Heavy Healing

1 Wade

Wade first noticed him when he had to take a walk to the chair of shame. The chair of shame wasn't necessarily as bad as it sounded, but it felt like a humiliation to be sent to time out to get your heart rate under control. But the stranger did manage to pass the test after sitting there for five minutes, about one cycle for Wade's machine.

It was clearly the guys first time, not taking into consideration his vibrant orange tag that read 'NEW DONER'. He fumbled with the moveable armrest, setting it down into the curve of the donation chair only to pick it up so he had room to sit down before he set it back into place. And then he glanced to his side, registering that his donation machine was on the opposite side, so he awkwardly picked up the crescent-shaped armrest and stuck it down on the opposite side closest to the machine that would be drawing and cycling his plasma. 

They made eye contact and Wade offered a smile when the Stanger visibly died inside, presumably realizing his anxious and confused actions had been under the scrutiny of a senior's eyes.

"It's alright. The nurse should have walked you out and shown you how to do that. You should put your stuff in the cubby though, the door is facing me, under the chair."

The young man nodded, his light eyes striking before he looked away to slide out of his donation seat. He had messy brown hair, an average stature, and walked stiffly with anxiety. Generally speaking he looked like any one of those internet twinks, but with some real-life problems thrown in. 

His keys and wallet thunked against the laminated wood of the cubby before the cabinet-like door was carefully pushed close. His grey eyes scanned the other two people in their section, but they didn't pay the newcomer any mind, one absorbed in a Drawfee video, someone else with a book

"A pity they put you in the orange section, Lindsay's a bitch. She's going be an ass when you flinch, so don't feel bad about it. The name's Wade by the way."

"Peter." the brunette slid back into his chair and crossed his arms, hugging himself. He looked up at Wade and met his eyes a moment, genuinely looking at him for the first time since slinking into their section. He didn't seem bothered by the scars, he was one of the few people who just seemed intrigued by the unusual texture going across Wade's face. 

This week he was doing pretty great, the scar tissue relenting to the point where he looked like he just had a jagged old scratch across the side of his face. Even the rest of his body was doing well with just a few streaks over his shoulders and down his right side as a whole. He was smart enough to remain skeptical that any of the treatment sessions he'd had since he began donations were doing anything meaningful for his state of existence, but a sliver of hope had ignited this morning and he couldn't shake it. 

"I'm afraid of needles," Peter admitted before looking down at the sleeves of his flannel shirt, moving one arm to pick at one of the buttons at the cuff of the sleeve.

"Yeah? Me too. That's why I'm here to get paid for it. No better incentive to get over a fear than a tangible award. Did they get you with the New Doner promotion?" He glanced over, noticing short blonde hair as their nurse approached. "you'll need to remove your sleeve, but don't take the whole flannel off, just the arm you're donating with. "

"Oh, okay." Peter frowned and shrugged off half of his outer layer as the butch lesbian stopped with her cart in front of his machine. Wade didn't know for sure whether the woman was a lesbian, but you also couldn't say she wasn't, it was obvious, and she was a mean bastard for maybe breaching the age of thirty and working in a health setting. 

"Name and last four." She said monotonously as she began hooking up the tubes and bags to Peter's machine, scanning each tag with her barcode reader before she eventually turned to face her patient. "Make a tight fist,"