to be awake.
Or to be alive at all, at this point.
"You almost died today."
"Yeah, I guess I did. I almost died today."
Morgan hadn't expected Anderson to speak. If anything he was waiting for the man to realize they were still holding hands and move away out of obligation to Cove. He shouldn't be jealous of that but he was. Anderson gave him no time to dwell on it though, the fingers tightening around his hand drawing Morgan's attention just as the man continued.
"You almost died today and I love you. You almost died today, and I am so in love with you. I'm a desperate liar. I lie to you and Cove and I...I lie to myself. All the times I've told you that I love him, it wasn't right. I do love him. He is a good person. Rough around the edges but kind hearted and really, really attractive. And I should love him. He isn't strung out on drugs and he's an ass sometimes but he's never threatened me. But I could never love him enough for it to mean anything because my heart belongs to you, dammit."
Anderson was talking rapidly, and his voice was wobbly in a way that made some words difficult to catch but Morgan hung on to everything he said.
"Cove doesn't make me fight him for the blanket at night or wake me up at three in the morning because he's awake and he misses me. He doesn't know all of the words to bloodsport and that's my fucking favorite song! He doesn't sing in the shower, he hates the little chinese place uptown and we both know that's half of my diet." Anderson hesitated a moment, lips parted as he struggled to catch his breath. Morgan almost interrupted him, his swelling at he realized everything the man had listed off were things about himself, things Anderson missed about him.
"He's not you and he never will be, so don't die. You can't die. Even if you never take me back, you have to be alive because you're my person. My favorite person. Please don't die."
Morgan stared on in silence, his chest flooded with warmth by the unbound love he found etched across Anderson's face. It was everywhere. Radiating in his words and strong in his gaze.
What could he even say to that? It was hard enough on a normal day to turn Anderson away, but on this day he'd almost died and Anderson was staring at him with this big swollen sunset eyes, and clutching his hand as though letting go was unthinkable, as though if he let go Morgan would slip away at any moment.
He didn't know how to respond, so in exchange Morgan offered a piece of himself, a truth he hadn't planned on sharing.
"I almost died today, and the last thing I remember thinking before I blacked out was that I was probably dying and I couldnt even remember our last kiss. The last time we were together and happy....I want to be able to remember that, and I couldn't. But I was thinking of you. If I had died today my last thoughts would have been of you."
Anderson was studying him. His face was still a swollen mess but it was focused now, all of his attention caught up in Morgan's sudden proclamation as though the man was giving him some great gift.
"Im glad you didn't die today."
Morgan wanted to keep looking back, watching Anderson watching him because god, the man was beautiful even in this state. And he was just sitting there, staring with this warmth on his face. It was like a sunny day after ten years of rain, way better than any high he could achieve on drugs. But Morgan was on drugs, and his body was exhausted and he was slowly dozing, no matter how he tried to fight it.
He was almost gone when Anderson broke the silence once last time.
"It was a Friday afternoon, just before you had that last slip up. You were wearing one of my T-shirts that you look so good in, the grey one with the hole in the stomach, just at your belly button. You had just got out of the shower, and you'd washed your hair and you....You smelled like some sort of flower, or something sweet. I was running late for my classes, and you told me you were going to hang around the house for a while, said you'd see me later. I was going out the door but you called my name and I turned around. You leaned into me, put one hand against my chest, the other came around and cupped the back of my neck like you always used to do, and then you kissed me. It was soft, sweet. It didn't last very long because I was in a hurry, but it was kinda like a habit. You always kissed me goodbye, and you did it each time like we'd do it everyday for the rest of our lives. You let me go and sauntered off like it was no big deal, and I went to class with my mouth on fire. That was the last time we kissed."
Morgan was startled by the detail of Anderson’s memory, but comforted now that he, too, could recall that day.
"Lavender."
“Huh?” Anderson’s head tilted with bewilderment, his lips parted to speak but Morgan beat him to it.
"My hair. It smelled like lavender. Its the color of your hair, and your eyes and shit. It reminds me of you so I used it.” He’d never imagined he’d admit this to anyone, much less Anderson himself, but it was worth it to witness the radiance of the mans smile.
“Lavender, huh....Do you still use it?” Anderson hesitated in the question, almost as though he feared the answer but couldn't bare to be left wondering.
"Its all I ever use." The answer seemed to fix some of the broken pieces in Anderson’s chest, and he relaxed as though every problem he faced had suddenly disappeared. He was content to see Morgan living, and he was preparing to take up silent vigil
while the man slept when Morgan called for his attention one last time.
"Hey, how did you find me, anyways?"
A pause, so long Morgan almost repeated himself upon thinking Anderson hadn’t heard. He could hear the smile in the mans voice when he spoke next, maybe even a grateful hum.
"I just had a feeling.”
