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Isaac’s shoulders were sore and his throat tasted of putrid acetone slick against his tongue. The scent of alcohol skimmed Isaac’s nostrils, its acrid remains sorely hammering his temple. He winced at the rickety overhead fluorescence lazily pestering his hazy vision at every whine.
Pale, créme walls bore a hole in Isaac’s gut. He gulped, attempting to coat his mouth with tapered spittle. Adjusting himself was fairly easy—relaxing into a poor excuse for a pillow and raising the gross polyester blanket to his chest, making certain that it didn’t pass over his delicate, exposed skin. Isaac shuttered, a draft skimming his cheek. His skull ached, no doubt fueled by the smoke billowing through the cracks of Isaac’s ward. The double doors idly swung, groaning—a sound Isaac had grown accustomed to over the last few days—and a nurse approached.
Isaac gnawed his chipped lip, bitterly swallowing as every word sunk through his ticking barriers. He soon watched her skitter away, heels tapping the frigid flooring below, replaced by a familiar squeak of dapper leather oxfords. Isaac’s head bumped the metal railings of his bedframe, a minor pang muffled by soft petals brushing his fingertips.
“What’s the occasion?” Isaac beamed at Gomez. He was never one for crafting a good joke—usually they fell flat. More often than not, actually.
But Gomez snickered breathily, a harmony that distracted Isaac’s sterilized attitude. “No occasion.” He paused, irises absorbing Isaac’s status—unkempt locks, half-exposed clattering heart, and dimples curving his lip. He resisted reaching out for his thin, ghostly hand. “I just wanted to see you.”
Isaac coughed, laughter coalescing its vibrato. “You’re here every other day.”
“How else can I make it up to you?” He gestured to Isaac’s right hand—well, lack thereof. Wrapped in cloth, his wrist extended into a stout stub.
The other hummed, glimpsing his disinfected arm. Isaac’s memory was fuzzy. He didn’t quite remember much of what happened, exactly. Mainly just the brittle pain that wrung his body, coursing through his bones, fracturing his jaw and straining his muscles. He could recall the ebony smoke taunting him, projecting shallow silhouettes. There were flames, too. They ebbed at his coat, burning torn threads. They licked his features, singeing his hair.
Then someone had gripped him by the shoulders, cradling him in their arms. There wasn’t much else after that—not until the hospital. He wasn’t conscious during the procedures which mended his sputtering heart or tugged his shattered bones. He’d twisted his ankle, a heavy cast now decorating Isaac’s leg. Being a Da Vinci, he knew it’d rapidly heal. But he wasn’t fond of being stuck using crutches or a wheelchair until then.
Isaac grunted and eyed Gomez. He fumbled with the breast pocket where he hid his watch. Unclasping its cover, Gomez spied ticking hands. Isaac guessed it was barely past seven in the evening.
“You don’t have to make up for anything.” Gomez jumped, retracting the clock. Isaac stifled a laugh. Why was Gomez so flustered? He couldn’t quite figure that out.
“It’s the thought that counts, isn’t it?” The hairs caressing Gomez’s lips twitched. “You know I can’t help but care for you, mi genio. And, after—“
“I don’t,” Isaac interrupted, “I don’t remember.” A weight trampled his chest. They hadn’t spoken a peep of what remnants remained of Iago Tower’s past. It was a subject neither knew how to approach—Gomez simultaneously guilty and audacious, Isaac shuttering in discomfort of his actions. “So it doesn’t matter.”
Gomez leaned forward, once more objecting his urges to gently handle the other. “Corazón, it matters. I hurt you. You are hurt.” He gestured to Isaac’s fragile frame. “I should throw myself off the highest cliff for what I’ve done,” Gomez whispered, his words meant only for Isaac.
“Don’t say that,” Isaac muttered in return, fatigued sadness stroking his lips. If coagulated cells of blood hadn’t lurched his metal gears, Isaac would’ve sniffled, allowing tears to spiral past his chin. Instead, he leveled his gaze to Gomez’s.
They exchanged a dejected glance.
“But if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be in this condition. You can’t walk,” Gomez croaked.
“It’ll heal.”
“Your hand…Isaac. The axe, it got your hand.” Gomez sobbed, clutching frail bedsheets.
Guilt twisted Isaac’s stomach and he shuddered. Rejecting the gravity of Gomez’s shimmering eyes, he turned away. Isaac exhaled, shivering. “I could’ve killed you, Gomez.”
“Oh, ma cherie,” Gomez cooed, relaxing. “I forgive you. I do, really. You only meant to save Francoise, didn’t you? That’s why. You harbored my electricity for her.”
“But, I shouldn’t have. I don’t—I don’t know why,” Isaac retaliated. “I don’t know what came over me. The pills, my…heart,” he looked to Gomez, “I don’t know why I hurt you.”
Gomez sighed. Chest swelling, he took Isaac’s arm and rubbed a gentle line into his skin. “I think,” he began, “you were scared. And why not?” He offered a sheepish grin. “Your sister’s life was in danger. And you know I will always aid in your endeavours, Isaac. No matter the cost. I would risk life and limb for you.”
“But I—“
“Isaac, you are my most treasured friend. I value you. Just because you placed my life in danger under the ambition of a tragic episode doesn’t make that any less so.” He leaned in further, pressing a kiss to Isaac’s cheek. Gomez smiled, shifting back, and released Isaac’s arm from his grasp. “Te amo, Isaac.”
Isaac’s breast buzzed and perspiration saturated scarlet skin, heat radiating from his face. Isaac parted his lips, heaving a breath as if they’d exchanged a passionate kiss.
Gomez stood and Isaac avidly followed his movements, eyes anchored to his mouth. “I should leave, you need your rest.”
“Can’t you stay?” Isaac blurted out. “I mean,” he blushed, “it’s cold and you were always a bit of a furnace. Though, it may be best for you to go, the nurse might just beat the lights out of you…if she finds you.”
Gomez contorted himself, stepping toward the bed. “Well,” he scoffed, “I don’t know about that.” He motioned his arms. “Who could resist this devilish charm, eh?”
Isaac gave the roll of his eye, suppressing a cringeworthy hack. “Not many, I presume.”
“Not you, then?” Gomez questioned, already laying beside him, nuzzling a hand beneath Isaac’s robe, the thrum of his heart drumming his fingers.
“Especially not me,” Isaac whispered.
His eyelids drooped and his exhales diminished, slowing with each passing second until they drifted off, wrapped in a meagre embrace.