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Buzz buzz. Buzz buzz.
An incoming call roused you from sleep, the light blinding as you cracked open a lid. Unknown Caller, the screen read. Who in their right mind would be calling at 2 in the morning?
“Ugh… hello?” you answered groggily, voice thick with sleep.
“Outside…”
“Uh, what? Who is this? Don’t you know what time it is?” In your tired state, you couldn’t quite place the familiar voice.
“Out…side…” the quiet voice on the other end repeated.
“Wait– Touya? Is that you?” You were wide awake in seconds, already peeling back the covers and shoving your feet into your shoes. Given his status as a villain, he never would’ve risked calling you if it wasn’t an emergency.
There was the crack of a phone hitting concrete and then a thud. “Touya!” you yelled into the receiver, “where are you?!” No sooner had the words left your lips than you saw a writhing figure lying face down on the sidewalk across your apartment building. You rushed to him, leaping down the stairs two at a time.
He was motionless by the time you reached him, heat rolling off him in waves. His skin was almost too hot to touch and he smelled like charcoal left inside a grill too long. When you gripped the sleeve of his jacket to flip him over, your hand came away wet with blood.
Despite the heat and the smell and blood, you lifted his limp body up by the armpits and began dragging him back to your apartment — across the street, up two flights of stairs, through your narrow entryway, into the bathroom, and finally over the edge of the tub.
You were already worn out from the effort, sweating from every pore in your body, but got to work patching him up in a way that had, by now, become very familiar to you.
First, a cold bath. The water sizzled and steamed upon meeting his skin. You let the cool water run over him as you gingerly removed his soiled clothes, leaving him as naked as the day he was born — not that he was lucid enough to care, and you knew he wouldn’t anyway. The two of you had gone through this same routine too many times for him to feel bashful. His clothes were dropped into a sink full of cold water; you’d try to scrub the blood out of them later.
Second, the first aid kit. It had always been kept fully stocked under the bathroom sink ever since Touya waltzed into your life two years ago looking like a walking corpse. Twisting his body this way and that, you inspected him for any major injuries. Thankfully there were none, only cuts and scrapes — but of these, there were many.
And so the night went on with you meticulously plucking out all his loose staples, disinfecting his wounds, scrubbing dried blood and dirt out of his skin and from under his nails. You had to drain the tub three times before it stayed clear.
Third, the clean up. You replaced the water a fourth and final time, letting him soak in the cold for a bit longer while you filled up two buckets and a sponge and began to rinse the blood from your floorboards. Once your apartment was clean, you splashed water onto the pavement outside until the blood trail leading from the stairs up to your suite had been washed away. You couldn’t have your neighbours poking around and finding out about the notorious villain hiding in your bedroom.
Then lastly, the salves — the ones for his body, and the ones for his heart. When you returned to the bathroom at nearly 5 AM, Touya was in the exact same position as you’d left him. The water that was once cold has now become room temperature. You drained it and carefully dried him off, mindful to avoid tugging on any charred skin, then wrapped him up in a fluffy towel, hoisted him onto your back and, with great difficulty, carried him to your bed. Because of Touya’s dreadful habit of dropping by unannounced and injured, you had built up a large collection of ointments – some for burns, some for bruises, some for bleeding.
You sat next to his still unconscious form, tenderly dabbing at his wounds with balm, covering them up with bandages and gauze, and stitching his crumbling skin back together. Once he was patched up to the best of your ability, you dressed him in some old clothes that he had shed one night and promptly forgotten about. By the time you tucked the covers under his chin, the sun was beginning to peak over the horizon. You heaved a heavy sigh, bone-tired and ready to collapse on the couch, but before you could walk away, a hand grabbed onto your wrist. You looked back to see Touya’s eyes open, albeit unfocused.
His hand slipped down from your wrist, fingers intertwining with yours. “Don’t,” he whispered, voice hoarse with disuse. Don’t go, he had wanted to say. When he was teetering on the edge of consciousness like this, when his mind was clouded with pain and sorrow, a plethora of words threatened to spill from his soul – words like thank you, and I’m sorry, and hidden in the very depths of his scorched heart, I want you, I need you, I love you, please stay with me. But like all the times before, his lips remained sealed, locking the confessions away inside his burnt lungs.
A sad smile glossed over your features. “Okay,” you assured him, “I won’t.” Sinking back down onto the edge of the bed, you brushed the strands away from his face and ran your fingers soothingly through his hair. “Rest now, Touya, you’re safe here. No one will hurt you.” You laid a soft kiss against his forehead. “And I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
His eyes soon fluttered shut and his breathing evened out. You watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, gently cradling his hand in yours.
Touya was a villain – he had hurt, kidnapped, killed. He was used to running from place to place, to burning everyone around him before they had a chance to burn him first. And yet somehow, he found himself returning to the same dingy apartment, curling up in sheets that smelled like lavender instead of ashes, enveloped in the heat of not a blazing wildfire but a gentle glow. He thought that if his hellish flames were blue, yours would be golden.