It was the first time in his life that he was looking forward to his birthday. His eighth birthday was meant to be something special—not just because he was getting older, but because, for the first time in a long while, he no longer felt like a stranger in his own life. The days when he had sat alone in a dusty corner of the attic, wondering if he would be with his family today if he looked different, seemed to be over.
Since the past year, a lot had changed. Ever since Levi had entered his life, a quiet but steady warmth had found its way into Isaac's everyday world. At first, it had felt strange not to be alone anymore. But by now, he could hardly remember what that loneliness had felt like. They spent almost every day together—playing, talking, or simply sitting side by side without needing to say anything. The last day Isaac had spent entirely alone lay so far in the past that he could no longer even name it exactly.
And he didn't miss it either.
Levi was two years older than him, taller and more confident, and yet he never treated Isaac condescendingly. It didn't seem to bother him that Isaac was younger, nor that he occasionally got into trouble. On the contrary—Levi would stand up for him every single time, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. For Isaac, he had long since become more than just a friend.
Levi was his hero.
In fact, Isaac was now only insulted in hushed tones. No one had hit, kicked, or spat at him for a very long time.
That morning, Isaac woke up first as usual. The early light fell faintly through the window while the house was still quiet. He slipped out of bed, showered, and got dressed before the first voices echoed through the hallways. The dining hall was calm; only a few scattered sounds accompanied his breakfast.
But inside him, it was anything but quiet.
An excited restlessness tingled beneath his skin. Later, they were going to get ice cream together—nothing big, nothing special. And yet it meant more to Isaac than any gift. At the same time, he carried a small, secret hope within him. Maybe afterward, they could go somewhere else. To a place they both liked. One of Levi's favorite spots.
The thought made him smile.
Even though Levi often said they would do whatever Isaac felt like, Isaac wanted to give something back. Levi had already done so much for him—more than Isaac could even begin to list. Maybe it was just a small thing, but it felt right.
After placing his empty plate on the serving cart, Isaac stepped outside. The air was still mild, carrying the last hint of summer. The day before, he had discovered a book on art history in the library, and it seemed to draw him in almost magically.
With the book tucked under his arm, he climbed up his favorite tree. The familiar branches creaked softly under his weight as he searched for a comfortable spot. From up there, he could look out over the courtyard—still quiet, still untouched by the noise of the day.
He opened the book.
Lately, he had developed a strong urge to create something himself. He drew more and more on paper, and thanks to Levi, he had even managed to get proper colored pencils. He was still far from being able to create what he truly envisioned, but he enjoyed experimenting with all sorts of things.
He drew the other children as they played, or Madame Rose as she scolded someone. He sketched the squirrel that scampered around the very same tree he sat in while reading. He had also drawn birds, cats, and trees. There were quite a few drawings of Levi as well.
In fact, most of the things he created were modeled after him. Isaac felt embarrassed about it and always made sure to destroy them once they were finished. Levi would surely find it strange, and Isaac didn't want to risk losing his only friend.
Isaac gently ran his fingers over the page of the book. He turned to the next one and absorbed every single detail of the works contained in the volume. The paintings and artworks were breathtaking. One day, Isaac wanted to be just as good as the great masters honored in this book.
Maybe he would manage it if he kept practicing and painted even more.
Absentmindedly, he traced his fingertips over the image of a woman with extraordinarily delicate features. Her posture was upright, proud, and yet there was something soft in her gaze, almost melancholic. The longer Isaac looked at the painting, the more seemed to reveal itself in her expression. It was as if she were breathing, as if she might tilt her head or begin to speak at any moment.
The richness of detail drew him in deeper and deeper. Subtle shadows played across her face, individual strands of hair were painted so precisely that he felt he could almost sense their texture. Even the fabric of her dress seemed to move in the light. Isaac lost himself in it, forgot the time, the place—everything beyond that single page.
At least until he heard Madame Rose loudly scolding someone.
Her voice echoed across the courtyard and abruptly pulled Isaac out of his reverie. He lifted his head and looked in the direction the voice was coming from. But the distance was too great; he couldn't make out who she was speaking to or what it was about. He listened for a moment longer, then gave a small shrug.
It wasn't his concern.
Whoever was getting into trouble had probably given her a reason and deserved every word she directed at them.
So Isaac lowered his gaze back to the book and immersed himself once more in the world of images. The hours passed unnoticed, page by page, detail by detail. Only when the light began to change and the shadows grew longer did he slowly pull himself out of his focus.
A glance at the clock told him he was far too late—and that Levi might already be at the ice cream shop where they had planned to meet.
Isaac hastily snapped the book shut and stuffed it into his shoulder bag. He slid down from the branch, landed lightly on the ground, and immediately broke into a run. Without hesitation, he headed for the hole in the wall, squeezed through it, and sprinted toward the city.
His breathing quickened as his footsteps echoed over the uneven pavement.
But when he reached the ice cream shop, Levi was nowhere to be seen. Isaac stopped and looked around. It wasn't like Levi to not show up or go an entire day without making himself seen.
So he waited and simply continued reading his book.
But no matter how long he sat there, Levi didn't come.
Isaac began to worry that something had happened to him. Maybe he should have checked on Levi before rushing into the city.
He quickly jumped to his feet.
What if he was hurt or sick?
A wave of guilt hit him immediately, and he hurried back to the orphanage. There he was, happily celebrating his birthday like an idiot, while his best—and only—friend might not be okay. How could he have failed like this? He would have to apologize to Levi. After all, Levi always worried so much about him.
He rushed to the hole in the wall, crawled through, and was just about to keep running when he collided straight into the arms of a group he knew all too well.
And avoided like the plague.
A chubby boy with stringy brown hair slowly turned toward him. As their eyes met, a smug, mocking grin spread across his face. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked Isaac up and down as if he had been waiting for this very moment.
"Well, if it isn't our little rat."
A quiet snicker ran through the group.
"I was hoping I'd never have to see your face again," he continued, his voice dripping with exaggerated pity. "What hole did you crawl out of this time?"
A girl beside him let out a shrill laugh. "I think he came through the wall."
"Ahhh…" The boy nodded slowly, as if solving a puzzle. "Of course. Makes sense. Our little rat knows his way around dark, filthy holes best."
His gaze slid over Isaac's clothes, then back to his face. The grin widened.
"Looks like we got lucky today. Your big protector is nowhere to be seen."
He took a step toward Isaac.
Isaac instinctively backed away—and ran straight into someone behind him. Panic shot through his body. He turned, searching for an escape, but before he could react, someone grabbed his arm roughly.
The grip was firm.
"Come on," the boy said calmly, almost with relish. "How about we give you a little attention again? You've been neglecting us quite a bit lately."
"GO ON, HIT HIM!" someone from the group shouted.
Isaac yanked at his arm, trying to break free, but the grip didn't loosen. His thoughts raced, his heart pounding loudly in his chest.
Not a sound escaped his lips.
Slowly, he closed his eyes.
And could only hope it would be over quickly.
___
Isaac felt as if a bulldozer had run over him.
More than once.
The exhaustion still clung deep within his bones, and all he wanted was to keep sleeping until he felt better. But that wish went unheard, as the pain was nearly unbearable.
Both his injuries and simply lying there were impossible to endure. His jaw ached, as if he had been clenching his teeth for far too long, and he still couldn't move the way he wanted to.
His limbs still refused to obey him.
On top of that, he was thirsty, and his stomach felt like an empty void that desperately needed to be filled with something edible.
With a trembling breath, Isaac opened his eyes.
He hated feeling this weak. It was time to do something about it. He needed to get up and move. He wanted to shower and at least sit up for a few minutes. Drink… he needed water—and preferably along with a painkiller, or maybe an entire pack of them.
The room was flooded with sunlight, though not so bright that he had to close his eyes again. Still, it took some getting used to. It felt as though it had been a very long time since he had last seen daylight.
Damn, his body felt unbelievably stiff.
The memory of his last awakening was hazy, but if he remembered correctly, Noctis had told him he had almost died.
How it had come to that, however, remained lost in the fog.
As his eyes adjusted to the light, he noticed once again that he didn't recognize the room he was in. It didn't look like a hospital room either.
Later…
His gaze drifted to the left.
Noctis sat in an armchair right beside the bed, leaning slightly forward, his phone loosely in one hand. The other held Isaac's hand, as if it were anchored there. His fingers rested around Isaac's—calm, but firm—as though he were afraid to let go.
Isaac simply watched him for a moment.
Noctis looked exhausted. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, completely out of place with the flawless image he usually presented. Isaac felt a pang of guilt. He had no idea how long he had been lying in this bed—nor how long Noctis had been staying by his side.
Carefully, Isaac moved his thumb. The motion was clumsy, lacking any of the fluidity he was used to. It felt as though the finger didn't quite belong to him. There was numbness in it, a strange distance from his own body.
Noctis looked up immediately when he felt the movement in Isaac's hand. Their eyes met. He dropped the phone onto the chair at once, stood up, and leaned over Isaac. A tired smile touched his lips.
His reaction made Isaac smile as well.
"Hey…," he breathed.
His voice was rough, fragile.
"How are you, darling?" Noctis asked softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.
Terrible.
"Better… I think…," Isaac murmured instead.
Noctis' gaze narrowed slightly. A quiet sigh escaped him.
"You're really terrible at lying," he stated dryly, studying him closely. "Are you in pain?"
Isaac couldn't deny that. Noctis always knew how he truly felt. Besides, lying had never been Isaac's strength. So he nodded.
His lips were dry. He ran his tongue over them, but it barely helped.
"The thirst… is worse…"
Noctis' expression softened immediately.
"For that, we'll have to at least sit you up a little. Can you manage that?"
Isaac nodded again.
Even if it hurt. Even if it felt like it would tear him apart. Without water, he could barely speak, barely think. The dry, scratchy feeling in his throat was unbearable.
"Let me at least give you something for the pain," Noctis said.
He pressed another kiss to Isaac's forehead and walked over to a table covered with various items. Isaac couldn't really make out what was there. What he wouldn't give to at least be wearing his glasses—then he could see Noctis more clearly too.
Damn albinism.
It didn't take long before Noctis returned with a syringe and injected the liquid directly into the IV line. The medication took effect quickly. The pain that had been coursing through him dulled, receding into the background—not gone, but bearable.
A quiet, relieved breath escaped him.
But instead of helping him up right away, Noctis turned away again. Isaac heard the soft clink of glass, the gentle sound of liquid being poured. Then the rustling of fabric as several pillows were arranged.
Only once everything was prepared did Noctis return. His gaze was alert, assessing—and unmistakably concerned.
"Are you ready?"
Isaac gave a short nod. Inside, he braced himself for the pain that would inevitably follow.
Noctis carefully slipped one arm under his back, the other beneath his legs, and began to lift him. He was gentle—and yet the pain still overwhelmed Isaac.
A sharp gasp tore from his throat.
His fingers clutched weakly at the fabric of Noctis' shirt, searching for support. His head sank against his shoulder as he tried to breathe through the pain, to somehow control it.
"Fuck…"
His ribs felt as if they were grinding against each other with every movement. His right side burned, tightened, demanding that he lie flat again immediately. And his left shoulder—
He pushed the thought away.
It felt as though he had been systematically taken apart and then poorly put back together.
"It'll get better in a moment," Noctis murmured calmly, close to his ear. "Just a little more."
Without hesitation, he lifted him further, placed the pillows behind his back, and then slowly let him sink back. As carefully as the circumstances allowed.
Isaac slumped into the cushions.
His breathing was heavy, uneven. Black spots danced before his eyes, flickering at the edges of his vision.
Noctis cursed quietly and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"Do you want something to drink?"
Isaac needed a moment to answer.
"Yes…"
Shortly after, Noctis held a glass to his lips. He tilted it slowly. Isaac took a sip, then another. He was parched. But before he could take another greedy gulp, Noctis pulled it away.
"Slowly. You'll choke otherwise."
Isaac let his head sink back into the pillows. His gaze searched for Noctis, lingered on him, even though everything was slightly blurred.
He cleared his throat softly.
"How long… has it been?"
The words cost him more strength than they should have. He had to force himself to stay awake.
"Four days," Noctis replied calmly. "Do you want to know what happened?"
Isaac nodded.
For a moment, something in Noctis' expression shifted. His gaze darkened, closed off.
"The cop caught you," he said at last. "When you tried to run."
The words struck a nerve.
All at once, the memory of the heist flashed back—how he had run from the cop, the gunshots, the shattered pieces of art.
"He hit you three times," Noctis continued. He paused briefly, as if forcing himself to go on. "A graze wound on your left thigh, one bullet lodged in your left shoulder blade, and another pierced your right side. It hit your liver and nearly made you bleed out. On top of that, you're missing a piece of your intestine now—and your gallbladder. You were lucky. If that bullet had struck just a little further to the left, it would have hit your abdominal artery, and you wouldn't be here with me anymore."
The words hung heavily in the room.
With each sentence, his voice had grown quieter, more fragile. By the end, it was barely more than a whisper. There was something open in his expression, vulnerable in a way Isaac rarely saw.
The guilt hit him full force.
"You were scared," Isaac said softly.
It wasn't a question.
Noctis didn't answer immediately. But his expression confirmed everything.
"I could only patch you up as best as I could," he finally went on, his voice rough. "When we reached the alley behind the museum… you stopped breathing."
A single tear slipped down his cheek.
"I had to resuscitate you." His fingers twitched slightly, as if the memory still lingered in them. "I broke two or three of your ribs in the process…"
He closed his eyes briefly.
"I'm sorry, Isaac. There was no other way."
That explained the sharp pain with every breath.
Something tightened in Isaac's chest at the sight of him. He rarely saw Noctis this openly hurt, and it pained him that Noctis had had to go through all of this.
Noctis had suffered, while Isaac had simply been unconscious—making his lover's life a living hell.
He withdrew his hand and, with all the strength he could muster, lifted his arm.
Gently, he brushed the tear away.
Noctis immediately leaned into the touch, as if he had been waiting for it.
"I'm sorry…," Isaac murmured quietly. "I didn't want to cause you any trouble."
A soft, rough laugh escaped Noctis.
"I'm just glad you made it, darling," he said, leaning in to kiss Isaac on the lips. "I still can't believe you pulled through."
A faint smile crossed Isaac's face.
"I'm tougher than you think."
Then his expression grew more serious.
"Did you even sleep during all this time?"
"Unimportant," Noctis deflected immediately.
"Noc—"
Isaac didn't get any further.
Noctis placed a finger on his lips, silencing him.
"No. What matters is that you get better."
Isaac sighed softly.
"Then at least lie down next to me."
"No," came the answer without hesitation. "You need rest."
Isaac let his head tilt slightly to the side.
"And who's the stubborn one now…," he murmured tiredly. After a brief pause, he added, "Where are we, anyway?"
"In a safe place," Noctis replied. "No one will harm you here. You can focus entirely on your recovery."
The words sounded reassuring—and yet something about them lingered. A nuance Isaac would normally have questioned.
But not now.
The effect of the pain medication continued to spread through him, making everything softer, more muted. His thoughts unraveled before they could fully form.
Did it even matter? As long as Noctis was with him, everything was fine.
"Noc…," Isaac murmured drowsily. "I want you to lie down next to me and get some sleep."
"Isaac…"
Isaac just looked at him—tired, but with a faint smile.
"My wounds heal faster when you're lying next to me," he said weakly, reaching out his hand toward him. "Don't make me ask again."
Noctis hesitated.
Then he sighed, stood up, and gently lowered Isaac back down properly. He removed the pillows he had arranged, pulled the blanket over him, and then carefully lay down beside him on the bed. His hand brushed softly over Isaac's arm.
"I wish I could lie in your arms," Isaac murmured sleepily. "…and feel your warmth."
Noctis moved a little closer until he could rest his head against Isaac's shoulder. Isaac leaned his head against Noctis' and closed his eyes, content.
It wasn't perfect—but it was exactly what he needed in that moment.
Slowly, he intertwined their fingers.
"Don't ever do something like that again," Noctis said quietly, barely more than a whisper. "I don't want to go through that again."
Isaac squeezed his hand weakly.
"I don't plan on leaving you."
A brief moment of silence.
Then, softer:
"Noc?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you… for saving me." A breath. "And… I'm sorry for scaring you like that."
Noctis' fingers tightened around his.
"You must never leave me alone, darling."
A faint smile formed on Isaac's lips as the weight of exhaustion caught up with him again.
There was still so much he wanted to ask.
But his thoughts slowed, fractured, until they finally faded away.
Before he even fully realized it, he had fallen asleep again.
___
Isaac dragged himself down the hallway, step by step, each one costing more strength than the last. It was already after dinner, the voices of the other children had grown quieter, softened by the approaching night.
He should have been in his own bed by now.
Isaac had taken a few hits; they had spat on him, and one or two blows had landed on his face. But not hard enough to knock out a tooth or anything like that.
They had held back.
For whatever reason.
But it didn't matter.
He no longer really felt the pain, and in truth, he didn't care. It wasn't important what happened to him, and it didn't matter on which day they decided to beat him. The only thing that mattered was checking on Levi before going to sleep.
When he finally stood in front of Levi's door, he paused. His breathing was shallow—not just from exhaustion. For a moment, he closed his eyes, gathering himself before raising his hand to knock.
But before his knuckles touched the door, he stopped.
He heard laughter from inside the room. One of the voices was Levi's, laughing loudly.
Isaac froze.
So he was okay?
The tension in Isaac's body released all at once. A quiet breath escaped him, almost inaudible, but filled with relief. He remained standing there for a moment, his hand still half-raised, as if considering whether to knock anyway.
But then he lowered it.
Levi wasn't alone.
And he sounded… happy.
That was enough.
Slowly, Isaac turned away from the door. His steps were quieter now, more careful, as if he didn't even want to risk being noticed. The hallway suddenly felt longer, emptier.
Isaac headed toward the washroom so he could clean himself up. Levi must have had his reasons for not showing up, and as long as he was okay, Isaac was satisfied.
Everything else didn't matter.