Will and Nico

Part 7

WILL

I'm careful around him. I don't want to make the same mistake twice, don't want to scare him off again.
He sits on one of the only spare infirmary beds. Most of the patients are asleep so I keep my voice low, as does he.
'Shirt off.' I say, and look up to see his face flushed. He looks, for lack of better words, terrified. 'So I can see the wound.'
'Oh. Right. Okay.' He says, and takes it off. I'm still getting the equipment I need, so I don't see at first. But then I look up. He practically has an eight pack, which I wasn't expecting at all; he looks weak, tired. I didn't expect him to be so defined.
But I quickly move on and see the scars that go back and forth across his chest. Pale white lines contrasting with his darker skin. Hundreds and hundreds of small ones, mixed in with a few longer, painful looking ones.
We lock eyes for a moment and he turns around so I can see the wound on his back. There are hundreds more scars on his back, but I remain professional. I go about cleaning the wound.
'It's infected.' I say, 'you should have come in before.'
'It hasn't really been a priority.' He says.
'Staying alive?'
'Staying alive for long.' He says simply. I know what he means. For so long his life has been focused on the immediate threat. Getting from one day to the next. And now everything's seemingly okay. It must be hard to wrap his head around that. It's hard to hear.
I go about bandaging him up. Lightly and carefully. My hand touches his side, briefly but I pull away instantly. I let out a pained gasp, and he turns to me, confused. I can see how instantly alert he is, ready for anything.
'What's wrong?' He asks.
'Nothing. I'm fine.' I say, shaking my hand, 'when I come into contact with people I can feel what they feel sometimes.'
'Oh.' He says. He looks embarrassed.
'You have a headache?' I ask.
'A little.' He replies, 'it's fine. I don't really notice it anymore.'
'I can give you something for it. And I think you have internal bleeding.'
'Internal...?'
'I can fix it.' I assure him, 'but...I mean...you're in incredibly bad shape.' He looks down at himself, at his stomach, and back up at me, 'not like that.' I say quickly, 'as in your body, internally, is going through hell.'
He stares at me and I just realised what I've said.
'Oh Gods. I'm sorry. Bad analogy.' But he actually smiles. I think it's the first time I've seen him laugh a little.
'It's okay.' He assures me, 'I know what you meant.'
'Right. Okay.' I continue, 'Yes. Your body is...'
'Going through hell.' He fills in for me, 'go on.'
'You're not taking care of yourself. You're not sleeping enough, not eating enough, or eating the right things. You're incredibly dehydrated-'
'I drink.' He counters.
'Water?' I ask, and he falls silent, 'right...look, I don't know what you've gone through. Everything you've done. But I know that it was...physically demanding. And I know you didn't have time to look after yourself.' I say. He doesn't meet my eyes, 'but you have time now. You can treat yourself better.'
I watch him grind his teeth, clearly uncomfortable with my candour. He blinks a lot, mind going a mile a minute.
'Are you done with the cut?' He asks, quiet. I nod, and he pulls his shirt back on, and walks out of the infirmary.