Page 16 of Nine-Tenths

"It's hot."

"It's notyours."

At some point my eyes closed, because I need to pry them open to squint at Dav.

"Say what?"

"It's not…" he starts, but my head is swimming and I don't catch the rest. "...-lin? Colin?"

"Don't drink it then. It's just an excuse to get you to stop fussing."

"Do you want me to go away?"

His stupid wounded expression hooks into me, tugs at the squishy bit behind my breastbone where my heart is working overtime. A part of me wants to, so badly, sayNo, please stay, hold me. I'm actually scared. I want my Mum.Instead I say: "I’m fine on my own."

"I don't think you are," Dav says quietly. He crouches down in front of me again, slacks pulling tight across his thighs. Woof. "The nurse said no food or water. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

I open my mouth to sayshush and let me sleep, but what comes out is: "My sister used to read to me when I was sick."

Fuck.

I did not mean to say that.

Now he knows I have a sister, and maybe he thinks I'm some sort of lame pansy for reading romances, and I'm notashamed, but what ifhethinks it's something shameful, and how could I ever like someone who thinks having a nice relationship with his sister is shameful and—

I'm panicking, I realize belatedly.This is a panic attack. I am in the emerg, and my arm is bleeding, and I can't breathe, can't breathe, can't breathe—and I can't say it, because I can't suck in the goddamnedair, and Dav's hand is back on my forehead, the soft touch of cloth beside my eyes (I'm not crying! I'm not!), and it's a friggin'handkerchief, and he murmurs, "I'll be right back," and then he's gone, he'sgone, and I reach up, try to grab his wrist, but I am already alone, I don't want to be alone, I don't, I was wrong, I’m not fine, I'm shaking and I canfeelthe blood oozing from the holes, feel it sliding down my inner elbow, am so focused on it I can practicallyhearit, and I want his warm hands again, and I am scared and I am a liar and I want, I want, Iwant—

"Lord above, Colin,breathe," Dav says. He drops something on the floor, but that’s okay because his hands are back on my face, cupping my chin. "That's it. Big breath in."

Oxygen shudders into my lungs.

"And out."

The exhale sounds thick and gross. Dav doesn't care. A smile blooms on his face, and even though it's tight, there are furrows on either side of his mouth, not quite deep enough to be dimples, but kind-looking and honest.

"In again, Colin, there's a lad."

Right, Dav's rarely-before-witnessed-smile, that's one thing I can see. A small paperback on the floor, white text against a field of familiar lurid purple. Two. A candy bar beside it, blackwrapper. Three. Dav's dress shoes framing both, smeared with ash and dried espresso. Four. The stretch of wool over his knees, a faint stripe of orange in the check I hadn't noticed before. Five.

On to touch: Dav's palms against my cheeks, scratchy on my scruff. Two, the blanket over my lap, weighing me to the earth so I can't go flying off. Three, I tap my chucks against the linoleum floor, plasticky and hollow. Ground. Four, I wriggle in my seat, the thin padding pressing against my skinny-ass hip bones. Grounded.

Sound, now. I can hear Dav's voice,In, out, that's it, Colin, well done.Muzak in the waiting room, a clarinet rendition of something by Lizzo. Behind the desk, the administrator on the phone, trying to soothe someone, telling them to "bring her in, honey. We'll take care of your baby." That's three.

Two for scent—I can smell charred fabric and the acrid stink of over-roasted beans.

And I can taste salt from my own tears pooling at the corners of my mouth.

"That's better," Dav says softly, and he's not speaking from the end of a tunnel anymore.

"So," I say, and my voice sounds trembly. I reach up with my left hand, wrap my shaking fingers around his wrist, pull his hand back far enough to get a good look at the sodden square of lemon-yellow fabric that matches his pre-burning button-down. "An honest-to-god handkerchief, eh?"

Dav blinks at me for a second, a sweep of copper eyelashes over high cheekbones. Then that smile gets deeper, settles into his face. I sort of expected his teeth to be pointy, or for him to have fangs, but the only draconic thing about him in this shape is his tongue and his eyes. I wonder if he can change them to look moresapiens-esque too, if the sunflower color of his irises and the slightly-slit pupils are a personal choice.

If they are, I hope he never changes them.

Dav passes me the handkerchief in question. I appreciate him not saying anything about why I need it. Then he scoops up the book and the candy. I've never seen him order a dessert, so yeah, I'm a nosy jerk and point to the chocolate bar.

"For after," Dav says, and he's beingcheeky. "If you're good for the doctor, you can have a sweet."