Michael yells and curses at people on his way up to the room, banging on the door like he’s planning to run it down and trying to push inside the moment it opens (though his attempt is weak). He’s short of breath, sweating like he ran the whole way there. Maybe he did. He almost can’t remember, and it’s unimportant anyway. Stumbling, he catches himself on a stranger with his numb hands, and even though he’s a tangle of terror and confusion and exhaustion, whoever it is helps him stand up straight. He doesn’t understand it and he doesn’t have time to think about it because a familiar shade of blonde catches his unfocused eyes, and she’s hurt, and she’s crying and calling for him, and that’s all the world turns into.
“Lee, Lee, oh God, fuck,” Michael yells. It’s easy to get to her now, nothing in his way, like a dream. He collapses clumsily beside her on the bed, leaning over and bringing his face right up to hers. He makes to touch her face, but his hand is shaking and he seems afraid. His eyes are wide and blinking fast.
“Lee. Lee. I didn’t know where you were. I didn’t… And you’re hurt. Who did this? Was it the cops, was it the fucking cops?! I swear to fucking god, Lee! I didn’t know, I was so scared, are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay, please, please.”