I can't remove Joshua's hands wrapped around me without hurting him, so I opt for steering both of us back into the examination room. The doctor and the nurse are still there, watching us with amusement, but at least the room will provide cover from the rest of the spectators, including Mike and Lagana.

When we reach the door, he finally unglues himself from me, and I can breathe again. He looks up at me, his eyes wet and shining, his face still bearing a few smudges of soot, even though someone clearly tried to clean him up. His long hair is a tangled mess and is slightly shorter on one side, some of the ends curled and burned. His face looks mostly unharmed—I had it pressed to my chest while carrying him out of the fire. There're a few pink areas, but most of his skin has already faded to the usual pale color, now slightly tinged by blue—the result of oxygen deprivation.

"Oh, fuck," he mumbles, his eyes searching my face. "Ethan, isn't it? Oh, fuck. Ethan, thank you. Thank you so much, Ethan."

"Just get into the room, will you?" I push him through the doorframe, fearing the spectators will do something cheesy like bursting into applause. Thankfully, we make it out of their sight without any further embarrassments.

Inside the room, Joshua continues to babble, his fingers digging into my arm.

"Oh my, it was so awful. I was always afraid to burn, you know, it's like the worst death possible—I mean, drowning must suck, too, but burning?" He shudders, his eyes fixed on me, wide, unblinking. He's clearly still in shock. "I hoped I'd suffocate before I burn. I hoped I wouldn't feel anything. But I was feeling things, you know?"

His face screws into a grimace that suddenly throws me back to the days when I babysat my younger cousins, to that moment between the child making a face like this and when the actual screaming begins. In that moment, if you're fast and lucky, you might throw in a toy or some other distraction and avert the tantrum.

There're no toys to assist me now, so I just watch helplessly as large tears start rolling down his cheeks. I look around for help, but the doctor has already turned away to look at come documents on the table, and the nurse only rolls her eyes at me.

"He's been like this since we got him, on and off," she says. "Can you calm him down?"

"Just leave me alone, will you?" Joshua snaps at her. "I've had enough torture for one night." He turns back to me, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand, smearing the soot. I suppress the urge, also from my babysitting days, to lead him over to the sink and wash his face.

"They made me do a chest x-ray, and they keep poking their needles at me—that's enough! And I'll have none of that tube-in-your throat thing!"

"Sir, bronchoscopy will allow us to check your airways for damage—"

"There's no damage," he says, although the way he sounds out of breath tells a different story. "I just want to go home."

"You have no home," I say. "It's burnt down."

There's a tiny pause as all of them look at me. Then, the doctor shakes his head and gathers the papers from the table.

"I'll be back in a few minutes. I'm afraid we have too many patients at the moment to be dealing with this. Have some rest in the meanwhile." He walks towards the door as he speaks, and, when he passes next to me, he nods at Joshua, as if asking me to take care of him.

"I saw that," says Joshua, but the doctor is already out of the door, and the nurse is following him.

"Please, try to calm down," she says, squeezing his shoulder lightly before leaving the room. "We're just trying to help."

He shrugs her hand off, and the two of us keep quiet until the door closes behind her.

"Trying to help," he mutters. "Sticking their needles into me like I'm that thing, you know—the one for sticking needles, whatever the hell it's called."

"They just have to take blood tests. They did it to me too. It's a common procedure."

"Well, they've had their fun, that's enough." He moves over to the hospital bed, leans on it with his back and rubs his face. "I just need to get out of here, okay? Breathe some fresh air, grab some sleep, and I'll be fine."

"You don't look fine."

"I will be fine." He looks at me. "Do you go through this after every fire?"

"No. I usually don't breathe in so much smoke."

He looks at me intensely. "I want to hug you again."

"I'd rather you don't."

He chuckles, then plunges into a coughing fit, bending and hugging himself, his whole body shuddering.

"See," I say. "Let them finish the tests."

He shakes his head, still unable to speak. As the coughing subsides, he straightens up, walks over to the table and picks a plastic cup with water. He empties it in a few gulps and puts it back down, his hand shaking.

"No," he says. "I don't have an insurance. I can barely pay for what they already did."

"So, it's all about insurance?" My mind is already calculating if I could help, or perhaps there is some kind of policy that allows people to be treated for free. The ER must provide their services to anyone in case of emergency, but later, he'll have to handle the bill.

"No." He shakes his head. "I hate hospitals. I need to get away and have some rest, and I'll be fine."

"But you..." I trail away, exasperated. "Look, money can be taken care of, but you've inhaled lots of smoke, so you need to remain under observation—"

As I speak, the door opens behind me. I turn, intending to ask the nurse for another minute. Yet instead of her, I see an unfamiliar face of a disheveled middle-aged man. His eyes widen as he sees Joshua.

"Mon cheri," he breathes out. "Are you all right? I was worried sick about you!"

He steps into the room. His long, graying hair is gathered sloppily into a ponytail, strands sticking out of it here and there. It seems he got dressed in a hurry, a couple of buttons on his shirt mismatched and one of his shoelaces open. If not for the stylish, expensive look of the clothes themselves I would have assumed the guy was homeless.

He approaches Joshua, reaching out as if wanting to touch him but not daring to.

"Are you in pain?" He stares at him, then at me. "Can he speak?"

"I'm fine, Victor." Joshua props himself onto the hospital bed and rubs his face tiredly. "How did you find me?"

"Obviously, I have asked where the most handsome patient resides." The man smiles. "I came as soon as I heard of this disaster. I figured you might need help." He turns to me. "And you are, pardon my curiosity --"

"This is Ethan," says Joshua. "He saved me."

The man's face lights up.

"Victor Bisset, at your service. What a pleasure. Thank you so much for rescuing our little treasure here. So noble of you."

"Your little treasure?" I repeat, shaking the offered hand, trying to figure who the hell he could be. The long gray hair does ring a bell, and not one I wish to hear ringing. The dark corridor in the 'Golden Leaf ' club, the man kneeling in front of Joshua...the lights were dim, and I only saw him for a moment, yet the hair looks suspiciously familiar.

"Oh, he's everybody's treasure," he says, clasping his hands in front of him and looking at Joshua adoringly. "A local icon. Our little private Mona Lisa. But how are you doing? Will you stay hospitalized for long?"

"No," says Joshua, throwing a preventive look at me. "I'm on my way out."

"So fast? Do you have a place to stay?"

"He doesn't," I say. "He's staying here. He's still under observation."

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Joshua shoots me another glance. "We've been through this. I'm leaving and that's final. As for where to stay, I'll figure it out."

"Oh, you can absolutely, absolutely stay with me." Victor claps his hands and leans forward. "It'll be a pleasure."

Joshua looks him over again. His expression is less than excited, which makes me wonder if the man is indeed the one I saw kneeling in that dark corridor. If they're familiar, why would Joshua be reluctant to accept his help?

"Would hate to impose myself," says Joshua after a pause.

"You're not imposing yourself, absolutely not, mon cheri! I came here in hopes to help, didn't I? That will be such joy for an old bachelor to welcome a dear guest."

I watch the man with growing uneasiness. Something about his eagerness doesn't feel right. Is it a simple desire to help, or does he have other motives? There must be something else here to explain Joshua's obvious reluctance.

Joshua is still sitting on the bed, his shoulders slumped, looking tired. If I don't intervene, he will go with this sleazy guy, and that just feels wrong. Have I rescued him only to let him immediately fall into his old ways and back into the hands of his old 'friends'?

Could this be a chance to give him a new start?

"You could stay with me," I say, and Joshua looks up. "If you refuse to remain in the hospital, you should at least stay for a few days with someone who can keep an eye on you. Unless you have friends who are medics, I'm the next best thing."

Victor frowns. "I can keep an eye on him, too. Just tell me what signs to look for. I live alone and it'll be absolutely no bother to help a friend."

"I live alone, too." I say. "Joshua?" It feels weird, saying his name for the first time.

"Oh," he says looking from me to Victor and back. Then, unexpectedly, he smiles. "It's nice to have options to pick from, but I guess I'll have to go with your generous offer." He nods at me, then looks at Victor. "Sorry. It was terribly nice of you, but I can't refuse someone who just saved my life."

"As you wish, mon cheri." Victor nods, then bows his head in my direction. "Whatever is best for him."

I nod, a sudden sinking feeling spreading in my chest. It's all right to play a good Samaritan, but in the end of the day that will bring Joshua to my apartment. He's just so foreign to everything I know that inviting him to my sanctuary feels immensely disturbing. And yet he's in trouble, in more ways than one. Wasn't that the reason I came to this city—to offer a helping hand to those in desperate need of it?

"Thanks for the rescue," Joshua says to me, still smiling, and it feels like he doesn't only mean the fire.