Oh My God, They Were Roommates

17 | Hold The Line

Ray folded his arms over the gated edge of Sora's hospital bed. He resisted the urge to play with the wrinkles in the bed sheets since Sora had already slapped his hands away once, and the pulse oximeter really hurt to get slapped with.

Sora folded his arms, annoyed, and said, "I don't see why you're here. I'll be discharged soon anyway."

"But you have a concussion—"

"I have a headache—"

"Yeah, but that's a symptom of a concussion—"

Sora rolled his eyes, slapping his hands down with a huff. He was dressed in nothing but a hospital gown, which was for the better considering... what he arrived in. After dropping him and Charlie off, Ray had whisked to their apartment under the guise of "going to the store to buy clothes for Sora".

It was one thing to cross the boundary of Sora's work life, and another thing to collide Sora's work life with their apartment situation.

Ray could never take back the experience of fetching Sora's clothes. He had stood in the middle of Sora's closet reconsidering Sora's roommate checklist and his reasonings that Ray now understood too well. Sora had insisted they stay out of each others' rooms, and he came to the conclusion that it was all for the sake of Sora's closet, which had a section of lingerie that Ray stared at for a solid two minutes before realizing what he was doing, where he was, and where he had to go.

And, so, Ray was now simply waiting for Sora to be freed from the San Francisco clinic's clutches. Ray tapped his fingers on the metal ledge and said, "Anyway, I don't mind driving. I'd rather drive you than have you go on public transit after you fainted like that."

"I had low blood sugar, you asshole. You see my blood sugar now? It's sweet and spicy," Sora said, pointing to the IV in his arm.

"Just because you're sweet and spicy now doesn't mean you will be later," Ray insisted.

Of course, there was no way for Ray to know the specifics, but given the little clues Sora had given him, the cause of Sora's fainting spell wasn't brain damage, necessarily—it was a mix of malnourishment, sleep deprivation, and over exertion.

Bottom line: Overworking.

And for a while there, he and Charlie thought Sora suffered a traumatic brain injury.

"You're mumbling," Sora said, scowling at him.

Ray squeaked, perking straight up. "S-Sorry! I was just thinking about Charlie. I feel bad for startling him tonight," he confessed. He couldn't take back the fact that he had, in fact, barged into Sora's work, nor could he regret it—he was glad that he knew now—but as for Charlie... He regretted dragging the guy into it, too. Charlie had said his work was private, and Ray should have respected that.

Sora scoffed and said, "He'll get over it. Is he the one who told you where I work?"

Ray startled, gasping, "What? No! I, um, I recognized your tattoo. This morning."

Sora squinted at him. His tattoo? He didn't have a tattoo.

Oh, fuck, he realized, reaching a hand to cover his eyes.

Ray looked at his lap and said, "You didn't have one before, so... I thought it was weird. You know, that time I was brushing my teeth and you..."

"Don't. Finish that sentence," Sora groaned. He rubbed both hands over his face. The pulse oximeter clapped against his forehead. A few seconds of painful silence passed. Five seconds felt like five minutes as Ray sat and picked at a hangnail on his thumb.