“Thank you, William,” Adathan said between sniffles. “You’re very kind.”
William took a deep, lilac-and-cherry-scented breath. “You’re kind too, Adathan. Can I see your hands?”
Adathan nodded against William’s chest. He let go of William’s sweater and gasped as he pulled away. “Oh, no! I’m so sorry, I—I’ll clean it. I’ll—”
“Adathan,” William said as he cupped his cheeks and looked into his eyes. “I don’t care. It’s just a sweater. You’re hurt; let me look at your hands.”
Adathan nodded again and offered his hands for William to examine.
William let go of his cheeks and looked down. At a glance, Adathan’s injuries didn’t seem severe, but it was difficult to know for certain with the smeared blood. “Come with me. Hopefully, there’s a first aid kit in the bathroom. If not, I’ll call the reception desk.”
William helped Adathan up and made sure he didn’t step on broken glass as they made their way toward the bathroom. He’d have someone from the hotel clean it up, but first, Adathan’s wounds needed to be tended to.
“It’s gonna hurt, but I need you to wash your hands with soap.” William turned on the tap. “Just don’t scrub too hard, okay?”
“Okay.”
William’s head buzzed as he looked through the cabinets. Were panic attacks common among Serviteurs? They were under such insane amounts of stress. William wouldn’t survive having to be hyper-aware every minute of every day. It was unsustainable.
William let out a sigh as he found what he was looking for. “Now pat them dry. Gently.”
To William’s relief, Adathan’s left hand only had a minor cut, but two fingers on his right hand were still dripping blood. Would he have kept trying to pick up the broken glass if William hadn’t ordered him not to?
William carefully bandaged Adathan’s hands, mindful not to cause him more pain. The first aid kit was high quality—just like everything else in this hotel—so at least his cuts would heal nicely.
Did all Serviteurs get proper care when they were hurt? Were they allowed to heal fully before they were asked to bend over backward for their masters again? Did some of those masters get off on making them bleed?
“Try not to use your hands too much, okay?” William said, putting an end to his spiraling thoughts. “Otherwise, they’ll take forever to heal.”
Adathan smiled. “I won’t. Thank you, William. You’re very—”
“Kind,” William blurted, instantly regretting it.
Adathan had no reaction whatsoever, but William had no doubt about it; he’d sensed and registered William’s annoyance. Why did he always have to be such an asshole?
William had spent most of his life telling himself that people who couldn’t handle him weren’t worth his time. Such a stupid lie. All it had done was make him lonely and bitter. He was lucky to have Oliver, but sometimes he wondered whether Oliver only tolerated him because he had no other choice. Just like Adathan.
William dug his nails into his palms. He had to keep his emotions in check. Neither Oliver nor Adathan deserved to be on the receiving end of his grumpiness.
“I’ll have someone from the hotel clean the mess,” William said, walking out of the bathroom. “After that, what do you say we eat dessert?”And put this all behind us.
Adathan’s smile widened. “I’d love that.”
William took his cozy sweatshirt out of his suitcase. He got changed, bunching his bloodstained sweater into a ball and dropping it on the floor. Hopefully, he’d manage to take the stain out when he got home.
William grabbed his buzzing phone and glared at the name on the screen.
The fuck did they want?
William gestured for Adathan to take a seat on the bed before heading to the kitchenette. He answered the call, his other hand hovering over the keycard in case he needed to retreat to the corridor. “Hello?”
“Good evening. My name is Barbara from Eden Serviteurs. Am I talking to Mr. William Mitchell?”
“Yes.”
“My sincere apologies for calling at this hour, Mr. Mitchell. Is this a suitable moment?”
“Yes.”
