Chapter 8
Will
Late afternoon sun filters into the room through gauzy curtains, painting the bright white walls in a golden glow. The warmth of the light complements the green blanket draped over Dimi’s lap, softening the harsh angles of the hospital bed trying to hide in a deliberately cosy bedroom.
“Where are the jellybeans?”
Will gestures at the bowl of grapes with an apologetic smile. “We’re playing for these today. Healthier.”
Dimi rolls his eyes and reaches for his cane, levering himself slowly out of bed. He’s out of breath by the time he takes a seat at the table by the window. “I’m dying, what use do I have for healthy? You better bring them next time. Assuming there is a next time.”
The words could be tinged with bitterness, maybe would be spoken by Will’s more challenging patients at the hospice, but Dimi delivers them with wry irony in his tone.
He’s a man made of paradoxes; his skin might look pale and thin, stretched over the sharpness of his cheekbones, but he’s smiling as always.
He settles into the armchair, barely grumbling as Will tucks a blanket around his shoulders.
“Sure, sure.” Will pulls a pack of cards from the pocket of his nursing tunic.
He passes them to Dimi, watching him use his Gift to lift them into the air and shuffle them flamboyantly, his hands pressed showily flat on the tabletop.
“I’m impressed, but take it easy, okay? Using your Gift tires you out, and Katy’s coming later. What are we playing?”
“Poker. You know how much I love trying to read that face of yours.”
Will stares him down, keeping his face completely neutral.
Dimi cackles as he deals, cards flying through the air of their own volition, his hands motionless and defiant.
“So, how’s the boyfriend?” Dimi places a single grape down by way of a blind.
“Kai’s fine.” Will follows his lead before he peeks at his cards. “Looking forward to seeing Katy? It’s been a while since she visited.”
“She’s been busy, some kind of classified operation or something. Don’t think I didn’t notice that attempt to change the subject. Why so shy?”
“I’m not shy. It’s just not a serious thing.” Will shrugs, adding another grape to match Dimi’s bet, keeping his face impassive and his eyes fixed on his cards.
“Haven’t you been dating for a few months now? Or is my memory going too?”
“Your memory’s better than fine and you know it. Six months now. It’s…things are good, I guess.”
“That other nurse says you’re scared of commitment, you know.”
“Kehinde?” Dimi shakes his head as he deals the turn. “Oh, you mean Mei?”
“The one with the ring in her nose.”
“Yeah, that’s Mei. Maybe your memory isn’t so good after all.” Will smiles, making sure Dimi knows he’s joking.
“You aren’t denying it.” Dimi’s hand darts out to steal a grape from Will’s bet. “Fold.”
Will gathers his prize and pushes the cards back towards Dimi.
“He’s not your bondmate, or you’d have the marks by now. You holding out for the one?”
The word used to make Will flinch. Hiding those little stabs of pain is second nature to him now.
They say time heals all wounds, but that one…feels like it’s barely scabbed over.
Thinking about him still hurts. Probably always will.
He takes a breath, lets the hurt fade back into the background. “Better to keep things casual.”
Will holds himself still under the weight of Dimi’s gaze.
It’s not that he doesn’t like talking about Kai—his boyfriend is lovely, all the things a man could want and few of the things he wouldn’t—it’s just that he prefers to keep his relationships in perspective.
He has friends who talk endlessly about their partners, bondmates or otherwise, and it just feels…
risky. Entwining so much of your life with someone else’s.
If I keep things casual, I can’t get hurt.
Nimble fingers pluck another grape from Will’s bowl. Dimi pops it between his lips, crunching through the thin skin.
“You like the grapes after all?”
“They’re all right. Sweet.” Dimi snaffles another as he deals. “Not as good as jellybeans, but they’re all right.”
They play until Dimi’s daughter arrives, dumping her coat on the visitor’s armchair before she bends to kiss her father’s cheek. Will tips his grapes into Dimi’s bowl and packs the cards away, promising to bring tea as soon as he can.
The rest of his shift passes in a blur of activity. There’s some hands-on nursing work, dispensing medications and changing dressings and checking temperatures. Plenty of the more compassionate side of the job, warm drinks and gentle conversation designed to comfort rather than treat.
Will knows his charges need comfort, not pity. Their lives might be coming to an end, but that doesn’t make them less. The lack of something should never diminish a person’s worth.
His conviction is driven by personal experience.
His entire life, he’s been pitied. Told he’s less, because he’s a Blank.
It’s not like Blanks are that unusual; something like five percent of the population lack the evolutionary kink that affords the majority power to manipulate the world around them.
Dimi is Gifted. His is a talent for moving small, light objects with speed and dexterity, nothing particularly impressive. He spent most of his life before working in a factory, assembling packaging with a light touch more reliable than a machine.
Some people think evolution granted Gifts so that humans could compete with machines, increasingly nimble and efficient in a world of clumsy fingers. Others think Gifts are a blessing, a sign of humanity getting closer to God, whatever that means.
Will doesn’t particularly care for their provenance. He doesn’t need to be Gifted to make a difference.
There’s more to life than Gifts. There’s more to people than whether they’re Gifted or not.
Hours later, he pushes his locker closed and clicks the padlock into place, settling the worn leather strap of his messenger bag into place over his chest.
“God, I wish my shift was over.” Kehinde’s locker doesn’t want to stay closed, the door squealing on its hinges as they try and fail to slam the door shut. “Doing anything nice tonight?”
“It’s gone eleven and I started at lunch. All I want is my bed.” Will yawns, stretching his arms out behind him until his shoulders pop.
“I hate it when you do that.” Kehinde squashes their backpack half-heartedly into the locker and tries the door again. This time it sticks, eliciting a deflated whoop of triumph. “Kai picking you up?”
“Nah, he’s out with some friends. He, uh…he said he’d wait for me at mine if I wanted.”
Kehinde’s dark eyebrows raise immediately. “You gave him a key?”
“Nope.” Will shifts his bag against his hip, avoiding Kehinde’s eyes. “Think he’s angling for one.”
“Is my favourite commitment-phobe finally gonna settle down?”
“We’ll see. Hey, keep an eye on Dimi tonight, okay? He started coughing again, doesn’t sound good.”
“Will do. G’night, babes.”
“Night, Kehinde.”
He lets the staffroom door swing squeakily shut behind him, walking out past the reception desk and waving at Cristina as he passes.
It’s a little chilly outside. Summer faded into autumn a few weeks ago, taking mild nights and hours of daylight with it. The weather’s still in that in-between stage before the leaves turn amber and the air turns crisp and cold, too warm for a coat and too cold for a jacket.
Will shivers, the cool air refreshing on his skin. The hospice is always on the warm side, a little extra comfort for its residents. They deserve every scrap they can get.
A quick glance at his watch and he steels himself for the walk home. Rolls his shoulders back, looks up at the star-strewn sky, exhales deep enough that his breath clouds in the air.
He remembers two clouds of breath, mingling in air so cold it felt like his skin was tingling. Shocked green eyes gazing up at him. Shimmering swirls marking the skin beneath his first butterfly tattoo. A bond snapping into place like a key turning in a lock, a door opened forever.
Will shakes his head, dispelling the memory.
Forever feels like an unbreakable promise when you’re young. When you’re older, you realise how brittle forever really is.
Fuck it. I deserve a taxi home after a double shift.
He sits on the wooden bench outside the hospice entrance and fishes his phone out from his jacket. The taxi app says there are plenty of drivers in the area, even though it’s definitely too optimistic about the time he’ll have to wait for one to arrive. He confirms the booking and checks the news.
The headlines make for sombre reading. An ongoing civil war in a faraway country, the death toll high enough to cause his chest to ache.
Both factions have plenty of Gifted amongst their soldiers, as do the peacekeeping forces sent to protect civilians, although one side clearly has the edge.
Someone’s released photos of tanks turned upside down and stacked on top of one another, the neatness of the pile less artefact of war and more deliberate propaganda.
Traumatised soldiers are being sent home at an unprecedented rate, apparently, the government’s support systems stretched thin in response.
He moves on quickly, cracking a thin smile at a puff piece about a little girl whose Gift helped rescue a lost kitten from a tree. Too young to have her official rating, but the report makes a big deal of the dexterity needed to manoeuvre the animal through the branches.
The next article predicts a cold winter, encouraging Blank citizens to get the flu vaccine. The Gifted won’t need it. They aren’t invincible, but they’re naturally hardier than the Blanks.
Will thinks of Dimi. He’s not as old as he looks. His Gift is weak enough that it affords him a little protection, but not enough to fight off the disease that sent him to live his last days in the hospice. Enough to draw out his last days, ironically, a benefit Will’s not sure he’d want.
But Dimi is stubborn. He clings to life, claiming the extra weeks are invaluable. He laughs, the kind of laugh that turns into a cough, swearing a solemn vow that next time he’ll beat Will at poker, if he lives long enough.
Hopefully there’ll be plenty of next times. A good handful, at very least.
Will shoves his phone back into his jacket and stares up at the sky.
He loves his work, he really does, but there are times when it weighs heavily on his shoulders. When he started at the hospice for his first placement, bright eyed and full of hypothetical knowledge, he learnt that the reality of the work is equal parts uplifting and heartbreaking.
Uplifting because so many people become determined to live their last days as brightly as they can, when they’ve accepted their fate.
He’s been lucky enough to witness friendships rekindled and grudges abandoned.
He’s seen that the best kind of love just gets stronger in times of adversity, even when the outcome is inevitable.
Heartbreaking, because caring for the dying feels like watching the last of the sand cling to the top of an hourglass. There’s an inevitability to it that could so easily turn into hopelessness for those waiting for the last precious grains to fall.
Today was one of the hard days. One of his favourite residents passed away.
The past few days, Will had spent as much time as he could in her room, listening to her stories, reading to her from a favourite book of poetry, drinking infinite cups of tea.
He had been the one to call her son, a call no child wants to receive, the last chance to say goodbye.
Her time had run out more quickly than the staff had estimated, the final sparkling grains of her life slipping away in the middle of Will’s shift, her son still on his way to the hospice.
Will stayed with her, holding her hand as she passed.
Death is heartbreak.
And the ones who suffer most are those who are left behind.
A soft chime sounds from his pocket. He sets off towards the street, not bothering to check the car’s arrival time.
The gardens are a beautiful chiaroscuro in the moonlight.
A pair of trees are being encouraged to grow their branches in elegant curves, creating a natural oval-shaped frame for a view of the wooden gazebo at the centre of the lawn.
Benches are dotted here and there along winding paths, sitting on paved areas with plenty of space for a wheelchair.
The night air is tinted with the scent of greenery, plants chosen for their aromas as much as their aesthetics.
The gardeners are talented, Gifted and Blank alike. It’s a rare day when Will doesn’t push a wheelchair along one of the paved paths, watching its occupant enjoy the peace only nature can provide.
He reaches the gates, surprised to see a car already idling by the side of the road. It’s late enough that the road is quiet, the pavements empty of pedestrians, so he simply thanks his lucky stars and walks briskly towards it.
It’s an unusual dark red colour, in fairly good condition, and the door opens smoothly when Will tugs at the handle. He slides in, grateful for the toasty warmth, clicking his seatbelt quickly into place.
The car continues to idle, a faintly familiar song playing quietly on the radio.
The driver doesn’t even reach for the gear stick, the streetlight ahead casting him into silhouette.
Will feels a prickle of concern bloom across the back of his neck. His eyes flick to the rear-view mirror, heart rate already starting to speed up, fight or flight in action. A moment later he swears it stops entirely, shock and panic flooding his body.
A pair of green eyes stare back at him.
Even in the low light they’re familiar, irises the colour of grass kissed by early morning frost.
His chest tightens, breath coming quick and fast, escaping his lips in a gentle hiss. The pain of an old wound flares, an empty void where there should be a bridge.
Nathan.
Will is thrown back in time, the softness of the car’s back seat swapped for the cold wood of an old park bench, heater-warmed air replaced with winter cold.
He tastes chocolate on his tongue, a sudden burst of sugar soon to be eclipsed by something even sweeter.
Soft lips pressed against his, the thrilling shock of the kiss obliterated by the sharp snap of the bond solidifying into place.
My Nathan.
The unexpected glee of it, the laughter that took them both by surprise, kiss after kiss after kiss building the bridge between them, brick by shimmering brick.
The taste of someone else’s emotions at the back of his throat, blending with his own. The subtle differences between them, paired euphoria tinged with relief and triumph.
My Nate.
Will experiences it all again, compressed and exaggerated like painful memories tend to be.
Euphoria turned to worry turned to determination. Determination turned to fear.
Fear turned to grief.
He draws in a deep breath, feeling the air expand his lungs without quelling his panic.
“Nathan.”
His voice trembles, brimming with anguish and confusion, trapped in the spotlight of his bondmate’s gaze.