Morgana grabbed Sid’s shoulders gently, her eyes wide with fear.

"You’re okay! You’re safe now, you’re in the hospital, Sid! Please— look at me!"

He thrashed weakly, sweat rolling down his temples.

"It fell— I couldn’t— I should’ve—"

His breathing grew ragged, his eyes unfocused as if still staring at the tower’s height.

"Sid! Stop— you’re hurting yourself!"

Morgana’s voice cracked as she held his face, tears brimming in her eyes.

"It’s over, you idiot! You survived, do you hear me? You’re safe now! Please..."

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"Don’t scare me again..."

When he didn’t calm down, she panicked and hit the emergency button. Nurses rushed in, voices filling the room, machines beeping louder. One nurse injected a clear liquid into his IV while another checked his vitals. Gradually, Sid’s breathing slowed, his body relaxing as the sedative took hold. Morgana stayed beside him, gripping his hand tightly, whispering through trembling lips.

"Don’t you ever do that again... you stupid, stubborn idiot..."

Sid was transferred from the ICU to a private recovery room. The walls were cleaner, the air quieter, but the silence weighed heavier than before. His body was weak, bruised, and tied to too many machines. Every small movement made his ribs burn, and the brace on his leg felt like a cage. Nurses came and went, checking vitals and adjusting his IV.

Big D practically lived in the room with him. He slept on the couch, ate beside the bed, and kept the place from feeling empty. Morgana came right after school every day, rushing in with her bag still slung over her shoulder. Sometimes she cooked simple meals for the three of them, hoping it would make things feel normal again. They tried to bring back the old Sid with laughter and conversation, but most of the time, he just nodded or stared quietly at the ceiling. His mind kept replaying the fall— what he could have done differently, what he could have avoided.

Big D, with his usual loud voice, tried to lift the mood.

"Bro! You’re trending again! People are calling you the Skyfall King! Can you believe that?"

Morgana immediately smacked him with a pillow.

"You dumbass! Would you shut your mouth for once?"

Big D raised his hands defensively.

"Ohhh, okay, okay... too soon to joke, huh? But seriously, he is trending—"

"SHHH!!!"

Sid didn’t laugh, but they could tell he heard them. A faint twitch in his lips, maybe, or the way his eyes flicked their way for a moment. Days passed, and the clean hospital room slowly filled with gifts from fans— flowers, snacks, cards, and boxes stacked by the door. Big D, of course, was the one who ate most of them.

By the second week, the stitches had begun to heal. The bruises had faded into dull purples, and the swelling around his ribs eased just enough for him to sit up. The nurses helped him move from the bed to a wheelchair, and the first time his brace shifted, he winced so hard that Morgana almost cried.

Physical therapy began with simple motions. A therapist guided his leg gently, bending it by degrees, forcing the stiff muscles to remember movement. Sid gritted his teeth but never complained. Not a sound. The therapist spoke to him,

"Mr. Wilder, you need to tell me if it hurts."

"It doesn’t matter. Just keep going."

Afterward, Morgana would try to talk to him, sitting close with her hand resting on his blanket.

"You’re doing great. Really, you are. The doctors said your leg is s healing better than they expected."

But he didn’t look at her. He just stared at his right knee— the one that used to carry him over rooftops, railings, and towers.

Then his phone rang. The sound made him flinch. Morgana reached for it on the bedside table, glancing at the screen.

"Sid... it’s your mom. Should I answer it? She’s been calling every day since you got here. Maybe you should talk to her— she’s probably more worried about you than anyone else."

Sid didn’t move. He couldn’t. His hands trembled as he stared at the phone, chest tightening. The thought of hearing his mother’s voice, of facing what he had done, the people he disappointed, the failure replaying in his head was too... much.

His breathing quickened, the noise of the machines growing louder, harsher. The world around him blurred until Morgana’s hand slipped over his. Her grip was warm, steady, real.

"Hey. It’s okay. You don’t have to, not yet. I’m here."

Sid’s trembling slowed, but his eyes stayed down, fixed on the silent phone that kept ringing.

When Big D and Morgana finally fell asleep— Big D slumped on the couch, Morgana curled up beside the chair—Sid lay there, staring at the ceiling. The room was dim, the only light coming from the machines beside him. After a long while, he reached for his phone. His hand shook so badly that he almost dropped it.

The screen lit up, blinding against the dark. He opened his channel. The first thing he saw made his heart sank. His subscribers— down by thousands. His throat tightened as he scrolled, trying to steady his breathing.

Then he saw it. The livestream. The one that nearly cost him his life. A hundred million views. The number looked unreal, but he couldn’t bring himself to tap it. His thumb hovered over the screen, frozen. Curiosity gave in before courage could. He opened the comments.

The screen drowned in words, each one another cut he couldn’t stop reading.

[Chat]: This guy’s done. Imagine risking your life just to fail live in front of everyone.

[Chat]: What a disappointment. I used to look up to you, man. Not anymore.

[Chat]: Unsubscribe everyone, this boy won’t be able to run forever. RIP.

Sid’s hand trembled harder. Each line hit like a punch, sharper than the pain in his ribs. His vision blurred as he scrolled further, hoping... begging— to see something kind. But the hate drowned everything.

[Chat]: He deserved it. You don’t play with death for clout.

[Chat]: That fall should’ve ended him.