Pain is a silent companion.
It lurks quietly in Anson's spine, like a cunning fox, ready to strike at any mont.
At first, the pain was just a vague nuisance, like a thin needle piercing the skin briefly and then retreating, more of an irritation than a tornt.
A kind of restlessness.
However, over ti, the pain beca more frequent and persistent, evolving into a burning current that ran through his back, causing his muscles to tighten and twitch. It was a sharp, relentless pain, penetrating deeply into his body, making every breath feel like exhaling fire.
It wasn't just a struggle, but agony.
And worse, he couldn't move.
His entire body remained stiff, leaving him to endure wave after wave of pain. Every attempt to move felt like carrying an invisible mountain, his spine groaning under the pressure—cold and rciless, a constant reminder that the pain was here to stay.
In the endless darkness, Anson sought a mont of rest, even just a brief respite to escape the ever-present tornt. But the pain clung to him like a ghost, inescapable, constantly pricking at his weary nerves.
Each movent was a fierce, short-lived battle, leaving nothing but profound exhaustion and helplessness.
Though both his body and mind were worn out, he couldn't truly rest. He drifted between wakefulness and sleep, his soul seemingly torn into countless fragnts, sinking into boiling lava, disintegrating bit by bit in the endless pain.
Five minutes? Ten minutes?
Or perhaps ten hours?
Anson had lost track of ti. In his daze, ti seed aningless. He felt a breath caught in his chest, unable to swallow or spit it out. Even swallowing a mouthful of saliva seed impossible.
Finally, it turned into a dry cough.
Anson coughed weakly, thinking it was a thunderous cough, but only a faint rasp ca from his throat. Finally, his eyelids lifted, and a faint glimr of light pierced through, slightly stinging before fading away.
Because a jolt of pain shot up from his tailbone.
"Oh... cough cough…"
His voice of pain was cut short, turning into another cough, which made Anson want to laugh at his own predicant—he couldn't even scream in pain. How absurd was that?
"…Anson."
"Anson."
A voice ca from his side, soft, as if afraid of disturbing him, yet tinged with uncontrollable excitent and anticipation, calling repeatedly.
No need to see the expression; the voice itself revealed too much emotion.
Anson's lips curled slightly, his eyes half-open. "Luca, there's no need to be so cautious as if afraid of disturbing a butterfly. I think I can still cause so trouble for a few more years. They say bad people always live longer."
Lukas, full of concern, stared at Anson, a breath caught in his throat—sowhere between ridiculousness and frustration—before breaking into a faint smile.
"Awake and already joking. You must be alright."
Anson looked over, finally focusing, and saw Lukas standing properly at the foot of the hospital bed. Face calm, deanor cool, he maintained his composure amid the chaos.
Typical Lukas.
But Anson noticed Lukas's fingers trembling, slightly and unconsciously, as if cramping, betraying a hint of panic.
Lukas followed Anson's gaze and noticed his trembling hand, quickly balling it into a fist and shoving it into his pockets.
When he looked up again, he saw a faint smile on Anson's face.
"I'm fine."
That simple phrase almost shattered Lukas entirely.
Lukas awkwardly turned his head, avoiding Anson's gaze.
"Wait, what did the doctor say? He really said I was fine, didn't he?"
Lukas: …
His lips twitched slightly. That was Anson—lying in bed but still not forgetting to crack a joke.
Anson noticed Lukas's expression change, but seed a little disappointed.
"Hey, why do you look like Elsa getting ready to audition for Frozen?"
Lukas couldn't hold back anymore. "Anson Wood!"
Lukas turned, seeing Anson's grimacing face. The anger hadn't fully surfaced before it turned into concern and anxiety.
Then he noticed Anson peeking at him slyly, and couldn't help but find it both amusing and infuriating.
"Anson, this isn't a joking matter," Lukas scolded.
Anson responded, "I know. So, should I start crying now? If I started bawling, you'd probably lose it."
Lukas: …
Anson flashed a satisfied smile, but he couldn't laugh too much. The mont he tried, a twinge of pain ran through his lower back.
The pain was subtle, burning, and sharp.
Not intense, but always present, stiffening the muscles around his back.
Anson's brows furrowed again.
Lukas imdiately noticed, and despite having been tricked before, he believed it now. "I had the doctor reduce the painkiller dosage so your body could handle it. Do you need more?"
Lukas's words were vague, hesitant.
Anson understood imdiately: Lukas knew his situation—
Anson hadn't forgotten how he ended up here, the powder residue on the toilet seat, and the withdrawal symptoms lingering in this body. It all spoke to the chaotic history of this shell he now inhabited.
But in recent years, Anson had stayed clean—even controlling alcohol and cigarettes—his health fully recovering.
Yet Lukas was still worried.
Painkillers could also be addictive, and the rising deaths from OxyContin addiction made that abundantly clear.
Lukas didn't say it outright, and Anson didn't want to break the silence either.
After all, explaining why he had changed so much would be complicated.
"Let's keep it like this. I need to get used to it," Anson replied vaguely. "Luca, you didn't tell Mom and Dad, did you?"
Lukas: …
Anson couldn't believe it. "Luca, you!"
Lukas shot Anson a stern look. "Of course I did. Dad's on his way back from Zurich, and Mom's probably about to land at Kennedy any minute now."
Anson groaned. "This is exactly what I was afraid of."
Lukas sighed in frustration. "Anson Wood, shouldn't you be worried about your health instead of Mom and Dad?"
"Because you all overreact! Sothing minor happens, and everyone gets involved. Nothing would've happened, but now Mom and Dad will probably ground again."
"Minor? This is minor? God, Anson, you almost—"
"But I didn't, did I? Almost doesn't count, and it didn't get any worse."
"Isn't this bad enough already? Damn it!"
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