Palermo locked the motel door behind him, the sound a simple 'click' in the stale air. Mirko had already closed the curtains, but Palermo peeked out at the street anyway, lifting one tawny sheet to let a ray of silver daylight in. Mirko looked at him- he was pale. From this angle, the bloody scabs where Mirko had picked glass from his face were visible from behind the sunglasses he was wearing.
"All good?" Mirko asked, and Palermo shrugged.
"Nothing unusual," he murmured, letting the room fall into darkness again. Mirko turned on a lamp- a yellow light, this time, though it was dim.
It had been only a few days since they had escaped the Bank- splitting up into pairs under the Professor's orders to lead the Spanish and international authorities on a wild chase about the globe before reconvening- ideally with no tails- in Oceania a month from now to pick up their spoils. It was not so easy to divvy up gold pips as it was unmarked euros- and there had been no boat, not this time.
Palermo removed his sunglasses. Under them, the full extent of the damage could be seen- not only the scabs (which Mirko, with his experience, was becoming increasingly certain would turn into very permanent scars) but also the bruise-like shadows, a sign of sure exhaustion. Mirko wondered if his eyes were the same. Worse than either of these, though, was that a blood vessel had reopened in Palermo's left eye (likely due to the air pressure in the plane they had flown in on), flooding the sclera, surrounding the green in vicious red.
"Do you hurt?" Mirko asked, approaching and touching Palermo's cheek very gently, just under the afflicted organ. Palermo seemed surprised by this- at first his head twitched away, as if he had been shocked, and then he relaxed, allowing Mirko to stroke his swollen skin.
"No," he replied softly. They were standing closer, now, than they had in some time- even though Mirko had volunteered to go with him, he had kept a certain, almost professional distance since they had left the others. Mirko hadn't thought much of it until just then. They had been in plenty of danger. Things had been very painful as of late…
"No, it doesn't hurt," Palermo repeated, and he moved away, taking off his jacket and hanging it from one of the hooks behind the door. He smiled absently, crossing the floor on sock feet to touch the mini-fridge in the room, and then back over to the window, where he peered out from the corner once more.
"Hardly a place for millionaires like us," he said with a slight smirk, but Mirko didn't laugh. He was beginning to feel far too aware of himself- his size, his presence. An English expression flickered through his mind- the elephant in the room. It wasn't quite like that night before they had entered the Bank- no, not like that. Palermo was not being cruel. But still, Mirko felt like he was too much for the fragile air that stood between them.
"You would rather…" Mirko began, and Palermo looked back at him. "You would rather I am not here?"
"No," Palermo said instantly, and he dropped the curtain again. Once more, surprise, a little electric shock. Mirko had a helpless thought- as with all men to him, being injured and bloody only made Palermo prettier. "I was only...to tell you the truth, I didn't think you would want to come with me, after everything."
Mirko considered this.
"I said I am not losing anyone else," he told him after a moment, standing up straighter. "Martín Berrote."
Those two words still sounded almost like something forbidden, even now. A precious kind of secret. Across the room, Palermo turned his head to the side like a curious animal. The lamp was dim, and his left eye looked impossibly dark, as though the blood within had turned black.
"I remember," he replied. "But people can say many things- people can say the loveliest things in the world, and still walk away."
Mirko shook his head, and took a step closer to Palermo, just one, and then another. Very careful steps, like he really was a giant, like he would shake the floor and smash down the walls if he didn't move with complete awareness of his being in relation to the room. Palermo only watched him, not afraid but perhaps not confident, either, not in the way he had been confident before.
Mirko touched his cheek again. A small red tear leaked from the outer corner of Palermo's eye, and Mirko wiped it clean with his thumb.
"I don't want to walk away," he said, and Palermo shivered very deeply, a tremor lancing through his body that made even his breath quake. For an instant, Mirko thought he saw something behind his eyes break- but that could only be an illusion.
Slowly, achingly slowly, Palermo began to lean forward, his damaged eyes darting back and forth across Mirko's face, like he was looking for some reproach. Mirko knew he wouldn't find it there. He heard Palermo breathe, he was still shivering. Mirko lowered the hand he had been holding to Palermo's cheek.
Then, a kiss. A very light, chaste kiss, nothing more than a fragile press of lips to the corner of Mirko's mouth, and then his cheek. Mirko turned his head and kissed him back, as gently as he could, and Palermo sighed softly.
There was quiet for a moment.
"I get a wrap for your eye," Mirko said, and briefly Palermo's lips twitched up into a smile.
"No, that's alright," he murmured. "But I think I will lie down. I feel like I haven't slept in days."
Mirko stepped back, and Palermo sat down on the bed, kicking off his socks. He started on his belt buckle, and then looked up at Mirko.
"You can join me, if you want," he said, and it was a testament to the fact that something between them had changed, because his voice did not take on a tone of mocking, unkind flirtation. So Mirko took to the opposite side of the bed and undressed himself similarly (to the point where it was comfortable, but not all the way) and settled down beneath the covers with him. Palermo's eyes were already closed. Another leak of blood formed a slow-moving red line down his temple.
"I can hold you?" Mirko asked quietly, and Palermo smirked for an instant, the expression fading on his face before it was even fully formed.
"Yes," he replied. Another surprise. Mirko shuffled over, wrapping his arms around Palermo's littler figure, bringing him close under his chin. He felt warm inside. This was good. Everything had become soft around the edges. He hadn't been able to do this before.
"See you tomorrow," Palerm...Martín murmured, his voice already fogged with sleep, and Mirko squeezed him slightly in reply. In no time at all he wasn't conscious anymore, but Mirko held on a little longer, listening to Martín's breathing and the sounds of distant traffic outside.
This was better than before.
