sweetheart

five

Chapter Five | Gabriel

By the time there are only about thirty minutes left of my shift I start saying goodbye to my patients and starting my final few check-ups of the night. There were only a few hiccups in today's cases and I even got to scrub into a cardio surgery for a few hours.

When my last official patient has been checked over and assured I head over to Elara's room, knocking on the wall before entering. The nurse in charge smiles softly before taking the chance for a quick restroom break.

Elara looks away from her pattern-finding on the ceiling and instead focuses on me, her attention making me rethink my entire existence. Her eyes were more like how she came in than how I saw her this morning and I exhale.

"Hi, sweetheart, I just wanted to drop in before I left for the night," I say as I plop down in the chair I've grown accustomed to.

"Oh. Thanks for checking in. It is appreciated," she says, her mind far away and her eyes both looking at the wall and not looking at anything at all.

"Are you okay?"

"Be more specific," she frowns, her focus still zoned out. I resist the urge to grab her hand so she can come back to me.

"You just seem very unconcentrated."

"Oh," she replies quietly. She blinks twice before rubbing her face and sighing, rotating her body to face me before giving me an attempt at a smile.

I frown and shake my head, "You don't have to do that."

"Do what?" she asks quietly, her brow furrowing.

"Pretend to be okay," I say after a moment.

"I wasn't," her eyes seem to flicker, "I just wanted to smile at you."

My body warms at her bluntness and I watch as her gaze slips away from my face and she begins to fiddle with the hem of her robe. We sit in silence for a few heartbeats before she beckons me softly, "Gabriel?"

"My darling Elara?"

She smiles at that before biting her lip and looking back at me, "Do you like that nurse, Samantha? Because she has been wondering whether or not to ask you out and I'm curious to know if you reciprocate those feelings."

I can't help the laugh that escapes me at such an interesting and mildly intrusive question, "How do you know about Samantha and me?"

Her legs slip down from their criss-cross position and begin to swing in the space between my legs as she looks away from me to think. "She was talking to Ashley about you and then they asked me what I thought about you."

My mind only fully comprehends one thing of importance from her sentence. "And what did you reply?"

Elara opens her mouth to respond and then upon seeing my face, closes it and stops swinging her legs. She leans forward a bit, her mind intrigued, "Why would you like to know? It seems irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. She will still like you regardless."

My knee brushes against her calf as I adjust my position in the chair and I don't bother to move it. "Just curious."

She analyzes my face for a few more seconds before sighing, her ankle moving to rest against my inner knee, "I told her that you are very professional and comforting not out of obligation but because you want to comfort."

I swallow once and she doesn't miss it by the way her eyes look into mine after. "And then I said that you are kind and that you have a good heart and are honest."

She grows quiet and I exhale. "Is that all?" my voice sounds a bit hoarse to my ears but I hope it's just me.

She smiles and shakes her head, "No. She asked me if I thought you were handsome."

I swallow again and I don't think I imagine it when she looks at my throat, and then at my mouth. "And what did you reply?"

She moves her leg and my eyes automatically slip down at the loss of warmth before realizing I just admitted how not nonchalant to me the contact was. She pretends not to notice for my sake. "I told them I thought you were timeless," she admits quietly. The air around us seems to still as she finishes the thought, "And that I find you beautiful."

The honesty in her words makes me warm and I have to look away from her eyes to regain my composure.

Timeless.

Beautiful. Not handsome, not sexy, but beautiful.

"Thank you for talking me up," I laugh a bit too bluntly for it to be considered casual and she leans back, smiling softly and still a bit distant.

"Um, I do like her, to answer your original question."

"What does it feel like?" she asks softly, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her sock as she draws her legs back up to her.

I furrow my eyebrows, "Haven't you ever liked someone?"

She tilts her head with a smile, her eyes a bit cold, "Not to the normal extent. I was usually trying not to die, so. I didn't want to push that onto anyone."

I take a moment to consider her words and the small implications behind them, trying to find a way to phrase my thoughts properly, "You know you deserve to be able to like someone, right?"

"I guess," she shrugs, not fully believing it.

"Elara, you are not your mental illness. You can be loved regardless of it."

Her eyes snap up to mine and I fear she will get defensive, but her quiet words are more heartbreaking than hurtful, "I am a burden. My illness is a burden. Why would I want someone to carry that?"

"Because then it will feel lighter for you and that should be enough for the other person. It will be enough for the right person. You are not a burden," I say firmly.

"It will not be enough," she shakes her head, her mind inviting her into her depths as Elara looks down at the floor for a bit too long. Her eyes start to get glossy and when she looks up at me once more and repeats it, "It will not be enough," I wish someone had made her feel differently.

I open my mouth to console her but the nurse comes back in and my shift is officially over as my watch begins to beep on my wrist.

I close my eyes and sigh in gentle irritation at the timing of it all.

She swings her leg back down and presses her ankle against my knee right before I get up, in the one place the nurse behind me cannot see because of the chair. When she looks up at me I see the gratitude at trying to help her in her eyes and offer her a small smile despite feeling like I lost.

My fingers hesitate but I graze the back of her knee in the same blind spot as I say, "Goodnight, sweetheart." My body leans forward as if to press a kiss to her head but her hand presses against my lower abdomen as if to ground me. Her expression gives nothing away.

But I pretend not to notice the breath she takes and how our eyes meet at the same time. Or how my skin burns where I have touched her and where she has touched me.