"I'm done." I lean back and inspect my stitching and patching. I pack everything back into my first aid kid and wash my hands in his bathroom.

I glance back into his room and watch him worriedly. He's still in that robotic state as he stares at nothing in particular. Heading back to his room, I crouch down and nudge him gently.

"Mason," I whisper. He barely shows any response, not even a flicker in his eyes. I intially thought he was merely lost in his mind, but that isn't just it. "Mason?" I glance at him. I can't just leave him on his bedroom floor in only his boxers.

"Mace," I nudge him once more. "I'm going to move you to your bed. Can you stand up?" I lift him up gently, but he stands by himself and sits on his bed. His blank expression scares me a bit. It's unsettling as his empty eyes look fixedly at no specific point in his room. I hesitantly lift his worn blanket and drape it over his shoulders. He doesn't seem to even feel the cold temperature as I stare at his goosebumps. I touch his fingers. As I expected, they are ice cold.

"Mace, I'm going to grab a heating bag for your fingers," I say. Noticing his thin blanket material, I add, "I'm going to bring some blankets for you." My words may be falling on deaf ears. I sigh before moving towards the window.

Hmmmm? I stop mid-step as my shirt is hooked onto something.

"Stay," Mason's voice barely catches my ears. I look at his rough, callused hand clutching my shirt tightly. His head is turned towards his wall, shielded from my view.

"You need thicker blankets and gloves." I exhale and watch the hot air from my mouth disaparate quickly. Rubbing my arms up and down, I shiver slightly from the coldness. I did not think smartly when I climbed into his room with only an oversized shirt and pajama pants. His room seems to have dropped a few degrees since I have entered.

"I'm...fine..." he exhales slowly before his body shakes with light tremors "T-there are blankets on the top shelf of my closet."

"O-okay," my teeth clatter as I head to his closet and spot the thick, wooly blankets on top of a blanket. Standing on my tip toes, I try my best to reach for them but they are too high. I huff frustratingly as I strain a few seconds more.

"Here," Mason mumbles into my ear as he comes up close behind me and reaches for it. I catch a whiff of antispectic and woodsy aftershave with an interesting hint of lilac. He leans a little closer to my body heat. Then, he opens a plaid blanket and tenderly wraps me into it. Grabbing a maroon throw blanket, he slowly puts it around himself, wincing in pain. I want to offer my help but I feel like he would only feel incapable.

He limps over to his bed and collapses, gasping softly in pain. I kneel down and examine his ankle, which is swollen twice its normal size. "Keep the ice pack on it and try not to walk." I instruct him, though I still want him to go to the hospital. Despite my urging, he refuses to go to the hospital.

"Yes ma'am," he smirks weakly and sneezes.

"Do you have more blankets?" I frown at his shivering body.

"N-no," he shudders and brings the blanket tighter to his body.

"Here," I carefully sit next to him and wrap my blanket around his shoulders. I glance at him for permission to touch him, and he nods ever so slightly. I snuggle closer and hold his hands to warm them up. If I wasn't so intent on making him comfortable and better, I would be staying clear from him and telling myself to get off his bed. "Better?"

He doesn't reply. Instead, he pulls me closer to him, cringing slightly as he slings his arm around my shoulders. "Don't move so much," I frown once more. We adjust a few more times until he is laying on his less injured area. He lays on his stomach as I sit with my legs folded to the side. He scoots a bit so he rests his arms and head on my lap.

.I'm probably going to regret this later.

I have so many questions I want to ask him as I stare into his deep eyes that finally hold a small light. I know it's not my place to ask too many questions, so I sit in the bed with my back to the wall and wait. If he wants to tell me anything, he will. I know him well enough, or rather I used to, that he will close himself and avoid any topic relating to his family. We both know that those wounds were not self-inflicted or accidental at all. I have seen my fair share of injuries because of my brothers and martial arts so I know someone did this to Mason. My only question is who?

His guarded expression holds a little bit of vulnerability as we gaze at each other. He seems to know the questions I have but chooses to stay silent.

"Thanks," he breaks the silence and lets a genuine, tiny smile break through his face. I let out a mental breath of relief. I hadn't seen that smile, even one so small, for years.

"You're welcome," I inspect his bandages once more. "Those may scar."

"I know," a dark expression overcomes his face fleetingly before his face is neutral again.
Okay then. My eyes roam around his room, looking anywhere but his half-naked body. Even in black and blue, he is handsome, though he fits more of his "bad boy" image now. I still highly doubt he's all that bad. I gaze at his band posters with Vampire Weekend, Starfu**ers, and Weezer among them. Not much has changed besides more posters of his favorite bands. I lean my back against the wall and glance up.

"Since when did you keep my painting?" I gasp in shock as I look at the ceiling. It was a painting of us when were little as we pointed at a shooting star in the starry sky. When I became furious with him, I ripped the paper off from my easel and chucked it into my trashcan.

"I saw it rolled up in my trashcan and took it home," he smiles slightly as he makes swirly patterns with his finger on my thigh.

"Oh, but what is it doing on your ceiling?" I gulp before asking the question. I watch his finger as it continues to trace a pattern, tickling me slightly in the process.

"I like it. It calms me down before falling asleep." He takes a few minutes before responding.

"Oh," I repeat dumbly. I don't know what to say.

"Do you still have the stars on your ceiling?"

"Yeah."

"Can I see it?" He looks up from my lap and stops tracing.

"You're injured. You shouldn't climb over a tree, no less move." I point out. "And I'm going to drag your ass down to the hospital in the morning if it's the last thing I do."

"I'm fine. I've experienced worse." He shrugs. "The hospital won't do anything."

"Fine?" I stare at him increduously. "You have lashes on your back that were gushing out blood an hour ago. Plus, you have cuts and bruises all over your body. Have you seen yourself in the mirror? You have a shiner! And don't get me started on your ankle and bloodied knuckles."

"It's my body, not yours. I'm fine." He says sharply. "Why the f*ck do you care anyways?"

"Why do I care?" My voice rises in pitch. "Of course I care! I'm not going to leave you broken and battered all alone!"

"I never asked you to bandage me, and no less care for me!" His chest heaves as his anger intesifies. "I don't need your help."

"See?" He sits upright and points to himself. "I can move just fine."

"Well, you should rest," I sigh tiredly. "I don't want to argue with you. We have managed to hold a conversation without insulting each other, and there's no use in wasting what little energy you have."

Mason deflates a bit and directs his gaze outside. I climb out of his bed, which has heated up now.

"You're leaving?" He yawns.

"I'm letting you rest." As soon as I'm out of the bed, I begin to feel the cold, night air.

"You can wear that," he points to a hoodie hanging on his chair. "It's clean."

I put it over, his sweatshirt enveloping me with his familiar scent.

"Can-" he begins. Then, he shakes his head. "Nevermind. Forget it."

"What?" I lean down. "I can stay with you. Well, I can keep you company. That's only if you don't mind, or you even want me to." I rush to explain.

"Sure..." the corner of his lips curl upward but his eyes tell a different story. I can tell he is fighting within himself, but I know it's sitll not my place to ask, especially after the way I treated him. He falls asleep shortly.

He looks so young and relaxed. His hair looks soft, like feathers. I run one of my hands over his hair lightly. It is as soft as it looks, none of that icky gel nonsense. I sit on the ground and rest my head on the bed beside him, tenderly caring for his bruised eye briefly. I do everything agonizingly slow so as to not wake him up.

***

I blink my eyes. I glance momentarily around to check where I am. I must have fallen asleep. I squint at the alarm clock and Mason. It's only 4 o'clock. I can't stop myself from smiling at my hand clasped with his. It just feels...right.

Shake those thoughts out of your head. The reasoning, brainy part of me tells me.

"...Delany..." I barely catch my name as he whispers it. My heart skips a beat as I stare at him. He's still asleep. Suddenly, his hand that is holding mine tightens. "Delany!! Dels!!" He cries more urgently.

"Mason?" I lean down closer as I ogle in confusion. Should I wake him up?

"Dels!" He seems to cry as if he is in a nightmare.

"Mason!" I try to shake him awake, but fear it will reopen his wounds. Instead, he sits upright suddenly and grabs tightly to my arms, almost painfully.

"Dels?" He says flusteredly with sweat running down his face.

"I'm here." I reassure him as I hug him. His arms wrap around my body tightly as if he's afraid he'll never be able to see me again. I wonder what he was dreaming about.

"Thank f*ck," he sighs.

"You're okay." I pat his back. "You're okay..." I whisper.Was he?