Page 73 of Should the Sky Fall

“Hey.” He puts the clothes he picked on the counter next to the sink. “You, um…don’t usually wear a shirt to bed but I figured…the extra layer will be better for you.”

Makes sense. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Dawson turns to leave and stops. “When you’re done, I can…I mean, if you want me to, I can help. With the wounds. Redressing. Yeah.”

Cal’s done that himself plenty of time at the hospital, but he’s not about to say no to a chance to feel Dawson’s hands on him.

“I’d like that.”

Dawson gives a curt nod, then excuses himself as he backs out of the bathroom, closing the door.

After taking off the rest of his clothes, Cal gingerly peels off the dressing covering his abdomen, then the smaller one from his ribcage where the tube was inserted into his lung. That one is almost healed, and, compared to the huge gash running down his belly, it’s nothing.

He steps into the shower and turns it on, squealing when he’s instantly blasted with a jet of cold water.

“Dammit.” He tries to angle the showerhead, so it doesn’t aim at him while the water heats, shivering in the meantime. Once it’s warmed up, he focuses on cleaning the wound first, grimacing as he does it. He hates this part, no matter how many times he’s done it.

He decides against washing his hair, which would require him to lift both arms at once, and that…he doesn’t fancy doing. Maybe Dawson could help next time—

Stop asking him for every single thing. You’re a grown man,an annoyed voice in his head growls at him. Yeah, he really needs to stop acting so helpless and taking advantage of Dawson’s good intentions and kindness. He gets the feeling that Dawson does this a lot, ignoring his own comfort and helping others while refusing any himself.Well, that’s about to change.Dawson wants a clean slate—he’ll get one. Squeaky clean.

The idea of taking care of Dawson causes a tingle to run down his spine, making him shiver. It makes a home low in his belly, heat spreading through the area and…

His soapy hand slides between his legs where, for some reason, his penis started doing…something. He looks down at it quizzically, wondering why it’s suddenly bigger and stiffer. And why it’s so sensitive. Not knowing what to do with the sensation of his hand running over his length—it didn’t feel like this when he cleaned himself before—he quickly finishes showering and slowly steps out.

He snatches a towel from the rack. It’s folded and clearly unused, so he doesn’t have to worry about accidentally using Dawson’s. He carefully dabs it over the wounds, patting them dry before running it over the rest of him. Hanging up the towel, he picks up the pants Dawson brought him. They’re soft and light, and he smiles at the thoughtfulness Dawson must have put in choosing this particular piece. It takes some maneuvering, but he manages to put them on.

As he pulls himself up, his gaze moves to the mirror, snatching on his reflection again. He stares at it unwaveringly, determined to eradicate the uncomfortable sensations his face invokes as soon as he can. Is that even possible? Carrie was certain he just needs to get used to it and that, in time, he’ll come to recognize himself and those feelings will disappear. But what if not? What if—

Something happens. For a fraction of a second, everything goes dark, like someone just flipped the switch and turned off the light. He blinks and when his eyes open, he sways on his feet. It’s no longer him who stares back from the mirror. It’s Dawson, his cheeks tear-streaked and blood dripping from his lip. His eyes are red-rimmed and swelling rapidly. He’s gripping the edge of the counter, shaking, pain and disgust written on his face as he stares in the mirror.

Sharp pain slices through Cal’s temples, like a shard of glass embedding itself in his skull. He clenches his eyes shut, his hands shooting forward to brace himself against something. There’s a loud noise as something breaks, shattering on the floor.

The next thing he knows, Dawson’s there, repeating his name, his voice panicked. He recognizes the feel of Dawson’s hands on him as they grab his arms and lead him somewhere. As the pain subsides, Cal opens his eyes. Dawson is leading him around what looks like shards of the soap dispenser and sits him down on the toilet.

“Cal? Cal, hey. Are you okay? What happened?”

Even through the throbbing in his head, Dawson’s panic gets to him, and he forces himself to say, “I’m fine. Just dizzy. Everything went black for a moment.”

Dawson studies him, brows pulled together as he decides whether he believes him or not.

“Does this happen a lot?”

Cal goes to shake his head, then decides against it. “No.”

Dawson’s frown deepens. “You’re okay, though?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Stay here, I’m gonna get rid of the shards.”

While Dawson cleans the mess, the images keep flashing through Cal’s mind. He’s had dreams about Dawson being hurt, but they were just…dreams.Thisfelt real. It can’t be, because it doesn’t make sense that Cal would see Dawson’s reflection in the mirror. But the way his stomach twists and clenches, nausea climbing up his throat... Something tells him that whatever it means, it’s very, very bad.

“Okay, that’s done,” Dawson announces some time later. He gestures at Cal’s abdomen. “Let’s take care of that now.” He disappears again for a moment and comes back with a small bag that reveals medical supplies. He drops to his knees between Cal’s legs, studying the forming scar. “I’m not an expert, but it looks good. Healing nicely.”

Cal shrugs, not really caring at the moment. He remembers to look out for inflammation, swelling, and weird smell, and hasn’t noticed any of it. So he’s probably fine. But Dawson…

“The doctor said to put a little bit of the—” He swallows the words when Cal reaches for him, cupping his face with one hand and stroking his cheek like he’s trying to wipe away the tears he remembers seeing there. But Dawson’s face is dry, his eyes bright and wide, and his lips are intact, full and pink, parted as he gazes up at Cal in shock. He’s beautiful and, right now, he’s okay. He’s safe.