What made sense?
The Defender huffed, then rolled off me.
Fucking butthole.
And almost like he could read my mind, his head whipped back in my direction.
I looked at him, and then I sighed. “I’m scared, all right? Maybe you’re used to high-stress situations, but I’m not. If something bad happens in here, it happens. But I don’t want to die. I don’t want to starve.” My eyes helplessly filled with tears again that I could barely hold at bay, and I shrugged. “None of this is your fault. I’m sorry. I’m upset, and I’m taking it out on you. I’m sorry.”
His brow went flat, but after a moment, he settled back against the floor. His head moved until he faced the ceiling, and his nostrils flared again.
I rubbed my face, angry and disappointed and genuinely scared.
“You’re not going to die in here,” he muttered after a moment.
That was easy for him to believe. He didn’t know everything.
“We’re going to get out,” The Defender kept going… reassuring me?
I felt my lip wobble at the reminder of the maybe slim, maybe not slim, chance my life would end here in a brutal, painful way.
“Stop it.”
I pursed my lips together.
“I’m healing,” he said in Portuguese.
That got me to glance at him as even more tears filled my eyes. “I don’t want to be rude, but I don’t think you’re healing enough,” I told him in the same language.
His eyes popped open and slid toward me.
“You need to get better first.” Whether I was going to be alive long enough for that was something I’d worry about later. Maybe I would have more time. Maybe they wouldn’t come in here any time soon. And maybe I’d magically grow six inches. “I want to get out of here more than anything, and I hope I can figure out how to get us both out. I know we aren’t friends or anything, but…” I squeezed my hands together, desperation eating up my chest bite by bite. “Maybe we can be temporary friends. Until we get out of here.” I sniffled. “We only have each other in here.”
It wasn’t like either one of us had more options.
Oh boy, I could feel the sweat on my forehead thinking about it.
Part of me expected him to go back to being that grumpy, quiet pain in the ass, but eventually, The Defender shocked me when he muttered in English, “Fuck. Fine.”
Fine?Fine?All right. Someone was dying to be my friend. Oh boy. I almost laughed, but I did sigh.
“You need to get better, and in the meantime, I’ll think about what we can do. You think about it too; you know what you’re capable of and what you can handle. I’ll try and buy us as much time as possible.” And I wasn’t going to say it out loud, but I could tell that movement a minute ago—him pinning me down—had cost him. I hadn’t missed his flinch and the strain on his face. No matter how much more he was moving, there was still something wrong. He was getting better, but it wasn’t some kind of miracle.
He wasn’t that kind of superhero, I guess, who could regrow an arm in an hour.
Or at least not anymore for whatever terrifying reason.
I sighed and rubbed my face, wondering over that for a while until another familiar question popped into my head. I had nothing left to lose. Hadn’t I already come to terms with that? Peeking over at him, I just went for it. Back to Korean. “Is there something I can call you other than Defender?” It felt awkward to call him that after I’d spoon-fed him and called him a butthole to his face. If that wasn’t a solid foundation for friendship, what was?
I squeezed my hand into a fist, watching him lying there. “I promise not to tell anyone.”
Like I even had people to tell in the first place.
Some muscle in his face movedjustslightly. Just enough so that I noticed only because I’d spent so much time staring at his features while he’d slept at my house.
“I don’t care,” he grumbled.
I gritted my teeth.
