Mark couldn’t understand what was happening to him. Why it was so difficult to open his eyes, why it was so hard to breathe. His head hurt. Letting out a groan he tried to roll over but soon found himself stuck. Something was holding him back, something cutting across his chest.

Donghyuck. The word struck him suddenly, cutting into his head. He had to get to him. He needed to get to Donghyuck. Donghyuck needed him. It was Wednesday night and Donghyuck would be waiting. He always did. He’d be on the couch when Mark arrived, sleepy but excited. And then they’d cuddle and watch old shows until they both fell asleep. Duckie would be worried. Mark had to get to him, he had to get home.

A seatbelt- that’s what it was, the foreign object against his chest. A giddy laugh escapes his lips at the recognition, one that soon cuts off into a choked cough. It hurts. Mark’s lungs hurt. The gulping breath he takes burns.

Something drips along his face, sweat perhaps? But it’s cold, so cold. Mark is so cold.  And it’s dark, far too dark to see anything. So dark that nothing makes sense. The world is streaked, blurred, spinning. No-not spinning, upside down. Mark is upside down. He doesn’t like being upside down. That’s why he’d never go on the rollercoasters with Hyuck. He’d do any of the small rides, the bumper boats, the kiddie cars, the viking- he’d do anything at all except the coasters. He liked being right side up.

He can’t get out, no matter how hard he tries to struggle he cannot free himself from this mass of metal and flesh and bone. Mark is trapped in a crumpled tin can of a car.

There is something near Mark, something on the pavement outside, illuminated by the slowly dying glow of broken headlights. It’s shape is familiar. Slender, curved, but mangled nearly beyond recognition, the flesh choppy and torn. It’s a leg. And he doesn’t even know if it’s his.

He tries to cry out. To yell for help- even with the fog clouding his mind Mark realizes that it’s the right thing to do. So he opens his mouth, takes a deep breath despite the burning, and tries to yell. But barely more than a whisper comes out. A rough sound, broken and barely audible to his own ears. It sounds a lot like Hyuck.

A buzzing, vibrations against a hard plastic surface. It’s his phone. But where? Far. Too far away. Just beyond reach, lying against the floor or the ceiling, something too distant for Mark identify, beyond the reach of his bloody fingertips. He can see it though. He can see the name that lights up the screen and his heart.

Mark has never wanted anything as badly as he wants to answer that call. He wants to hear Donghyuck’s voice. He wants to talk to him to tell him that he’s okay. That he’ll be home in a little bit. That Hyuckie shouldn’t worry so much about him, lose sleep because of him when he’s already an insomniac. He wants to tell Donghyuck a hundred million things. He wants to, but it’s so hard. The phone is so far away. Mark is so tired.

Somewhere within himself, Mark is still present, his mind is still conscious, working. He knows that he shouldn’t fall asleep. That he shouldn’t close his eyes. But it’s so hard. And he’s so tired. The buzzing stops. It starts again.

Mark might be crying. It might also be blood. It’s strange, nothing hurts like it should. He wishes that Donghyuck were here to make sense of things for him. It was always so much easier when he was around. The other half of his heart.

Just for a little while. He’ll rest his eyes just for a little while. Then he’ll open them again and when he does Donghyuck will be there. And Donghyuck will smile and laugh, hold his head between his hands and tell him that he loves him. It will be okay. How could it not be okay with Hyuck there? His eyelids droop. The buzzing stops. Mark doesn’t hear it.

Somewhere far away a boy stifles a yawn, giving up on calling, as he waits for the love of his life to come home.