Chapter Text
Will’s face stared back at him from a clear strip in the steamed-up bathroom mirror. The scar always looked worse after a shower. The heat made it redder. It still hurt if he let the water beat directly on it. He was going to need sunscreen. He’d need it anyway, but the thought of getting a burn on that knot of raw and delicate skin made him wince.
His razor sat on the bathroom counter. For a while, he’d stopped shaving entirely in the hope of hiding it. Molly had hated the thicker beard. Will had hated it too, but he’d kept it longer than he might have out of spite. He’d known they were almost done. Part of him had wanted an ugly ending, something more than a gentle fade from her life, some trace of him left behind.
He picked up the razor and shaved his face bare. The scar stood out like a pale snake on his face. The redness from the shower was fading. It was pale pink now, flattening as it healed. Will pressed his thumbnail into it. Still tender and new.
Sunscreen, clothes, flip-flops, probably a larger suitcase. Although, that could wait. He had neither a return ticket nor any pressing reason to buy one. Clothes, anyway. A laundromat. A book. Breakfast. Right.
The hotel concierge gave his naked face a hard two-second stare and then looked politely at Will’s nose for the rest of the conversation. She directed him to a couple of menswear shops within walking distance and told him that breakfast was still being served in the restaurant. Will saw a glimpse of white out of the corner of his eye. It might have been anything, but he decided he’d rather have a walk before he ate.
The street ran along the coast, broad and tree-lined and quiet. Waves washed against the sand just at the edge of his hearing. It reminded him of home. Not Wolf Trap and not Molly’s house, but home, along the Gulf, where the warm breezes carried the scent of salt inland for miles. It felt good to walk. He’d spent too long on the plane and much too long in the hospital.
He stopped at the first cafe he passed for a cappuccino and a pastry from the case. It was still warm when the woman handed it over. The filling was some kind of fruit, sweet and tangy and filled with tiny seeds. He thought it might be fig. He’d never had fresh figs before.
Sun shone intermittently on his shoulders as the trees swayed over his table outside the cafe. He stretched out his legs, leaned back in his chair, and cradled his cup in both hands. Part of him thought a newspaper would be nice. Part of him thought he never wanted to read the news ever again.
In lieu of reading material, he watched the people passing by. Most of them seemed to be locals on their way somewhere, but a few ambled and stared in the manner of tourists everywhere, in the way Will had himself on the way here.
An old man shuffled past. He walked with a cane and wore a black sweater despite the summer heat, but he smiled at everyone he saw, including Will, who was startled into smiling back for a second before he looked away. When he did, they fell on sky blue flip-flops, tanned feet, and pale pink toenails.
The boy from the hotel had stopped under a tree. He leaned one shoulder against the trunk and looked toward the ocean, though his view was cut off by more trees and a line of a hedges. Even the beach was invisible from here. His body was a perfect curve against the tree trunk, all in pink today. His shorts were pleated and crisply pressed. His T-shirt had a gold star in the center. Sunlight reflected off it and turned it blinding.
Will was staring. It wasn’t the clothes or even the boy’s face, which was like skin stretched over delicately curved knives. It was something else. He seemed aware of every part of himself, each muscle and joint under conscious control. When he pushed off the tree and started walking again, he stood up straight. Each step was deliberate, chin up, even his fingers arranged and alive.
Alive. He looked alive. He looked how Will had felt when he’d stood over the Dragon’s cooling body in the snow.
The boy looked toward him in that moment of realization. Their eyes met, and the boy faltered. He misjudged his step, caught his flip-flop on a ridge of cobblestone and went down, skidding on his knee and graceful even in that.
Will saw the smear of blood on his skin and was out of his chair before he stopped to think.