Chapter Text
Flick
Adam ignited the lighter, bringing the flame to the end of his preroll. The twisted edge of the blunt lit a vibrant orange before withering to black and filling the musky apartment with a veil of smoke. As he inhaled, the burn danced on his tongue, reminiscent of his first smoke back in highschool. As always, Adam allowed his heavy head to fall backward against his shoulders as his lungs released the excess smoke back up into the ceiling fan.
Thirty minutes had slipped by, his eyelids resting at half-mast. His body lay relaxed, a cocoon of warmth against the old, leather sofa. The pain that had tormented his shoulder merely an hour ago now felt distant, relaxed by the gentle haze of the joint.
He couldn’t stand the suffocating sensation of those bandages. They were tightly wrapped around his shoulder and under his armpit, saturated in thick, red blood. The bandages felt sluggish and wet, a relentless embrace. Earlier today Adam had peeled back the previously white bandage and peaked at the wound underneath, which isn’t doing well. The time spent in the bathroom was enough for serious infections to brew. The first sign of trouble was the torn skin surrounding the bullet hole. It would continually tear if put under too much stress and felt hot to the touch. The state of the wound was an uncomfortable thought, a ghastly sight he’d rather avoid.
Instead, he chose to melt into his sofa, indulging in melodramatic police romances and lighting up a second joint. Daytime television offered little to cheer for, but he couldn't deny that these cheesy dramas held a curious charm. The show's protagonists, Pablo and Stacey, navigated a series of bank robberies across LA. An enemies-to-lovers dynamic played out, a race for a significant promotion driving them against each other. Adam had jumped into the series midway, the plot's trajectory unsurprising. They taunted each other, tackled challenges, brushed against danger, and eventually succumbed to love.
The melodrama was laid on thicker than icing on a children’s cake, but Adam loved the simplicity. There's an art to the dramatics that daytime television has really bastardised, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
His festivities were interrupted at around noon by a sudden knock at the door. Adam’s eyes darted toward the direction of the noise, his blood running cold and his mouth hanging agape. Since he came to in his hospital room, he hasn't had a single visitor or intrigued guest. The most he’d gotten was a missed call from Scott and a voicemail asking if he’d killed anyone during his run with Jigsaw.
Slowly, he stood from his spot on the couch and held his half-smoked blunt firmly between his pointer and his thumb. If all else fails, he mused, the fiery joint might work as an impromptu weapon.
Adam peered through the small metal peephole, gazing out into the dirty apartment building’s hallway. He pursed his lips to stifle any noise.
Much to his surprise, there stood Lawrence patiently waiting a step back from the door. Sure, he knew Lawrence was alive. It was the first question he’d asked when he came to. The doctors had assured him that he was on the mend, but he’d assumed that's where his relations with Lawrence would end. Adam looked over his shoulder to the mess of dishes, food and clothes that coated his apartment like a landfill. He shuddered before gently cracking open the door, sorting out his arsenal of excuses,
I just got home, the feds raided me for evidence, I was babysitting the neighbour's horse-sized dog
“Lawrence!” Adam greeted with a forced smile.
Lawrence adjusted himself against his crutch and held eye contact with the younger man, “Hello, lovely to see you again, Adam.”
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I hope you don’t mind my being here.” He explained, “You had your address listed on your hospital file and I just— I think we’re due for a talk, huh?” The doctor relaxed his face into a gentle stare.
Adam nodded, using the unstable door to support his weight, “Why wouldn't I wanna talk to the man who left this pretty hole in my shoulder?” He paused before adding, “And left me to die.” Adam felt the guilt rise just as he saw the look on Lawrence's face. His eyebrows softened from their usual tightly wound positions and his mouth twitched as he considered his next words,
“Adam, look-” He began, his stomach lurching as he came to an explanation, “If I could have personally come back for you, I would have. They found me outside, passed out from blood loss and I was in and out of consciousness for days.” His voice is sincere as he recalls the prior events, “But I promise you the first thing I did when I was steadily awake was tell them about you. I told them where you were, where you were injured and why, I told them everything.”
“Oh come on,” Adam dismissed with a crooked smile, “I’m just pulling your legs, or, leg .” He chuckled, “Besides, I’ve always wanted a piercing. Maybe it’ll pick up in the fashion industry, you think?” Lawrence's eyes flicked toward the hand bearing the smoking blunt, “Give me a minute, will you? I’ll be right back.”
“Well, alright—”
He shut the door and pressed his back against it for a beat before embarking on a whirlwind cleanup. In a quick sweep, he brought all the dirty dishes to the sink. Still untidy, but a hell of a lot better than them being stashed between couch cushions or stacked up on window sills. His next task was the scattered clothes, strewn like casualties across the floor. Adam packed his good arm full of the bunched-up fabric and when he ran low on room, he carefully began to lift the remaining bits with his right arm. Once his floor was clean of anything noticeable, he began to stand himself up, arms still full of dirty laundry.
As he stood, his bad arm dangled to the side and put immense stress on his wounded shoulder. Surges of stabbing pain rushed down the right side of his torso and expanded throughout his legs and chest. He let out a sharp cry and collapsed back to the floor, dropping the heaps down onto the ground next to him. His left hand instinctively reached for the wound, clasping it as his eyes squeezed shut.
Outside the room, Lawrence was alarmed by the sudden clamour. He recognised it, it was akin to the noise he’d heard from Adam back in the bathroom. Without hesitation, he shuffled to the door leaving two firm knocks.
“Adam? Are you alright?”
Adam froze, hastily stuffing the clothes, dragging himself down the hall and dumping everything on his bedroom floor. As he slammed the door shut, he leaned back and called out to Lawrence,
“Uh, Yeah! Just a minute!”
Quickly, the young man maneuvers over to the couch, using his left arm for support as he pushes himself to a stand. The pain swelled in waves throughout his body as he reached the door and creaked it back open.
“What was that?” Lawrence immediately challenged, a look of confusion and worry drenched across his face,
Adam’s uneasy smile wavered before he flicked his gaze downward, “It was just the TV” he blurted, “I keep it pretty loud.”
The doctor leaned forward on his crutch, surveying the dark television screen. He looked back to Adam who was now anxiously picking at his chapped lips. He had decided not to push any further, it wasn't his place, and rather gave a curt nod, “Alright.”
“You wanna come in?” Adam offered, swaying his arm to welcome the doctor, “If it's messy, blame the feds, they can't keep their hands to themselves.”
“Right.”
“Do you want a coffee?” Adam absentmindedly wandering through the kitchen, Lawrence in tow,
“Do you have tea?”
“I do, you pretentious bastard.” Adam’s snip came with an undercurrent of hoarse laughter.
The doctor noticed Adam struggling with simple tasks as he made their drinks. Opening the fridge, carrying light objects and even letting his arm fall naturally by his side, he always kept it bent and resting against his stomach. His eyes stayed fixated on the shoulder, igniting cautionary red flags with every grunt or flinch.
“So, what brought you here? Or were you just after my tea?” Adam laughed to himself, handing over a mug with a tea bag slung over the edge.
“Well,” Lawrence began, “And excuse me if I’m crossing a line, but a coworker of mine let me know that you were discharged AMA?” He took a sip from the mug and watched as Adam’s face changed to a look of confusion,
“Sorry?”
“Discharged AMA,” he twirled his hand, “against medical advice.”
“Oh! Yes.”
Lawrence glanced around before setting his cup down and leaning forward, “Why would you do that?”
“I wanted to go home, why else?”
“Why else?” Lawrence’s tone hardened, “Adam, you have a bullet hole in your shoulder.”
“And who’s fault is that?” He joked,
“For the love of god-”
“That hospital did nothing but change out my bandages and fill me with drugs, " He grumbled, “I can do all that on my own for free.”
Lawrence sighed, sinking into his chair. “You need medical attention, Adam. It’s really not a choice.”
“I’ve been making out just fine.”
“Alright, well, I just want to make sure.” He says matter-of-factly
Adam chokes on his drink and raises his brow, “Pardon me?”
“Oh stop, I’m not asking you to strip naked.” He scoffs, “I want to ensure that there’s no infection or complications in your recovery.”
“Why does it matter to you? Ya’ feeling guilty?” Adam dumps the rest of his coffee into the crowded sink and leaves the cup on the counter.
“Yeah, I am. Of course I am.”
“Well, don’t.”
“How do you figure I do that?”
Adam takes a sharp breath and bends over the counter to face Lawrence, “Look, Larry, I’ve been keeping tabs on my shoulder. If anything was wrong, I’d know”
“No, Adam, you wouldn’t know. You irresponsibly denied the help from your doctors and came home with a rapidly infectious bullet hole which I’m willing to bet has been regionally ignored since your discharge, correct?”
Adam didn’t have an answer to that.
“You need real medical advice. Now, this isn’t even my place of expertise but I’m willing to put that aside to make sure you don’t die of sepsis or bleed out.” His tone is serious and stern. Adam evaluates this carefully before tapping his hands against the table and mumbling,
“Alright.” He surrenders, “You can check it out. Just— please, be careful.”
Lawrence beamed at that and nodded quickly, “Yeah, alright.”
Adam settled onto the couch, instructed by Lawrence. Lawrence carefully set his crutch to the side as Adam lifted his shirt. The bandages across his shoulder are stained with blood, both old and new. Lawrence's face plunged as he saw their state. They were clearly applying little to no pressure to the wound.
“Have you been changing these since you left the hospital?”
Adam thought for a moment, “I didn't have any at home, so no.”
Lawrence deadpans, then abruptly stands up,
“What are you doing?” Adam queries,
“Going to get bandages.”
“Seriously, Lawrence?”
“Yes, seriously.” He adjusts himself onto his crutch and heads toward the door, “But you really gotta be more prepared, Adam. You didn't think to buy bandages?”
“Stop,” He interjected, “I’ll run out and get ‘em. You wait here.”
“No. To be frank, I don't want you doing anything that involves that arm right now.” He twists the knob and limps into the hallway, “Stay here, alright? I’ll be back soon.”
“Lawrence, no! You’re crippled, I won’t have you run errands for me.”
Lawrence cringes at the use of the word ‘cripple’ before surrendering.
“We could go together?” He suggested, “Watch over each other.”
Adam considers this, still preferring that Lawrence stay back, but he’s accepted that it’s not an option. He nods, conforming to this new plan.
“Sure. We go together.”
“Alright. Let's get a move on then. I don’t wanna leave that wound any longer than we need to.”
They take the elevator down to the lobby, Adams shoulder still aching from earlier. Lawrence notices but doesn’t intervene.
Upon arriving at the pharmacy, Lawrence headed straight for the aisles he knew so well, Adam loosely in tow. The first thing he picked up is three boxes of bandages, he opts for the expensive brand.
“Hey hey,” Adam interrupted, stopping Lawrence’s hand before the boxes can be dropped in the cart. “Is three boxes really necessary?”
Lawrence waves him off, “You’d be surprised how quickly these rolls run out.”
“That price is kinda steep! Why not go for the no name? It’s four dollars cheaper.”
Lawrence drops the boxes into his cart, rolling it farther down the aisle, “It’s my money, I don’t mind.”
He grabs a container of Vaseline and reads the label before dropping it in.
“Vaseline?” Adam quirked a brow, looking down at the cart.
“It keeps the skin moist, helps the wound heal.”
“Moist.” Adam cringes. “Hate that word.”
Lawrence smirked at him, making a mental note of his new weapon. The next item he grabs is a bottle of ibuprofen.
“It won’t be strong enough, but I’ll write a script for something stronger. Cephalosporin, maybe.”
Adam nods, “Honestly, I’ve been getting by with a couple joints a day.”
Lawrence dismisses him, grabbing a box of rubber surgical gloves. He drops them in with the other items and moves forward.
“So that I can clean your wound.” He explains. The last thing he grabs is a bottle of saline solution and cotton balls. With a quick scan of the shelf, he turns to Adam and offers a tight-lipped smile, “I think that’s all.”
“Looks good.” Adam agrees. “I’m glad you're here. I wouldn’t have thought to buy any of this.”
“Yeah, I know.”
They get to the counter and Lawrence is wrung up by an apathetic-looking teen wearing a band tee. His under eyes are red and swollen and his face is deadpanned as he scans their items.
Adam points to the cashier's shirt with a bright smile. “Hey, that’s my friend's band!” Adam says enthusiastically, causing the cashier to pause his work.
“No way, man! You’re friends with a W-O-T-G member?”
“Yeah, man! Known the lead singer since we were five!”
The kid grows lively, a goofy smile across his face as he takes in this information. “I go to their shows all the time! That’s so dope!”
Adam nods, feeling a boost in his confidence as the teenager reviles in his connections. “They’ve got a show this weekend, you know? Down at the club on Governors! You should come!”
“I will!”
The teenager finishes checking them out, handing back a plastic pharmacy bag. Adam smiles.
“Hope to see you there—” He looks down at the teen’s name tag, “—Daniel!”
They get back to Adam's apartment and settle onto the couch. Lawrence dumps out his pharmacy bag onto the cushions and gets to work.
He tears open a box of bandages and Vaseline before asking that Adam lift his shirt again. Once met with the dirty bandages, he steadily peels them back and feels the blood drain clean from his face as the intensity of the wound is revealed.
There are long, red streaks leading from the bullet hole and the skin is torn with a fiery red pigment, but that's not the worst of it. The wound is still bleeding from numerous troubled areas. The initial wound is leaking with drainage and pus indicating a more serious infection than originally believed. Lawrence wouldn't be surprised if it was under control before Adam decided to discharge himself, but that's none of his business.
“Fuck, alright.” Lawrence never swore.
“That bad?”
“Yes, that bad , Adam. This is completely untreated!”
Adam tilted his head down, “Sorry.”
The doctor studied him and let out a lengthy, drawn-out sigh before adding, “Don’t be sorry. For the sake of time, I’m gonna get this slide, but after we’re done changing this all out I’d like you to boil some water and put it in the fridge to cool. That way you can use it to clean the wound later on. I want you to do that two to three times a day, alright? For now, I’m using the saline solution.”
“Yeah, alright.”
Lawrence's expression was somber as he donned a pair of gloves and rubbed in some saline solution around the outer skin. He then took a dab of Vaseline on his fingers. Without warning, he applied it directly to the wound. Adam's sharp intake of breath was followed by a flinch. He'd always prided himself on enduring pain well. When his friend Scott stabbed him with a nail at six years old, he'd stifled his tears. When the crying flowed through the once unbreakable dam, all his friends had called him a pussy. This was far from a little rusty nail—this was intense. With a sudden movement, Adam pulled away, evading Lawrence's painful touch.
“Adam-”
“No.” He stayed still, panting as he struggled to steady his breath, “Just give me a minute.”
Lawrence nodded, retreating and letting Adam take a moment. The two sat in a stunted silence, Adam’s shoulders rising and falling as he fought to regain control. After a brief interval, he muttered, edging closer to Lawrence. “Alright, I’m ready.”
Lawrence nodded, leaning forward to continue. Before he reached the skin, he hesitated, looking up into Adam’s eyes, “I’ll work fast. I don't want to cause you any pain, Adam.”
“I think that ship sailed a few seconds ago,” He laughed, “And when you shot me.”
“I deserve that.” Lawrence smiles,
He applied the Vaseline, then gently affixed the fresh bandages. Adam kept his eyes squeezed shut, taking deep breaths to endure the pulsating agony.
When Lawrence finished, beads of blood formed around the edges of the bandages. Adam noted, silently, that he'd replace them again when necessary. Lawrence felt an overwhelming sense of relief, knowing that Adam was finally on a path to recovery.
“There, all done.” He packs away the bandages, “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”
“Call it what you want, doesn’t change the fact that I’m sweating like a waterfall.”
Lawrence tilts his head sympathetically, “Well, it’s over with now.”
The doctor stands from the couch and leans against his crutch, offering Adam a smile.
“Alright, well, I’ll be back next to check up on that, yeah?”
As much as Adam dreads the idea of doing this again, he can’t help but bask in having an excuse to see Lawrence again. He has no company nowadays and his shithole apartment is starting to seem more and more like captivity. This, albeit a short and painful visit, was a massive relief to Adam.
“Yeah, alright. See you then.” He clicks the TV back on.
Lawrence hobbles out of the apartment and heads back home, happy with the work he’d done today and happy to see Adam doing alright.
Things would be alright.