Page 8 of Griffin

Noah and I had been there by his side as much as we could—taking shifts, sitting in that sterile room with its beeping machines, waiting for any sign that he might wake up.

The doctors weren’t optimistic.

They’d said something about swelling in his brain, about how long he’d been unconscious.

But that didn’t stop us from hoping, from waiting.

Noah had been the one to push me into going to this convention, though. I almost didn’t.

It felt wrong leaving Dad’s side, as if I’d be abandoning him somehow.

But Noah, ever the optimist, reminded me that it was unlikely Dad’s condition would change overnight.

He practically shoved me out the door, saying I needed a break, that I couldn’t keep living in that hospital room, letting the weight of it crush me.

So, I went. Thinking maybe the trip could help, give me some space to breathe.

But even here, among the buzz of excitement, surrounded by a crowd of strangers who had no idea what was going on in my life, I couldn’t fully escape it.

The quiet moments always brought my thoughts back to the hospital room, to the smell of antiseptic and the quiet hum of machines keeping my father alive.

I forced myself to pull my mind from the past and focus on the present.

The noise around me, the bustle of people excited for the latest games, the hum of conversation—it was all a distraction, but one I needed.

Even if just for a little while.

I watched as Michael and Shawn walked by, a small group of fans trailing after them like moths to a flame.

A few people in line whipped out their phones, holding them up to catch a glimpse or maybe a quick selfie.

Shawn, obnoxious as ever, took out his phone and draped an arm around Michael’s shoulder for a selfie, as if they were best buddies.

Michael blinked, caught off guard, but he handled it like a pro, flashing a quick smile.

Still, I could see a flicker of discomfort in his eyes.

It didn’t surprise me. I’d always gotten the impression that Michael wasn’t the kind of guy who craved attention, not the way Shawn did.

Shawn, in his videos, came off as loud and brash—every bit as obnoxious in real life as he was online.

He thrived on it, the constant validation.

Michael, though? He seemed like the kind of guy who could do without it, but went along with the fanfare because it was part of the job.

I didn’t pull out my phone like the others. It felt... wrong.

Undignified. The streamers were used to it, sure, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t invasive.

Once Michael and Shawn were gone, the excitement in the line settled down, and people returned to their screens, scrolling, swiping, waiting for their turn.

I sighed, glancing at the long queue ahead. At least an hour, if I was lucky.

And just as that thought crossed my mind, I pulled out my phone, only to see the dreaded low battery icon flashing at me.

Great. Just great.

I tapped my pocket for the power bank and pulled it out, but the blinking red light told me all I needed to know.

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