Jock Next Bed (BL)
Chapter 201: Happy

Chapter 201: Happy

Chris’s father was sitting upright in bed, sipping tea like a retired mafia boss, calm and collected despite the recent scare. His mother, dressed in a sharp suit and heels, looked like she’d just stepped out of a boardroom rather than a hospital room. They were deep in conversation, their voices low and serious, their expressions locked in deep focus—until both heads turned in perfect synchrony at the sound of the door, which he quietly opened and shut.

Chris froze for a moment under their twin gazes.

"...Hi," he said awkwardly.

His mother tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing with clinical precision. "Is your boyfriend awake?"

Chris’s face flushed immediately. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to process the fact that he was actually standing here, having this conversation. "He’s not my boyfriend," he muttered, rubbing his forehead. "Not yet."

That made his mother’s lips twitch into a smirk. "Yeah, right. He flew all the way here for his ’bro.’"

Chris groaned. "How did you even know—?"

She raised a brow. "Christopher, you’ve been gone for nearly an entire day. You raided half of the hospital’s food supplies. I’m pretty sure catering thought there was a party in your suite. Also, did you think I wouldn’t check to know how my son is doing and why he abandoned his parents? Or hear it from the doctors? Or Wilson?"

"Wilson is a menace," Chris muttered under his breath.

"Wilson is loyal—to me," his mother said sweetly.

That was true.

Wilson and his mother were awfully close. If Wilson weren’t gay, he would have already put a gun to the boy’s head and warned him to stay away from his mother because he didn’t need him being his step dad.

But Wilson had Jack. And Jack had even paid him a visit here once.

Chris’s father, who had been silently observing the exchange, set his tea down with a soft clink. "So... you’re dating now?" His voice was low and quiet.

Chris blinked. "No! Wait—what? I just said we’re not dating!"

He flailed dramatically, trying to salvage the conversation. "He just woke up and it was... awkward. I didn’t know what to say, so I ran. Like, literally ran."

His uneven breathing was enough proof.

A long pause. Then his mother laughed, her laughter the sharp, melodic kind that only came from someone who could manage to look regal while laughing. It was refined, yet unexpected.

It made his heart warm. Seeing her look so... her.

He smiled unconsciously.

His father, on the other hand, simply shook his head in that calm, unimpressed dad way. "You ran?"

"It was awkward!" Chris repeated, as if that somehow explained everything.

"So naturally," his mother said, effortlessly composing herself, "you left the poor boy alone in a VIP hospital room with enough food to feed a royal wedding, and no explanation?"

"He has juice," Chris said defensively, pointing at the table.

"Juice," his father echoed, deadpan. "Of course. That solves everything."

Chris groaned and slumped into the guest chair, as if gravity had suddenly betrayed him. "He literally fainted into my arms," he muttered. "What am I supposed to do with that?"

His mother crossed her legs elegantly, her heels clicking against the floor as she settled into her chair with a poised smile. "He fell asleep. Not faint. Also, try talking to him? I mean, he came all the way here."

Chris buried his face in his hands. "Too awkward. He was holding a juice box, and I was about to ask him if he missed me, but then I remembered I lied to him, and now he’s here, and I still look like I lost a knife fight with stress."

His father blinked. "That was a lot of information in one sentence. One I am particularly... not interested in." His wife giggled beside him.

Chris looked at them. He wanted to act annoyed. Wilson wasn’t here to rant to and they were supposed to be helpful, but they were not. But he didn’t mind.

Because he was happy.

Very happy.

Suddenly, he stood, walked over to his father, and without warning, leaned in for a tight hug.

His father looked surprised for half a second before he gently wrapped his arms around him. "Hey, I’m okay," he murmured, patting Chris’s back.

Chris’s voice was muffled in his chest. "Don’t ever do that again, okay?"

His father pulled back slightly, still holding him by the shoulders. "Do what?"

"Collapse on us like that!" Chris’s tone grew more urgent, his hands clenching at his father’s shirt. "While I want to live long and make that boy mine, I love you more. And I swear, if you die... I’ll—I’ll actually kill you again and then kill myself."

Smack!

Chris’s head jerked forward from the sharp slap to the back of it.

"Ow!" He rubbed the back of his head, looking up to see his mother standing beside him, arms crossed with an expression that was half annoyed, half amused. "Don’t say stupid things like that, idiot."

His father sighed and gave Chris a long, unimpressed look. "If anything happens to me, the last thing I need is two hospital rooms."

Chris pouted, rubbing his head where his mother had hit him. "Jeez. Can’t a guy have a dramatic moment in peace?"

"Not in this family," his mother replied, sitting back down with grace, her heels clicking against the floor as she repositioned herself.

Chris slumped himself down in his father’s bed and just stared right at him like he had never seen him before.

"Stop being creepy." His father warned him. That made him chuckle, then he stood up and turned to his mother.

He didn’t speak at first and that just made her give him a pointed questioning look.

Then:

"Can I borrow your hair gel?" He asked.

She raised her brows before she smiled knowingly. "Bathroom drawer. Third shelf."

Chris gave them both a sheepish grin. "Thanks. I think I’m gonna... freshen up here. Maybe try to be less weird."

His father gave him a dry look. "Impossible."

"Don’t be mean. You should be rooting for me." Chris faked a disappointed look before he began to head towards the restroom quickly.

"Also, you can use my lipstick while you’re at it," his mother called after him.

Chris groaned but smiled as he closed the door behind him.

***

Meanwhile, in the room across the hall...

Sky adjusted the towel slung over his neck as he studied his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The space was so luxurious it felt almost wrong, like he’d stumbled into a five-star hotel room by mistake. Gold trimmings, soft lighting, the air tinged with a faint floral scent. Everything smelled expensive—from the body wash to the shampoo. If this was the standard for hospital bathrooms in the upper echelons of society, then Sky realized he’d been living in the trenches.

He looked better now—less haggard than before. The hobo-on-the-run look had faded. The shampoo worked wonders on his hair, and the soft cotton clothes left for him were comfortable and stylish enough to pass as high-end loungewear. But when he caught sight of himself in the mirror, he couldn’t help but wince. His cheeks looked too thin, and his skin was a patchwork of dry spots. His eyes—well, they looked like they’d seen things.

But it didn’t matter. The damage was done. He’d already passed out. He’d already shown up. Now, all that was left was surviving the aftermath and trying not to be awkward.

He tied his hair into a loose bun and took a deep breath. "Don’t be weird," he muttered to himself. "Just say hi. Smile. Don’t say something traumatic. And definitely don’t get too... sheepish and cringe."

And just as he finished adjusting the towel around his neck, he heard the main door creak open.

Sky froze.

His heart skipped a beat. He quickly gave himself one last glance in the mirror, turned the handle of the bathroom door, and stepped into the room.

"Hey, I—"

He stopped.

Standing in the room wasn’t Chris.

It was a stranger.

A strange good-looking guy.