Chapter Text
He spins and loses control, the world whirling around him in a blue, wood, orange blur of motion that doesn’t quite feel right. His lower back crashes into a corner and after a searing pain, he feels nothing but the air getting knocked out of him.
The world goes black.
Ethan has had sleep paralysis before, it’s a mess of sweaty limbs— jolting awake after lots of effort, and insane amounts of relief. You wake up, you feel so grateful that it’s over that it leaves you shaking for the rest of the day whenever you think about it— it scares you out of sleep at night. That gratitude only lasts a few days at most before you forget about it, only until it happens next.
He never thought he’d actually be awake one day, dry gloved hands patting and moving his legs around, only to realise he can only feel his legs a little. He can‘t move them either.
Instantly, Ethan lets out a faint distressed noise and tries to kick his legs, which only shake slightly in response. He tries to move his arms, hands and neck, sighing in relief when they work just fine. He still feels his world being ripped into shreds.
“What?” he manages to croak, his unused throat protesting. Ethan tries to get up but he's stopped by more gloved hands, the nurse gently holds his shoulder down and smiles empathetically.
"Hello. I'm Emma, would you like some water?" they meet his eyes.
Ethan nods and they quickly rush to fill him a cup of water from the sink, hands steady. They look in their mid-twenties at most and seem very, very tall.
They glance down at their notepad, frowning. Emma takes a seat on the chair next to him and sighs before starting. “This is going to be a lot to take in, okay? I need you to give me a nod and let me know when you're ready."
Ethan nods and gulps, already having an idea of where this is going.
"You’ve been paralysed from the waist down.” In the midst of his panic and despair, Ethan notes that Emma sounds very English and he feels puzzled, almost wanting to laugh. Is he on morphine?
The silence rings in Ethan's ears and he only vaguely registers the other nurse leaving. Ethan looks down to his legs, humour passing and eyes glazing over.
"We're going to do everything in our power to help you, okay? There'll be physical therapy and a lot to discuss for your future but you don't need to worry about that until you're ready."
He nods again.
Emma says nothing, staring back down at their notebook and then at the wall, nervously fumbling with their hands. They give a firm nod.
"Your parents found you a caregiver, to help you around at home. Once you get the hang of things, you can always contact a family member or partner to help around instead. We'll provide a course to get them adapted with assisting you in any way you need."
Ethan still doesn't feel up to replying, so he nods hesitantly.
"You’ll meet him tomorrow so you should try and catch some rest until then, okay?" Emma smiles, reaching to awkwardly pat his shoulder again before stopping, and clearing their throat. “You’ll be here for ten more days, so— yeah. Lots of rest to catch up on.”
Ethan is left alone with his thoughts, he falls asleep worried about whether he’ll get any rest for the next week and a bit. The morphine really does its job.
-
Hours more pass of Ethan drifting between lightly being aware of his surroundings and being dead asleep. He dreams a little, all vague and forgotten once he comes back to consciousness. Light shines through the curtains when Ethan feels properly awake, and notes that he feels less light and comfortable than earlier. There’s a painful pressure at his back, but nothing too sharp.
Ethan rubs his eyes and prepares himself to be awake for at least a couple of hours, faintly remembering that he’d have to meet his (future?) caregiver today. He feels a vague discomfort when he shifts, then notices his almost full piss sack, which he then realises is connected to a catheter. He grimaces and pokes the bag, and just in time, the door opens with a breeze and a certain dark head of hair gently shuts it.
“Is this a bad time?” Mark says humorously, looking Ethan up and down, who jumps and lets out a hoarse grunt, quickly looking away from his leg bag.
Ethan holds eye contact before breaking into hysteric, self-deprecating laughter that comes out like half-sobs. Mark’s laugh is a deep rumble that has Ethan quizzically look at him properly for the first time. His hair is pulled into a careless, messy low ponytail that somehow still looks incredible, he seems well built and not much taller than Ethan. He remarks that Mark is conventionally very, very attractive. The man under scrutiny holds himself professionally, now clearing his throat.
“God, you just had to walk in on me discovering the piss sack?” Ethan mutters, with a hint of genuine frustration behind his humour.
Mark chuckles, brushing a stray piece from the front of hair behind his ear, like those rom-coms where the woman does that, blushes up at the man with big doe eyes and…
“You alright there?” Mark waves his hands around his face, suddenly a few steps closer.
Ethan gulps, “Yeah, I’m peachy.”
Mark mumbles apologetically and extends his hand toward the bedridden man.
“I was going to reintroduce myself.” The man fumbles with his hands before tucking them away and speaking up, “I’m Mark Fischbach, pleasure.” His tone is warm, and the formality is exaggerated as though it’s meant to be ironic.
Ethan grabs his hand, noting that his handshake isn’t as firm as he’d expect and smiling. He is in for a ride if it means over-analysing everything this much.
“Hi, I’m Ethan Nestor,” he says, a bit goofy and unable to take himself seriously. Mark lets his hand fall limp and away from Ethan’s own.
Mark makes a disgruntled, half laughing noise. “I’m here to make you more familiar and comfortable with me, and so far I’ve just seen you admire a bag of urine,” he puts his hand to his forehead. Ethan chortles at that.
“Nah, it’s alright. I’m honoured it was you who got to witness that.” Ethan smiles, trying to make things lighter. Mark reciprocates.
“I’m gonna have to— um, empty the leg bag. Is that okay or would you prefer for someone else to do it?” Mark mutters, gaze fixed back on the bag for a bit before looking back at him.
“Yeah, it’s alright. Not like you won’t see worse if you’re helping me around at home.” Ethan shrugs. He figures he’ll have to get comfortable now or later.
Mark heads toward the sink, going to work and washing his hands before walking toward Ethan. “It’s my job, you know? It’s really nothing to be ashamed of.” He glances at him between disconnecting the bag (which tugs uncomfortably again) and draining it into the metal container by the bed.
Ethan doesn’t really pay attention to what Mark does as he deftly goes through what looks like routine. That comforts Ethan a lot, that Mark has done this before— it really would be strange if he judged him for his basic human functions when he handles these things as a job.
Ethan feels himself get closer and closer to drifting off, and when he next focuses he notices that Mark has sat in a chair next to his bed, looking idly at his phone and sighing. He puts his phone away and notices that Ethan is— well, here.
“Morning, sunshine," Mark jokes, "you should probably go back to bed,” he says the last part softly.
Ethan hums. “Not so sure I’m up to it now. This is all the entertainment I’ll have for a while.”
Mark raises a brow at that, gesturing wildly at the TV on the wall.
“Right, good point.” Ethan giggles, letting out a dramatic ‘ouch’ noise like a child when it feels strange. Mark looks concerned but Ethan brushes it off, smiling to reassure him. “I meant company, anyway. I don’t think I’d even watch much television if I had the energy,” Ethan elaborates.
Mark looks amused, shaking his head. “You’ll have enough of my company when I live with you! So clingy already,” he adds jokingly, putting a hand over his eye as though he has a headache.
The room falls into a comfortable silence, the quiet beeping of machines and the sound of Mark’s breathing lulling Ethan back to being half asleep. He grunts when he hears Mark shift and probably leave, but he’s out cold before he can sleepily protest.
-
Ethan's days pass in a blur, and he doesn't really feel glad for the amount of time he has to think things through. He feels hopeless.
He can't tell if it's the fourth or fifth day of being in the hospital that Mark next visits, shyly shutting the door with his hips. Shy looks unusual on him.
"Hey. I wanted to apologise for being a bit— unprofessional," Mark says quickly. Ethan quirks a brow at that, he can't imagine having to be strictly formal with his caregiver for god knows how long. No, they aren't going to do that.
"It'll get tiring real fast if you're formal the entire time I've gotta live with you."
"Fair 'nough." Mark sighs in relief, clasping his hands together and gracefully bringing himself closer to Ethan, bringing a chair next to his bed. Mark leans over it, resting his hands on the top. "How are you? Like, actually."
Ethan can't remember the last time he felt that someone genuinely wanted to hear the answer to that. He also giggles a little at Mark's tone.
"Well, I'm honestly not doing great. My days are a blur and I already miss gymnastics," he mutters, only then realising how true the latter is. Ethan has always had trouble with feeling like he isn't good at anything, and the lack of a productive routine has definitely perpetuated that. Huh.
Mark looks a bit angry for a second, but empathy quickly washes over it and he looks upset. "I'm sorry," he mutters, frowning and playing with the top of the chair his hands rest on.
Ethan smiles, eyes wet; he quickly wipes them. "Well, maybe I can get back into other hobbies? I've never had the time to— or felt a need to, really," Ethan stumbles, comforting himself more than anything.
"That'll help.” Mark breathes, rolling his shoulders and moving the chair again. He sits by Ethan now, staring right into his soul. "I've got a hunch that you'll be amazing at whatever you choose to do."
Ethan feels heavy, needing to escape Mark's gaze. "That's intense," he says, tone searching for something to ease the tension.
Mark understands, he looks to the floor and brushes his hair back, not too anxiously. "Sorry, that must've freaked you out a bit," he says clearly. Mark's loud, confident, Ethan sees.
"No, I'm just not used to it," Ethan laughs, feeling more at ease for some reason. He feels himself getting sleepy again, in the light, pleasant way he isn't very accustomed to.
Ethan falls asleep to Mark smiling, looking down at his watch and not getting up to leave.