𝗕right blue eyes.
A mouth full of colored braces.
Impossibly black hair and an unparalleled distance.
Kai frowned, feeling an intolerable weight overtake the usual power he had in his neck and back. He tried to move, but each inch only proved to work against him. It was as if he was glued to a surface he hadn't chosen. It was as if the bright lights haunting his face were there to mock him, to sing a symphony of immeasurable redness that felt unresolvable against the thinness of his eyelids.
There was an abnormal exhaustion that tainted his ligaments.
His face furrowed deeper in discontentment as he attempted to move the fingers on both of his hands. His left hand was immovable, and while the digits on his right worked, it felt as if he were dragging the length of them through dried concrete. Like his joints were squeaky door hinges.
There was beeping near his ears.
A remote plastered to the hand he couldn't move—a button for aid.
He could feel the watchful breaths of a stranger somewhere in the room.
A guttural groan passed through his esophagus the more he moved—the more he was forced out of the reality hidden in an alley only two people found memorable. Blue skies were absorbed by red encapsulations. The walls became a locked box. The floor, a bed that was not his.
Heaviness daunted on one of his legs—as if it were hanging in the air.
Kai suddenly knew he was not in the place where he'd met and proposed to the love of his life. He knew he was no longer the brace-faced loser with a head of brunette waves—he was not in a place that meant so much to him; it was like he could feel the ache of his love like arthritis in his bones.
Fear, so completely foreign—
Fear, so agonizing—
Fear, had him hurling up.
It had his mind forgetting the pain swelling in his body. Forgetting that he'd fought against another person until he was diminished to shambles. Forgetting that the world was not as pretty as his memories—not as pretty as the love of his life.
Kai trapped the grunts of his misery behind his clenched teeth as he peeled his eyes open and returned to the world he'd hated so much. Cheese-cutter ceilings, and his leg suspended in the air by a contraption used to regulate blood flow. Faux lighting.
He blinked.
Four times.
Took even longer to lower his vision to the rest of his body.
Kai's face hardened as he noted the sling wrapped around his neck and the cast his left hand was embellished in. The leg lifted was in a similar one—so far up his leg, it disappeared underneath the hospital gown he was dressed in.
Each time he parted his lips, the stitches in his cheeks stretched, holding together his flesh due to the aftermath of the explosion—of the shattered glass that had carved holes in his body. A touch to his ear revealed that it, too, was wrapped in mesh and bandages.
It took him a moment to truly realize what he'd done to himself.
To realize that he'd placed himself in such a daunting predicament because of rage.
He needed to get out—he needed to find him.
"W-wh—"
Kai touched his throat without thinking, feeling tape, bandages, and the intricate little lines of multiple stitches. He tried to clear the lump inside, tried to rid the gaspiness overlining the cracks and crevices of his voice, but the more he managed, the more he could taste the tang of his own blood.
"Please, don't," a voice interrupted his examination.
Kai let his hand fall into the rough sheets as he glanced up and finally spotted the unknown presence he'd felt a few minutes ago. She emerged from underneath the shadows of the cabinets, dressed in light blue scrubs that only made the pain in his chest throb.
She tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear and slowly ambled over, keeping her chin pressed to her chest in a terror he knew was manipulated by his cold gaze. He watched her movements like a cat until her shaky fingers wrapped around a cup to his side.
"Water?" she asked.
Kai nodded and went to grab it.
But the nurse pushed his hand away and seized him by the chin. Not unkindly, but harsh enough that she pushed it up and parted his lips, slipping the rim between them without hesitation. Kai wanted to narrow his eyes—wanted to punch her in the face for touching him without permission—but for some reason, he kept his commentary to himself and sipped.
Maybe it was the fright shaking through her fingertips.
Maybe it was because, despite it, she was still standing so close.
The nurse tried to smile as he finished, but it barely climbed up her face.
He realized then that it was because of him—because even though he'd chosen to bottle his temperament, it didn't mean it went anywhere. Half-moons were carved into the thickness of his palms. Hot coals were slanted over the tiles, burning both of them with each motion.
Kai acknowledged that he was still associating this stranger with the anger he had when he passed out in the woods. But that did not soothe him. It did not stroke the flames until they were tamed and back in his control.
It made them worse.
His irises burned as the nurse placed the cup down and backed up.
"Wh-where," Kai tried again.
"You shouldn't talk too much," the nurse pleaded, "Your voice box was damaged in the accident."
"Where a-am I," he said anyway, ignoring the fact that it sounded childlike and pathetic.
He knew he should be listening.
He knew that the amount of force he'd used just to get those three words out was enough to make his eyes water and his ears strain. And still—it came out all wrong—breathy and choppy and not at all like the voice he'd spent the last twenty-three years hearing.
Kai knew that the rocks scratching the innards of his throat weren't there because he'd had a minor misunderstanding with someone his family and friends had trusted. He knew that she urged him not to speak, not for her own cognizance, but because he'd likely had surgery on it.
None of that mattered to him—not really.
There were too many questions on his mind. Too many answers that needed to be spoken, and absolutely none of them had to do with his own well-being.
"You're at a hospital in Los Angeles," she finally relented, "You've just undergone fifteen hours of surgery, and you are in an extremely critical state. I urge you to please lie down and refrain from speaking until you're healed."
That explained the fogginess in his head.
Anesthesia.
"What hospital are we a-at?"
She squirmed, "I've been told not to disclose that information—"
Kai tensed.
Something was wrong—her words just confirmed it. Because if they were at a hospital in Los Angeles, and he was having the information withheld, then that only meant one thing.
Where was he?
Where the fuck was Mason?
"By whom?" he snapped, pulling the sling off his neck, "What aren't you t-telling me!"
Kai saw it then—saw what her trepidation truly was.
This was no ordinary interaction between a nurse and her patient. It hadn't been a coincidence l that he'd woken up under the watchful eye of someone—that he was being surveyed. It was no longer surprising that his call button had malfunctioned. This woman knew who he was—his title, his allegiances.
It finally made sense.
Why he was trapped in a room with distracting bright lights. Why the door was shut and locked from the inside and half of his body was either incapacitated in a sling or some fucking suspension connected to the cheap make-up of the ceiling.
Whatever happened after he fainted was affecting his consciousness.
"W-where is he?" he stipulated.
The nurse grew a pair in that moment and rushed to his side, pushing down on his shoulders. Kai snarled and grabbed her by the upholstery of her collar, shoving her incessant touch away from him.
"Where is he!" he repeated, screaming his throat raw.
"I don't know who you're referring to!" she yelled back, clutching her shirt.
Kai bit his tongue.
Bit it hard enough that his blood began to entangle in his saliva. Hard enough that it took a second for the metallic flavor to calm his heated tantrum—to focus his attention and fury on gathering information rather than assaulting a person who probably didn't know what she was getting herself into when she'd signed herself up to watch him.
He breathed slowly, intaking enough oxygen so that his petulance was replaced by the memories he cherished—until the exuberance of his existence lit a path of rationality.
"Where is my h-h-husband?" he questioned quietly, but not gently.
"He is doing okay," she replied, standing straight.
"I need to see him."
"I'm sorry, but you can't."
"What do you m-mean I c-can't?"
"You need to focus on your recovery while he focuses on his. We've been told to keep you two separated so that you don't put each other over yourselves. He's in worse shape than you, but that doesn't mean you're in the right state to be moved from this bed—"
"Not in the right state—go fuck yourself," he sneered.
Without waiting for a response, without needing an escalated conversation, Kai grabbed the IV tucked neatly under his skin and ripped it out, reveling in the warm red as it sprayed and began to smudge the innocence of the white bed sheets. With his good hand, he grabbed a hold of his leg sling and ripped it from the ceiling, ignoring the shriek from the nurse as the asbestos coated him so sweetly.
Kai leaped from the bed, wincing in pain from the awkwardness of the cast, and charged toward the door. The poor nurse tried once more to bring him down to Earth, to help him see the brightness in the decisions they've made for him—and failed.
The second her fingers grasped the edges of his skin was the same second the tether on his humanity snapped like a taut cord. Kai seized her by the throat and slammed her against the door. His hand shook, weakened by the bullet wound in his shoulder and the snap in his bone, but he persevered, suddenly liking the way her feet pounded a melody against the silent air.
She clawed at him.
But he did not cave.
He saw as her eyes switched from such a blameless helplessness to a stricken lightening of apprehension the more he squeezed the breath from her tiny, fragile pharynx.
"What h-hos-hospital is this?" he ravaged his fucked up voice.
"I can't—" she whimpered.
"What FUCKING hospital is this!"
Kai could feel his pulse steady threading in the center of his backhand. He could feel the way his blood slowly coated her saccharine uniform—and for the second time in a long time, he was the weapon he was created to be and not the man that had been loved and cherished and shared.
"Bay—BAYSTATE!" she choked out.
The word stilled the room.
Kai dropped the nurse, barely making enough room for her to fall as he zeroed in on an unspecified point on the floor. Every piece of streamlining thought pooled out of his body like the liquid running rivers down his hide—the color evaporated from his face.
He ripped the door open. He did not care that he had no pointed directions.
He just moved.
Kai sprinted down the hallways, half-limping from the bulk of the cast, half speeding up because, with each step, the coating snapped under his weight. He didn't feel the pain of his broken leg. He didn't care that he was leaving a path of crushed casting behind like breadcrumbs for the nurses to follow.
He had one person on his mind, and it certainly wasn't himself.
Kai rounded the corner, using the wall as a post to keep him upright.
That's when he heard it.
That's when the shrieks of his beloved pierced him directly underneath his ribcage, cataclysmic breaking the fragmented scrap of organ. That's when he felt the cries ricochet around his system like the bullets that had bounced around his flesh and bone.
He hesitated for a second, scared that, in this state, he would cause more harm than good, but as Mason's pleas began to elevate, he couldn't help it. He swallowed his doubt and launched himself into the room, a good twenty from his own, only pausing once he'd passed the threshold.
Mason was against the wall with a scalpel in one hand and a shredded IV bag in the other. His face was coated in different shades of purple and yellow—bruises that masked the face he'd come to love so deeply. Both of his legs and one arm were dressed in unbroken casting.
None of that scared Kai—
Not like the center of his gown—because the dull blue was overpowered by the blood seeping into it.
"Mason," he said, his voice barely metastasizing.
"GET AWAY FROM ME!" Mason screamed, either ignoring or not noticing him at all.
Kai used the sound of his freight to withdraw his tunnel vision—used the sting of his torment to see the entire room, and not just his husband.
Several males—nurses, security, doctors—were slowly sidestepping the room and surrounding Mason at all angles. He turned with them, attempting to shield himself with such a tiny surgical knife. Women cowered in the corners, falling into the shadows as if their jobs had never garnered a psychological breakdown before.
No one understood what was happening.
Nobody was grasping the fact that Mason's actions were being done to protect himself, rather than to actually harm anyone in the room. They were all discounting that facet of possibility all because he was a flight risk—because he was standing up for himself in an unconventional way.
"Back up."
Kai whispered.
"Please, just back up."
Kai begged.
No one was listening—no one could.
He'd shot the majority of his voice by screaming at his nurse. But more than that, they were uninterested in what he had to say. He and Mason were two souls imprisoned between walls meant for healing, only to be stared at like they were torturous villains.
Mason continued to fling the knife in the air, slicing through nothing, as the men pushed him further and further into the corner.
Kai stepped forward, bit his tongue, and dragged his limp leg behind him.
He walked closer and closer to the man who looked less like who he'd always been, and more like the terrified thirteen-year-old he had been so many years ago.
A lump welled in the cracked pipes of his throat.
He used it to his advantage:
"Everyone, BACK. UP!"
Kai felt his voice box snap as he shoved the words out, but he bypassed the pain—pushed it to the side—because this time, everyone's eyes were on him. He limped further, pushing away the hands of the precipitously strong women because of his injuries.
He stopped ten feet away from the corner Mason had claimed as his own.
"Baby," he whispered.
Kai felt the energy shift as Mason finally landed his beautiful blue eyes on him. He watched the empty sack of fluids land on the tiles with a deflated plop. He calmly watched Mason's chest slow down as he captured his breath like a butterfly in the wind.
His hair was no longer that beautiful black with the slightly curled ends.
His eyes were not filled with glee and respite but were now dulled with suspicion and woe.
"They're putting drugs in me," Mason cried.
"No, baby, they're not—"
But it felt like Mason was not there—that whoever was in control of his mind right now was operating simply on consciousness and contentiousness. It was as if Kai were merely an apparition—something transparent and see-through—not the person he'd decided he wanted to share his life with.
"It's just fluids, my baby," Kai tried again, taking a step forward, "There's no drugs—"
"You don't know that!"
"I do, baby, I do!"
"Take a look around you!" Mason's voice was frenzied as he pointed the scalpel, "There's men everywhere with the intention to lay their hands on me. With the intention to hurt me. To strap me to a bed and incapacitate me so that they can hurt me—so that once I'm no longer the center of attention, they can take advantage of me."
"I won't let anyone hurt you."
"YOU ALREADY DID!"
Kai stepped closer until they were an arm's length apart.
Each statement, each letter, came out paired with a sob. He let every single sentence stab him directly through his mind and heart. He let Mason use him as a punching bag, as a means of relief. He would gladly absorb all of his pain and torment if it meant only one of them had to suffer.
While the words shattered him through the center, he refused to show them on his face. Rather, he kept getting closer and closer—until he was practically on top of him—just centimeters away from wrapping his trembling body in hands that were made to love him—to protect him.
But the idea in his mind—the thrilling enlightenment of believing he could be a savior for once dampened the moment—and he did not notice the fact that Mason's trembles were because of him—of his proximity.
Kai did not notice that the fear in his eyes was not directed at the men behind him, but at him, too.
So when he touched his wrist—
Mason simply reacted.
"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Mason screamed.
He flung the blade in the air again, and this time, hit a target. Kai felt the sharp, deep sting of the surgical blade over the bridge of his nose. He felt the wound begin to spread—his blood began to thread over his freshly, untouched skin.
But none of it hurt as much as Mason's words.
"GET AWAY FROM ME!"
He was still yelling.
"I DON'T WANT YOU! I DON'T WANT YOU TO TOUCH ME!"
He was still screaming.
"I DON'T WANT YOU HERE!"
Kai collapsed to the ground in front of him in a mixture of heartbreak and weakness in his body.
Mason didn't want him anymore.
Mason didn't find comfort in his touch anymore.
Mason didn't trust him anymore.
The growing crack in their foundation of love splintered and spider-webbed through the concrete until the floodgates were ripped open and every inferior thing Kai had ever felt came pouring over him like someone had dumped ice-cold water on his head.
He didn't want Mason to see it—to shoulder someone else's feelings when he was drowning in his own—so he blamed the hotness rolling down his impertinences as anguish due to his injuries. He sprawled out on the ground in an obstinate, excruciating position.
And he turned—facing the guards.
"No male doctors, security, or nurses are allowed to step into this room again," he declared, voice and body broken, but gaze unleashed and lethal, "From now on, I only want female doctors taking care of him. I'm his husband—his next of kin—so if I find out you've disobeyed my wishes, I promise to show you that a few broken bones won't stop me from killing each and every one of you."
"We can't do that—" one of the male security guards tried to say.
"I wasn't asking if you could," Kai interrupted, "I was telling you that you will."
Kai waited until every last male dispersed from the room—until the alarms were turned off and only two female nurses remained inside, hiding again in the shadows, either out of privacy, or fear. He did not move again until the door was shut and infiltrated by the nutritious biology of estrogen.
"My Mase," Kai faced his husband.
Mason was no longer standing in the corner, but was now sitting in it with his legs pulled to his chest, His hands were white with strain, and his eyes were focused on the scalpel lying quietly at his side. His vision darted over the length of the silver blade over and over again—almost as if he was wondering where that power had come from, or if he'd had any at all.
Kai did not get closer.
Partly because he did not want to hear him scream again—because he did not want to disrupt the new relief he was feeling by invading his space. He was a man, and Mason had been hurt by them one too many times. But also because he knew that one more step and the blood loss would finally be too important to forget, and he would simply pass out.
Between the walking, his IV wound, the strain he'd put on his stitches, and the liquid pooling in the base of his throat from his ripped larynx, he was a sitting blood bag.
"My Mason," he repeated, "You have to let the nurses do their jobs."
He didn't respond.
He just kept staring at the knife.
"I know you're scared. I know you don't trust anyone, but I would never let anything happen—"
"Women can hurt me just like men can," Mason interjected with a whisper.
"I know, baby—God, I fucking know," Kai rose to his knees and leaned in, palming the floor between them because while he knew Mason did not want to be touched, he also knew him better than anyone else; Mason existed off of knowing he was cared for—off of knowing that when he wanted it, he would be given the world and the Moon, "Please, look at me."
Mason shook his head, but his eyes leisurely lifted to his flattened hand.
"Please," Kai begged.
Mason curled his fingers in the fabric of his gown.
Shook his head again, and said:
"I can't see what I've done to you."
"You've done nothing I don't deserve," he pushed, "Please, my baby, please."
Maybe it was the desperation in his tone, or maybe it was because his wounds had leaked enough that it was pooling across the floor and absorbing the hand still pressed to the cold tiles, he didn't know, or care to because Mason lamented, and did as he asked—until his gaze was fastened to his in the same type of promise that sealed the deal on their rings.
"Let them help you," Kai pleaded.
"I don't want their help. I want to go home."
"You're hurt, baby."
Mason's bottom lip trembled as he stared more intensely, but he made no move to get close. Kai could tell that he wanted to, that he wanted to dive into his rapid ocean and suffocate underneath his frozen waves. He could see it in the shake of his fingertips, in the breath that moved the remaining long pieces on his forehead, in the creases of his bruised eyes.
He could see the locked gates in his pupils—he could see the healed version of himself banging on the doors, willing to be let out—to be free in the way he was before Maverick touched him.
But still, they did not move.
It was in this moment, this undiluted instant in time, that Kai knew he'd chosen the right person to share his days with. Because even without touching each other, even without proximity, they could heal one another. They could wrap each other up in glances that scorched so good—in gazes that fueled the engines of mighty boats, ships, and planes.
"Help you to help me," he beseeched one last time, "I can feel my heart slowing, my brain is not processing—I'm dying. I'm dying and I'm okay with that because there's nothing more important to me than making sure you're okay. I would die for you, my beautiful caballero. I'm begging you to please, just try and live for me. Bid this tired, selfish, Brit just that. Please."
Mason cracked a smile at his self-deprecation.
It didn't touch his eyes.
But it did not matter because it worked. Because Mason loved him enough to live, even in his own tangible nightmare. Even if it meant putting his trust in his biggest terror.
Kai waited until Mason (with assistance) slid under the blankets and laid flat. A small smile, not out of happiness per se, flooded Kai's expression as he watched the way his husband meticulously tucked the thin sheets around him until he was a perfect cocoon.
Mason gave his hand to the nurse who gently and gingerly replaced the IV line.
When the needle of a sedation dose was entered into the small tube beside, and he was administered a much-needed rest, Kai finally let go.
Of the pain.
Of the sensations that ravaged his skin and flooded his senses.
He felt the coldness of the floor before he knew he was lying on it. He heard I need a gurney until he was abruptly on one. He heard open wounds before he felt the cold hands of surgical techs.
He knew he was going to surgery—and he knew just as well that he may not survive another round. For some reason, he didn't seem to mind it. He knew his side of the promise would be upheld.
Kai was half-dead by the time they wheeled him around the bend toward the corridor of operating rooms. His eyes were barely parted when he noticed a little boy tucked behind a vending machine. A little boy with bright blue eyes and impossibly black hair.
A boy who looked just like Mason.