Mal frowned, absently wiping at his cheek with his forearm. “I am?”
He was.
“Yeah, ‘cause you love me,” he said, huffing out a noiseless laugh then groaning.
“Of course, I love you, you fucking dumbass,” Mal said. “Why are you acting like this is brand new information?”
Nico tried and failed to raise his hand, then settled for shrugging. “People say they love you all the time,” he reasoned. “That doesn’t mean they’ll cry at your funeral.”
“Funeral?” Mal choked out. “Don’t even fucking joke about that. What’s wrong with you?”
Jericho was suddenly in his line of vision, trying to tug Mal’s hand from Nico’s wound. Mal fought him. He couldn’t afford to lose any more blood.
“Move your hand so I can see how bad it is,” Jericho snapped.
“You’re not a doctor,” Mal snapped back, chest rising and falling as he forced himself to try to breathe.
“Let him look, Bunny,” Nico said, sounding weaker than Mal had ever heard.
He heard the sobbing but realized too late the sound came from him. He finally relinquished his hold, but watched Jericho through stinging eyes as he poked and prodded at Nico’s abdomen. Was it distended? Was that bad? Was he imagining that?
“It’s pretty shallow,” Jericho noted as Mal heard a siren in the distance. “I actually think the scar tissue kept it from going too deep. I don’t think he hit any major organs.”
“Oh, that’s good,” Nico said, eyelids fluttering. “See, Bunny. Nothing to worry about. Stop crying.”
Those were his last words to Mal before he lost consciousness.
Nico came awake slowly, a dull ache in his belly and a slight sting in his hand. He could hear the beeps of machines and the sharp smell of bleach that told him he was in the hospital. It must have been worse than Jericho thought. Nico wanted to open his eyes but his eyelids felt like cement. Someone with a sweaty palm was holding his hand. Mal. Definitely Mal. Nico wanted to smile at that, but nothing seemed to be working at his command.
“He’s going to be fine, kid.”
Jericho. He was there, too? Who else had shown up? How long had he been out? His tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth, and his insides were cold. Why were hospitals so cold? Was it a germ thing? It was probably a germ thing.
“That’s what you said three days ago, right before he passed out and didn’t wake up,” Mal said, voice tight.
Three days?
“He’s fine,” Jericho said again. “I know it scared you, but it was a pretty shallow wound. He just lost a lot of blood. His body needs rest to recover.”
“People die of blood loss,” Mal snapped. “That’s why blood transfusions exist. He could have been really hurt. Fuck, what if he’d been really hurt?”
“What if?” Jericho said. “Would it change anything?”
“What?” Mal asked.
Nico could practically see the irritated face he knew Mal was giving Jericho.
“I mean, what would you do if he’d really been hurt?” Jericho asked. “Would you bail?”
“What? What the fuck kind of question is that? I’m never leaving him. Ever,” Mal said fiercely.
Nico’s heart felt like it might rip from his chest and rocket to the moon. He loved Mal so much. His soaring heart suddenly plummeted to his feet. Had he said it back yesterday? What if he’d died without saying it back one last time?
Jericho was quiet for a while. Nico’s heart did a complicated little flip in his chest when he asked, “Does he know you love him this much?”
Mal snorted. “If he doesn’t, then he’s an idiot.”
Jericho barked out a laugh. “Well…”
