Jem is wrapped in thin sheets and wearing a papery hospital gown. The smell of clorox and rubbery food is stuck in his nose, and he wonders if he should try to commit it to memory. Living in the same bed for the past three years has been horrible, but not without its upsides.
"So today is your last day, huh?"
Jem's head swivels toward the door as soon as he hears his voice. Will lets it fall shut. He's wearing the same outfit he's always in: a white lab coat and scrubs. Tall, handsome, and everything Jem wants but doesn't deserve.
"I wasn't expecting to see you before I left," Jem says. "You never work on Fridays." Will is the closest thing he has to a visitor, so Jem knows his schedule by heart. It must be etched there by now, in calligraphic script.
"I got called in for an emergency. For some reason though, no one decided to brief me on your latest developments. Doctor Lightwood has always been a prick." Will takes a seat on the swivel chair and folds his arms on the edge of Jem's mattress. "You're being released from your treatment?"
Jem smiles tightly. "I'm as surprised as you are. Not that it's a bad thing...I just wasn't prepared."
"You do have a place to go, right?" Will's shoulders are tensed, and his eyebrows knit together. "A house, or a friend's apartment to sleep in?"
"I have my own condo. Though I haven't been in it for years."
What he'd really meant was that he's not prepared to leave Will. Beyond the hospital, Jem is no longer Will's charge and he's no longer paying a part of Will's salary. There will be no incentive for him to remain friends with Jem.
Will glances over his shoulder, and when he focuses back, he's hovering between his feet and the edge of the seat. "I'm sorry to say I don't have time to chat or read to you. I actually sort of ditched the room I'm supposed to be in right now."
"The emergency?" Jem is appalled. "Sprint back over there, I promise I won't tell anyone."
The grin slides off Will's face. He leans over the bed and squeezes Jem's skinny body, warming him in strong arms and flattening Jem's cheek against his chest. Clorox can go straight to hell; if Jem's going to remember anything about this godforsaken hospital, it's going to be this.
"I'm going to miss you." Will's chin is resting on his head.
"You too," he whispers. It's an under exaggeration. Jem could close his eyes and stay like this forever.
They do part eventually. Jem's life has been one tragedy after another: from the untimely death of his parents, to illness, to a large loss in the function of his legs. So even if the good parts are only temporary, Jem has learned to appreciate them while they last.
"Goodbye." Jem tries to pour his sincerity into his voice. "Thank you for everything you've done."
Will nods. "It's been a pleasure being your doctor, James. Whenever you visit for a checkup, make sure to stop in and say hi."
"Of course I will."
Will turns, and Jem's eyes trace his back, trying to memorize every contour. The way he steps with one hand in his coat pocket, and the other fisting his hair, like he might rip it out.
Will spins around. "You know, I never gave back your Wordsworth books."
"It's alright," Jem tells him. "Go on and keep them. How many times have you told me you're secretly a master thief?"
"Well, the job's no fun if there isn't a challenge." Will strides over to the bedside again, taking a pen from the nightstand. "Write your address and I can drop them off."
"So you can then steal them back in the middle of the night?" Jem asks with a smile.
He takes Will's hand—which is far steadier and less pale than his—and scribbles his address on the back of it. Will blows on the skin so it won't smudge and waves on his way out, his step lighter than before. Jem's chest deflates once he's gone. He does not expect to see Will ever again.
He's wrong.
Saturday afternoon, Jem opens the door to find none other than his former doctor, wearing shockingly casual clothing. A grin splits Will's face as soon as they make eye contact. He lifts the strap of his bag.
"Your books."
Jem has to remind himself he's staring. And he drags his eyes away.
"Come on in." He opens the door wider and steps aside, heavily leaning on his crutch. "You can set them on the coffee table."
Will walks in and does just that, then straightens in the center of the living room. His eyes rove everywhere from the flat screen TV to the paintings covering the walls. Jem would follow, but that would require a difficult and pathetic display of limping. Instead, he stays where he is and studies the wonder on Will's face.
"Hell, Carstairs. Maybe you've been the master criminal all along."
"It's my family's money. Don't look at me."
"Did your parents own Wayne Enterprises?" Will glances over his shoulder and his eyes are dancing.
"Something like that," Jem laughs.
"Should I also assume you have a batmobile under the floor?"
"Just plain bats will do."
"Mmhm." Will's energy is brightening the lamps in the room. "I was going to suggest we ride it around town, but if you want to keep up this 'normal' charade, I'll play along."
Jem's stomach is a sanctuary for butterflies. He's missed this so much. And he takes a deep breath.
Who cares? Will doesn't.
Jem stumbles over, banging his crutch along, but it's not as loud as he'd thought it'd be. Will waits patiently until he's in range to wrap an arm around Jem's shoulders. He guides them both down onto the couch.
"It's really a shame I never got to reading you Wordsworth's ballads," Will says. He's looking toward the stack of books. "They have a unique musical rhythm I think you'd like."
"I could always read them on my own time," Jem says.
There's a pause.
"But you'd prefer an orator, isn't that right?" Will sounds the tiniest bit smug. "When we first met, you told me regular books put you to sleep."
"It's your reading voice that makes the difference. It's soothing and compelling and nice to listen to..." Jem should probably stop complimenting him because Will's grin is swelling too much. "You are overdramatic after all."
"My sisters tell me I would've made a good actor."
"I don't know if I'd push it that far." Jem places a finger against his lips. "Maybe a radio host."
"I'm insulted," Will says. "If I have to put on a one-man show of Macbeth, I will."
Jem's getting a strange, stirring feeling, like the beginning of a dizzy spell and the teetering edge of a fall.
"Do you want to stay for dinner?"
"That'd be amazing." Will leans forward to pluck up the top book, examining its back and front covers. "Are you in the mood to listen to some ballads?"
Jem nods. Every hope he'd had to give up a few days ago resurrects in his smile.
They settle back against the couch, and they're both so close; no more metal frame of a hospital bed as a barrier. When Jem rests his head on Will's shoulder, Will doesn't protest. Just relaxes his arm.
They make spaghetti. Will helps him with the pasta, and at Jem's request, takes a seat at the kitchen table while Jem mixes the sauce. Will plays music off his phone and tries his best to cater to both their tastes. A classical piece. Then an Indie rock song. It's odd and it's good and it's reminiscent of a date, which it isn't, but of course, Jem's thoughts can't keep from wandering. After they eat, Will is there to dry the dishes while Jem washes, and it's too much.
Jem has never felt so happy. So maybe he shouldn't be.
Maybe he needs to kick himself, and be reminded that Will's original reason for reading to him had been to lower his blood pressure. At the hospital, Will had visited his room a lot, yes. Often enough to get him fired, which never happened. Those visits, Jem is almost sure, must have been required check ups. So why is Will here now? The only logical reason Jem can come up with is that Will feels some occupational duty toward him.
Horrible, ugly truth eats and eats at Jem, crawling under his skin. He hates that he'd been so delusional before.
In the foyer, while Will pulling on his coat, Jem says it.
"Again, I'm thankful you for all you've done, but I'll be alright on my own."
Will fishes his hand through his sleeve. "Sorry?"
"I know I never had any visitors at the hospital, but I do have close friends and family to support me. Most of them just live in China." Jem's voice stays steady, because this is for Will's sake. "Don't feel obligated to keep visiting me. Please."
Will just blinks, fingers frozen on his zipper "You think I came because I pitied you?"
Jem shakes his head. A dull burn is travelling through his legs and a double dose of painkillers would do him wonders. "We both know the books were an excuse. I know how I looked at the hospital. Fragile and scared and unable to fend for myself."
"I wasn't thinking that at all," Will says.
Jem can't accept that. "You're a good person for feeling responsible for your patients, even when you're not being paid to do it. It just goes to show what a true doctor should really be like—"
Will steps forward, and for a split second, they're hovering between a pause in conversation and the tip of an iceberg.
And Will kisses him, cutting off his cracked rambles for good, while lightly running his knuckles over Jem's cheek. Jem can't feel his legs; For once, that might not be such a bad thing. His crutch hits the ground, so he has to cling to Will instead, and Will's hands travel down to grip his hips. He kisses Jem even harder, slow and deliberate, as if he plans to erase every last doubt by the force of his lips.
When they finally separate, Will says, "I didn't come over to take care of you, though I do adore doing that." His chest is heaving, the air hot and heavy between them. "I came because I'm a horrible doctor who's overly, inappropriately attracted to one of his patients."
"I'm not your patient anymore," Jem says.
Will's throat bobs, and a dangerous rush of fireworks lights up across Jem's skin. Will leans in again and their noses bump.
"I want to carry you to your bed, or have you against the wall right now," Will murmurs. "Or we could make it halfway and tear each other's clothes off on the couch."
Jem tugs the collar of Will's shirt, too embarrassed to beg out loud. But surprisingly, Will takes his hands and gently pushes them down to Jem's sides.
"Not today though. I haven't even taken you on a date yet."
"A date?" Jem would laugh if Will didn't look so determined. "You don't really want to commit to...a cripple do you?"
Somehow that sets Will off because he strokes Jem's hair with a startling ferocity and plants a chaste, but tender, kiss on his lips. It's as toe-curlingly good as the one before.
"Your illness doesn't stop you from being the best person I've ever met," Will says. "And it won't stop me from asking you out. Will you go out with me?"
Uncertainty is a foreign look to Will's features. Jem marvels that Will could be so blind to Jem's pining—it's been going on long enough. But then, Jem had been just as oblivious.
"You can come back anytime," Jem says. "Take me out or cook dinner with me, I don't care. I love being with you, Will."
Even though Will swore he'd leave before anything else happened, they end up making out in the foyer for another half an hour. With the seeming agony of tearing his body in two, Will has to unknit from Jem's arms.
"Listen love, I've got to go before I ravish you on your front door." Pleasant shivers trickle down Jem's spine. "I'll be seeing you soon," Will says with a peck on his forehead. "I'm counting the minutes down."
Jem waves him down the walkway. "Have a safe trip home."
"Goodnight." Will waves back.
Jem had been in the hospital so long, he'd forgotten the endless opportunities that the world could offer. Independence, a relationship, a life. The way it's supposed to be lived. Jem watches Will's car drive off under the dark blue sky with his elbow propped on the windowsill, oddly calmed, and the handle of his crutch squeezed comfortably in his hand.