Cym laughed and then moaned again, clutching his head. “Even a shut-in could tell you’re special. Take it from me, I would know.” He released the protective hold on his head to pat Fourteen’s arm but snatched it away after minimal contact. “Sorry, I know you don’t want me to touch you.”
“About that…”
“Don’t worry about it, I get it,” Cym said quickly, as if trying to make Fourteen feel better about whatever misperceived issues he thought he had.
“No, I don’t think you do.” Fourteen noticed a trickle of blood run down Cym’s face. “I need to clean up your head wound.”
Searching, Cym’s hand found the blood, and he winced. “Sorry, I must be wrecking your sheets.”
“Heaven forbid that happen,” Fourteen said, rooting through the box he had used earlier when bandaging his feet.
Cym blinked at him and smiled. “You make jokes, too? I never would have guessed.”
“I don’t make a habit of it, but sometimes it comes out unexpectedly.”
“Like diarrhea?” Cym’s face turned the color of a boiled lobster. “I can’t believe I said that out loud.”
Fourteen took in his flaming face and burst out laughing. Doubling over as great whoops of laughter erupted from his body, he clutched his stomach. He wiped a stray tear away from one eye and tried to calm himself, but one look at Cym’s stricken face sent him over the edge again.
It took several minutes before he stopped laughing, but when he did, he felt different. On the inside, something tight had cracked open, allowing a part of him to come out into the sun for the first time in a long time. It reminded him of what it felt like when he touched Cym.
“I didn’t know you could do that,” Cym said, giving Fourteen a shy smile.
“Neither did I.” The answering smile on Fourteen’s lips felt odd but welcome.
“It’s a good look for you. Being happy, I mean. Not that you looked bad before. You’re totally hot even when you aren’t smiling.” Cym’s cheeks turned an alarming shade of red, and he began to talk faster. “Oh gods, I really wish I could shut up right now. Please don’t hold the things I say against me. I wasn’t brought up properly—or at all, really.”
The reminder of the injustice of Cym’s upbringing sobered Fourteen instantly, causing the respite from his mental conditioning to end abruptly. Walls slammed in around him once again, leaving him empty and alone with the cold, but instead of feeling normal like it used to, it was constricting and uncomfortable. It left him unable to respond to Cym’s anxious chatter, so he gave him a pat on the head. It seemed to help because Cym stopped talking, though he was still a vibrant shade of red.
Fourteen busied himself with laying out the items he would need to clean up a head wound and took the time to center himself. “Let me look at your head again. Please,” he added as an afterthought. Cym deserved to have someone treat him with respect. Fourteen should be able to manage that much, at least.
Cym nodded his assent, but his face had drained of all color at the mention of his injury. “Can you put the spray stuff on it first?” His voice was almost steady.
Canister already in hand, Fourteen applied a small amount to Cym’s head before touching the wound. “Minimal damage. Likely you won’t even notice it in two days, but I’ll clean it to be safe.” His gloved hand lingered in Cym’s hair as he pulled it away. The blood stood out sharply against the pale blonde of his hair, and Fourteen’s jaw tightened before his conditioning smoothed away the anger.
“That’s comforting. When my head bounced off the wall, I was sure it was all over.” Cym smiled weakly as if he’d made a joke.
Blood pounded in Fourteen’s ears as anger roared back through him, and his hand crushed the ointment he had picked up. He barely registered it oozing over his hand as the programming in his mind fought to reestablish dominance. In the span of two heartbeats, he was free of the emotion.
The cotton pads took care of the mess, but the container was ruined, so Fourteen threw it away. After cleaning Cym’s head with peroxide, he used an ointment-covered pad and applied it to the wound. “No bandage, I think.”
Cym had stayed silent during his slipup, but Fourteen could see his mind working. When Cym finally spoke, Fourteen wasn’t surprised at his topic of choice.
“You seem different than when I first met you.”
Fourteen nodded slowly, his face blank. They needed to talk about the side effects he was experiencing around Cym. He wasn’t going to get a better opening, but he didn’t know where to begin. If he got it wrong, Cym might run from him again. The thought of chasing Cym and getting into another fight made Fourteen’s bones ache with fatigue. At this point, he would be lucky if he made it out the door without falling on his face.
It wasn’t easy for him—the talking thing. Verbal conflict resolution was not something his trainers had felt important to add to his repertoire. In hindsight, he was beginning to think he should have been clear about Cym’s effect on him from the beginning.
He doubted Cym’s family had taught him anything about his magic during his captivity, and the last thing he wanted to do was remind Cym of that time. Fourteen had already fucked up by locking Cym up in a car, and the boy had run from Fourteen the moment he got the chance. How long would he stay if he found out Fourteen had been lying to him?
Fourteen opened his mouth to try to explain but closed it again. It was hard to think with the constant ringing in his ears. He shook his head slightly, trying to make it go away, and the room began to spin.
“I don’t know you well, but you seem like a fairly”—Cym bit his bottom lip as he searched for the right word. Fourteen’s eyes tracked the gesture and felt something inside him respond even through the fog settling over him. Fourteen blinked, struggling to focus—“contained person. And I know this has been a stressful day, but you’ve been acting less contained than you were when I met you.”
Had Cym already figured it out on his own?
Cym’s teeth worried at his battered lip before continuing. “Do you think it’s possible I could be having an effect on you, but it’s being mitigated by your shield thingy?”
Fourteen braced himself and dove in. “I haven’t been entirely honest with you about your effect on me.” He stood up and paced the room, ignoring the dizziness as it intensified. He had been ignoring his exhaustion for days. He should be able to do it for a few more minutes until he could explain things properly.
Cym’s eyes showed nothing but confusion. “Wait, so being around me does make you angry?”
“Negative. I… It’s complicated.” Fourteen slowed his pacing, certain he was going to mess the conversation up.
Who could blame him, really, with the walls shimmering around him so distractingly? If the floor would just hold still so he could walk, he might be able to think. The world tilted alarmingly, but he managed to stay standing.
“Hey, are you okay?” Cym was standing now, though Fourteen hadn’t noticed it happen. Cym reached out to grip Fourteen’s elbow. “Fourteen, how long have you been awake?”
Cym’s question hit Fourteen like an order, and he straightened to attention. “Sixty-six-point-five hours.”
Cym’s eyes flew wide in alarm. “Sweet Vis, that’s way too long! Why haven’t you slept?”
Fourteen snapped into report mode. “My last handlers knew I have advanced endurance, so they had me stand guard while they slept during our last mission. When I met you, I stayed awake to observe you while you slept and haven’t had a chance to rest since.” He shouldn’t have been able to speak even the small amount of information he was telling him. Why was he reacting as if Cym was his handler?
“Well, your handlers… what were their names?”
“I called them Steve and Frank.”
