✧ 38 ✧
Ilya's headache worsened to the point that he started pulling at his hair, squeezing some strands between his fingers to feel anything but this headache. His condition had already messed with his brain. He lost track of his surroundings and didn't notice Beast walking in until he spoke.
"Here."
Ilya wearily opened his eyes and saw two big palms handing him a cup of water and some pills. He gazed up at Beast's blurring face, confused, suspicious even, but mostly tired of his sick games.
But then Beast assured him, "This will help you with the pain."
His voice was soft and sincere. Malice was not part of his tone anymore. Ilya even felt Beast's sympathy towards him, which was weird as hell coming from that soulless monster.
However, Ilya didn't have it in him to fight or argue. He was barely keeping his eyes open, barely holding on to dear life.
Ilya smiled, a tiny brief smile as he remembered that his suffering would end soon.
Still, he would eat anything at this point to ease this killer headache.
And so, the boy extended a trembling hand and took the medicine from Beast's hand and into his mouth.
He brought the cup to his lips and gulped the water and the pills down.
Once finished, Ilya returned his head against the wall.
He pulled the warm coat around him like a big blanket as he buckled back to his corner.
Despite the thickness of the coat, Ilya shivered.
Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead.
Dark threads of hair slicked along the sides of his paling face.
Ilya felt trapped in his sick body, in this freezing cold, and in the presence of Beast.
Beast started shuffling some stuff. He had come back with a first-aid kit in his hands. He grabbed a needle and a thread and sat cross-legged in front of Ilya.
"Now." He grunted as he leaned over, then suddenly recoiled. "Whoa!"
Ilya was taken aback when Beast demonstrated a worried reaction. The big scary beast almost gasped, and all Ilya could think about was What's he looking at?
"What?" Ilya said in a frail voice, with eyes slightly widening. "Is something wrong with my face?"
"Umm... Nope. Nothing is wrong. Who said there's something wrong?"
Beast stared at Ilya's wound, but he couldn't bear to say what bothered him. For the boy's sanity, Beast had to lie.
"Anyway." Beast cleared his throat and came closer. "Let me take a look at that wound, shall I?"
When Beast stopped there, Ilya stared at him, waiting for him to move. Then he realized that Beast was waiting for his permission to touch him.
Ilya gave Beast a hesitant nod and closed his eyes.
Beast's breath caught in his throat when he saw the boy close his eyes and lift his head, trusting him enough to fix the cut on his brow. It's the same thing Ned did when they kissed.
Adorable.
Then he felt sad. The memory of Ned was ever so painful, but he had to shake it off and work on treating the boy's open wound.
"Don't move. This is going to sting a little."
Beast tried positioning the needle at a good angle, but Ilya was swaying and shaking so badly. At the rate Ilya was moving, Beast might accidentally poke his eye.
"Ah." Beast lowered his working hand and sighed. "I think it would be better if you lie down. If you felt the need to sleep, it's OK to do so."
Ilya lay down without questioning as if he was waiting for a chance to rest without upsetting Beast. Even if it was a trick to slit his throat, Ilya didn't mind... as long as he was getting some sleep.
The left side of the bed sank. Beast's knees crept up the mattress and settled next to Ilya. The resemblance between the boy and Ned was striking. Sure, he was covered in blood and bruises, but he looked like Ned.
Beast inhaled then exhaled a breath filled with longing.
A heart wants what the heart wants.
Beast leaned over until his face was inches away from the sleeping beauty on his bed. Then, with a flick of his fingers, he swiped those chocolatey strands away from the boy's face.
That sudden touch made Ilya flinch with a gasp.
"You're OK," Beast assured. "I'm cleaning the wound now, then I'll start sewing it."
Once his breathing returned to normal, Ilya responded, "OK."
Throughout the procedure, Ilya remained calm.
It stung, but not nearly as painful as anything he had been through in the last few hours.
Just lying there flat on the old mattress, listening to the sound of his breathing, relaxed him.
The headache slowly faded, but with it came something new—he heard Beast's deepest darkest thoughts.
"Wouldn't it be fun if I poked your eye with this needle?"
That deep terrifying voice came back, alerting Ilya to snap his eyes open and stare at Beast's disfigured face.
"What did you say?"
Beast stopped what he was doing and said while shrugging, "I didn't say anything."
Ilya stared for a few seconds, then he closed his eyes and let Beast finish sewing the cut.
A few seconds later, he heard it again.
"Both eyes!"
Ilya opened his eyes wide.
"I'd poke both eyes to make you blind as I play a fun ga—"
Ilya punched Beast's hand and screamed, "Fuck off!"
"Whoa," Beast raised his palms. "Easy there."
However, Ilya didn't calm down. He was all riled up by what he heard. He kept screaming and pushing Beast away from him. The thought of Beast blinding him and playing a sick new game with him made his stomach churn.
"I heard what you said, you sick piece of shit!"
"I told you I didn't say anything!"
"Bullshit!"
The boy had finally lost his mind.
Beast was taken aback by Ilya's sudden hostility. However, that wasn't what worried him. There was a needle stuck halfway through Ilya's eyebrow, and Beast was afraid that it'd pierce his eye if the kid didn't stop moving.
With a gentle but firm grip, Beast pinned the raving boy down. Beast was on top, holding the kid's only functioning arm under his knee and clasping his face with one hand as the other focused on carefully removing the needle.
"Get off of me! Let me go!"
Ilya thrashed under the weight of Beast until the latter whispered to his ear.
"Shhh. You're OK. We're almost done. You're safe here. I'm not gonna hurt you. I promise I won't do anything to hurt you. Just a couple more stitches and we're done."
That calming new voice soothed Ilya's nerves. Before he knew it, Ilya stopped fighting, too tired to move, too tired to scream, and too tired to open his eyes.
All he could do was sleep.