5SOS Imagines

Michael - Asylum AU

Author: Julie

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Interning at Knox was easier than you thought it’d be. All you had to do was walk around, talk to patients occasionally, and shadow the resident psychologist when she wasn’t busy with a patient. As she was normally occupied with one, you had plenty of time to sit in recreational areas and have mostly pleasant conversations. 

Maybe, if that one day you didn’t go up to the boy with flame-colored hair and sit with him, your internship would’ve ended peacefully. 

You weren’t one to let someone sit alone at a table, anyway. Especially when that someone wasn’t reading or doing anything in the free hour. 

As you sat down, you noticed the green wristband that hung on his right arm, an indication that he wasn’t a high risk patient. You had only just memorized the colored wristbands, ranging green to red. You rarely saw patients that wore a red wristband however. 

The patient looked up only briefly when you sat down. After a moment of sitting in silence, you spoke up.

 ”So, um, what’s your name?” You asked, and this time he didn’t raise his reddish head.

“Michael, but you’re not going to care to remember, anyway, so what’s the point?” His tone was aloof and the fact that he didn’t bother to make eye contact with you to hold a conversation slightly annoyed you.

You could’ve walked away there, but your stubbornness prevented you from doing so. Instead, you introduced yourself as well.

“Well, Michael, it’s nice to meet you,” You could tell most people that approached him would have left by now, as he looked up then with confusion clearly marked on his features as to why you were still sitting across from him.

You had learned that starting a conversation that lasts long was to start with asking easy questions, things about favorite colors and meals, and then branch off into more in-depth topics. It was a skill that only worked when both parties were open to a conversation, and as you had ended up engaged in one with Michael for the entire hour, you realized that he had actually wanted to talk to someone (even if some of his replies were short).

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Your second week of interning came around, and you were handed the task of organizing the patient files in the office. You couldn’t help the fact that you started alphabetically, and soon you saw the familiar name “Clifford, Michael”. Maybe you could’ve stopped your fingers from opening the folder, but then again, it would’ve been very hard not to see what was inside.

Inside the file there was a photo of Michael with more vibrant colored hair, paper clipped to a few pages detailing his life and his admittance into the institute. You learned that he was twenty, and had just gotten transferred here around the same time you started your internship.

Under diagnosis, you saw the psychologist’s slanted writing that read:

As Dr. Reynolds had discovered in his examination, I determine the cause of the patient’s pyromania is a result of his troubled life at home. I feel that the tension and stress he grew up with during his childhood carried through to his early adult life and caused the need to set fire to relieve his emotions. Patient will undergo a series of therapy sessions for recovery.

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Weeks passed, and the two of you spent the free hour talking. Some days, you’d end up playing cards or a board game. Most of the time, however, you two enjoyed just talking.

You’d learned many things about each other, like how your first pet was a dog that you named after your favorite food, or how Michael’s mom would always make him wear the Christmas sweaters his grandmother knitted him. Your conversations would get to the point where it felt like the two of you were in a café somewhere, drinking coffee and conversing as if you were on a date.

You had seen Michael smile, a gesture you never saw him do to anybody else. Sometimes he’d make you laugh so hard that you got dirty looks from the others in the rec room.

One day, he took you to the garden, just as the leaves were turning orange and fall was promising its return. Nobody was out there, as it was starting to get chilly and most patients preferred to be indoors. The both of you sat on a bench and had a conversation like you normally would have inside, except halfway through a story you were telling about the worst haircut you ever got, you felt his warm hand on yours.

For some reason, that small action sent a rippling effect of swirling emotions inside of you.

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You weren’t sure how he got ahold of it. Maybe a worker who smoked forgot to lock up their lighter in the locker. Maybe he had someone bring it in for him.

You couldn’t imagine how it must feel to be addicted to something that brought harm to others. Lighting fires was his release, and you’re sure he meant no harm to anybody when he did it.

The rushing footsteps, the smell of smoke, the patients screaming as they were told to evacuate. It all felt like a dream to you. Everything felt like it was happening in slow motion. You couldn’t find it in yourself to leave without knowing if he was safe.

He was, for the most part. You found him on the top floor, sitting in the corner as the smoke engulfed the entire room. The fire was starting to crawl its way upstairs, and you knew if the two of you didn’t get out soon, you’d be done for.

Michael! We have to go, come on!

Your voice was raspy, as the only air your lungs had breathed in lately was contaminated with thick smoke. He looked up at the sound of your voice, but didn’t make a move to get up.

I ruin everything. I started this. It was an accident-

He was cut off by a loud, groaning sound followed by a crash. The whole room shook, causing you to lose your balance and end up in his arms. Part of the building had collapsed.

I’m not going to leave here without you, so if you don’t want the both of us to die, you’ll get up and run.

You got up with him, and grabbed his hand with your own. Running down the hallway to the fire escape was difficult to do when your eyes were clouded with black smoke. You couldn’t run very fast, either, as barely any breathable are got into your lungs to keep you going.

And then another groaning sound, and the two of you were falling down to the next level through a hole in the floor. Your hand never left his, even as you both made impact on the hard floor below you.

You had blacked out momentarily, but even then it was too late. Your head was pounding, and it felt like your brain was trying to break out of your skull. You couldn’t feel the lower half of your body, and when you looked down, it was covered in debris. A simple glance to your left showed Michael in the same situation.

He was looking at you too, and mouthed a few words you couldn’t hear, as a loud ringing sound filled your eardrums. Instead, you squeezed his hand, and kept your gaze on his eyes. They offered you an escape you were so thankful for.

Your vision clouded, blurred, and finally went to black. You never got to hear Michael say he loved you.

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The firefighters came an hour later, once the fire had been put out and the building was deemed safe to search for any survivors. They saw the young couple, their hands held together, and gave a moment of silence for the young lives they couldn’t save. 

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