"What the-" Mack blinks slowly as he wakes up in a hospital room. Everything is white. White wall, white ceiling. The lights are too bright. His head is hurting like hell. "Fuck!" he rasps in a rough voice. He turns his head and widens his eyes in disbelief.
Will fucking Smith is sitting next to his bed with his elbows on his knees. His blonde hair looks messy. He parts his lips in shock. "Mack."
"Why the fuck are you here?"
Will's face falls. He shifts on the white chair. "You are in the hospital. You got hit during the match."
Mack tries to sit up straight. "I ask again, why the fuck are you here?"
Will fiddles with that stupid necklace with too many pendants on it. "You, the doctor said you might suffer from memory loss-"
"I’m fine. I remember hating you just fine. Thank you very much." Mack closes his eyes. "Can you leave? You are giving me a headache."
"Mack, what year do we have?"
"Just fuck off," Mack mutters with closed eyes.
"Mack, what year?"
Mack groans as he snaps his eyes open to glare at Will. Since when do they even talk to each other? And why is that annoying fucker from BC in his hospital room? "2023, smartass, and now leave me the fuck alone, Smith. This is not funny."
Will pales. He parts his lips and lowers his eyes, staring at his hands. "It's 2026."