He didn’t look back. Just stood there, one palm braced on the doorframe, giving me space.
Dropped the towel and stepped under the spray.
Heat slammed into frozen skin. Painful at first, sharp, biting, waking up nerve endings that had gone numb. Then blissful. Warmth seeping into muscles locked tight with cold and terror.
Knees buckled. Caught myself on the tile wall, forehead pressed to the cool surface while hot water pounded my shoulders.
The performance drained away. Left nothing but exhaustion and the echo of his voice asking questions I’d answered with carefully constructed lies.
The water ran over me until feeling returned to my fingers, until my core temperature climbed out of hypothermic territory. Until the shaking finally eased.
Shut off the spray and silence rushed in, broken only by water dripping from the showerhead.
Stepped out, reaching for a towel.
The space stood open. Empty. He’d left while I was under the water, moving silent despite his injuries.
Put on my pajama, the only piece of clothing available, wrapped a towel on my head and walked into the main room.
Xavier stood beside the bed, blanket in possession.
He turned when I entered, crossed to me in three uneven steps, wrapped it around my shoulders before I could protest, pulled it closed across my chest. Lingered on my arms, steadying me.
Then guided me to sit on the edge of the bed with firm pressure.
The role reversal hit sideways. I’d been the caretaker so far, tending his wounds, monitoring vitals, making decisions while he fought fever and pain.
Now he was taking care of me.
Moving despite the injuries I could see pulling at him. Despite the bandages wrapped tight around his ribs. Despite the immobilized shoulder and the persistent headache he couldn’t voice.
Wrapping me in warmth. Making me rest.
“You need one too.” Steadier. Nodded toward him still standing in just his boxers. “You’re freezing.”
He shook his head. Gestured toward me, you first.
“I’m fine now. Get a blanket before you go hypothermic again and undo all my hard work.”
Nothing.
Fine.
Grabbed the second blanket from the foot of the bed and threw it at him.
He caught it reflexively, something almost like amusement crossing his face, followed by a slight wince. Then, he wrapped it around his shoulders and lowered himself to sit beside me. Careful, controlled descent that couldn’t quite hide the pain.
We sat in silence. Steam from the bathroom still drifting into the cold air. Space heater glowing futile orange.
Xavier shifted. Rose again with visible effort, limped to the small table where I’d left a bunch of books and magazines, took my notepad and pen, and brought them back.
Sat closer this time. Thigh nearly touching mine.
Wrote in clear, forceful letters: Why did you do that?
“Do what?”
He angled his head, narrowing.
