Pyramids [Frank Ocean]

Thinkin Bout You.

The scribbling of a ball-point ink pen sounded the hotel room, all five friends and Malachi sat idly on the couch as one of Nevada's most skilled Therapists performed a prognosis on the now sleeping figure early Saturday morning. Her clothes still the same as the night before, the only thing slightly different about her were the black heels removed and placed neatly by the entrance.

"So Doc," Malachi begun, worriedly, looking at Hāna's frail figure, "What's the issue now?"

As he removed the stethoscope from his around his neck, trickling grey stubble from his chubby chin in the process as he sighed, setting the clipboard down on the coffee table, "Well, she has PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

"What the f-" Tyler begun, but was interrupted abrasively by his friend—"Well I knew that much Doc! But was she taking her medication?"

"I would need to run some tests on her, if she's compliant of course. It could also be the alcohol that triggered something, for now, I recommend she rests for a good day." The Therapists states, grabbing his mahogany fedora before standing up, as did Malachi.

"So she'll be alright?" Malachi asked again, with relief evident in his voice as the Therapist nodded.

"So much as she takes her medication and rest, also, please tell her to lay off of the drinking and relentlessness, only allah knows how that plays a role in her mental stability." he advises lastly before taking his leave. Malachi then sighs taking a seat next to Hāna's body.

Hāna...what's going on in that little mind of yours?

As if on queue, her eyes opened subtly letting out a low, raspy groan before realization began to set in as she swallowed her surroundings. Under the assumption she was in a client's home she quickly shot up before a jolt of pain hit her head, hissing sharply.

"Here," a familiar voice says, holding a capsule in his hands as he gives her the pill, she assumes an aspirin along with a glass of cold water—it was Tyler.

She looked at the stranger, then the pill reluctantly, taking it from his palm followed by the icy drink, "Thanks." She voices quietly, downing the medication with the water.

Malachi coughed, sensing awkward tension in the hotel room as the collective stares at her, as if she were some outsider. He pretty much could assume that they all knew who Hāna was by now, profession wise, or they weren't really paying attention, "I have to open the shop." Malachi finally says, causing Hāna to give Tyler the now empty glass back while she stood up simultaneously.

"Well, then I should be on my way as w-"

"No," Malachi interrupts, "You'll stay here until I come back."

She frowns, almost taken aback at the amount of backbone he has, "Says who?"

"Me." He replies with his jaw aligned. As if he were ready to fight verbally if she opposed him, "The Doctor said you aren't allowed to go out tonight anyways, take the day off."

"In my line of work, there are no days off," she warns by narrowing her eyes at him in hopes she intimidated him enough into diverting his business to elsewhere, "Of all people I thought you understood that, Malachi."

He winced at the way she said his name as the two individuals stared into each other's gaze for what seemed like eternity, until Malachi sighed, grabbing his designer cardigan from off the leather sofa, "Tyler and the guys aren't bad people, so one day won't kill you. I actually think you should rest anyways, it'll give you time to really be you for once."