Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
It all sounded like useless platitudes, roaring in Ash’s ears in mindless, meaningless noise. This was too much—after all the ups and downs and explosions and catastrophes of the last week, this was the last straw, too fucking much.
“Where is he?” he gasped. “I need to see him. Where is he?”
“He’s being transferred to a recovery room. You can see him tomorr—”
“Now.”
“But—”
“I said now.”
The doctor stared at him uncertainly. Ash stared back, setting his jaw. He wasn’t taking no for an answer. He’d been passive about so many things in his life, letting whim and happenstance push him wherever he’d happened to fall, washing up on so many shores like so much driftwood.
He couldn’t be passive about this.
The doctor faltered, then nodded. “I’ll make an exception just this once,” he said, and stepped back toward the doors. “This way.”
BRAND WOKE TO THE SOUND of soft, hitching breaths, the muffled sound of tears.
He didn’t have to open his eyes to know that sound was Ash, when he’d know his young Master’s voice anywhere.
His eyelids didn’t want to open. He hurt everywhere, his entire body sore and his senses fuzzy, though the greatest pain was concentrated around his pelvis and the primary extraction point. If he hurt this much now, he’d rather made the right choice in choosing to go under anesthesia for the worst of it.
With a wince, he forced his eyelids open. The room was fuzzy around him, worse than it should even be without his glasses—but he could make out Ash, curled up in a chair and hugging his knees to his chest, Brand’s glasses clutched in one hand and the other hand locked around Brand’s wrist. As Brand’s soft groan, though, Ash’s head snapped up. His liquid-sheened eyes widened.
“Brand,” he gasped, “Brand.”
Then flung himself from the chair, nearly draping himself over Brand as he wrapped his arms around him and burst into a fresh spate of tears.
“…young Master,” Brand managed to croak, his throat dry, scratching. He swallowed, trying to wet it, and forced his arm to move enough to rest a hand to Ashton’s back. “You are crying.”
“Y-your…” Ash broke off into sniffles, choked inarticulate sounds, then managed, “Your heart stopped under anesthetic.”
“Oh dear.” That…was rather taking a moment to sink in, when Brand’s mind hadn’t quite caught up with the fact that he was even conscious yet. “It would appear my age was more of a hazard than I thought.”
“Don’t you…don’t you…” Ash pushed himself up, glaring down at Brand—and Brand thought he’d never seen anything more lovely in his life. Such fragile emotion, shining through Ash with such intensity, giving himself so wholeheartedly to feeling. “All you have to say is ‘oh dear’?” Ash demanded, vibrant in his anger, flushed, eyes bright. “You can’t do that to me!” he choked. “You can’t show up here and just make me need you overnight and then nearly die on me!” He buried his face in Brand’s chest again, thumping a fist weakly against his shoulder. “I can’t…I can’t…”
Despite himself, Brand smiled. His young Master was a thing of wild and vivid feelings, when he wished to be—this bright thing emerging from behind the grieving, pallid boy who had retreated from everything before.
You are beautiful like this, Brand wanted to say, but held his tongue.
“I am sorry, young Master,” was all he said. “I did not mean to worry you.”
“Asshole.”
Brand chuckled—even though it hurt, his entire body protesting. “I should hope you will forgive me for forcing you to give the erroneous impression that you care for me.”
“…massive asshole.” With a sullen sound, sniffling, Ash pushed himself fully up onto the bed. He took a careful moment to unfold Brand’s now slightly bent, entirely smudged glasses and ease them onto Brand’s face—then tucked himself against Brand, making room in the cramped space and fitting against him until he felt just right, so close against Brand’s body. “I feel like I spend all my time with you in hospital beds.”
“I would not be remiss to going home,” Brand murmured.
Ash flushed, ducking his head, hiding his face in Brand’s shoulder. “…I like that.”
“Like what?”
“Hearing you call it home,” Ash said shyly. “It makes me feel like you’re not going to quit and just leave.”
“The thought had never crossed my mind.”
Ash peeked with a sweet, hopeful smile. “Yeah?”
“Indeed.” Brand turned his head, just enough to brush his lips to Ash’s hair. Just enough to breathe in that sweet scent that reminded him that he was alive; that he was indeed home, when he didn’t think his young Master understood…he, more than the Harrington estate, was what Brand called home. “Clearly not even death could keep me from your side, young Master. If that could not take me away…how could I ever leave?”
EVEN IF THERE WERE FEW things worse to Brand Forsythe than idle hands, he had to admit that after the last week…