Nick’s fingers, just like time, hadn’t ceased and stopped their movement: they circled Brian’s arms, they draw lines and traced words, promptly erased in fear that they might be not only read but, more importantly, understood. 

Love. Pain. Joy. Dark. Light. 

And in those places where fingers couldn’t arrived, his lips took care to that absence: they took back again their place on Brian’s mouth, tasting its flavor that he never wanted to lose again, and then they travelled on that skin too hot, erasing any traces of tears that should never been allowed to be visible to everyone in the world. He never wanted to see them or would been able to. 

He should hate him, that was what he was supposed to feel. He should hate him for all the evil, deliberate and voluntary, that Brian had inflicted on him, his soul and heart. Or, maybe, he should hated him for that precious trust that now was broken, as if it was the most fragile chain. A part of him, a small dark corner of his soul, never stopped hating Brian. Huddled in a corner, that resentment was growing second by second, almost as if it was nourished by the words of forgiveness that Brian had spoken, even during his sleep and still prisoner of the fever. For now, that voice was only a faint whisper, still too weak to understand what was demanding in a loud voice. That voice was suppressed by the other part of his soul, that part that seemed to be flying in the air because it was finally free and able to reunite with its other half, guarded within Brian. 

They had spoken. Before Brian went to sleep, exhausted and weak, they had tried to remedy those days and weeks of silence, unfolding and finding comfort in the words of the other. Brian was the one who had spoken more, trying to make sense of a heinous act, yes, but still evidence of a love that even now Nick wondered what he had done to deserve. And that was what had hurt him more, the knowledge that he hadn’t been enough to keep beside him something so special. 

Now was the moment when the fear was starting to grown and become stronger. He had forgiven Brian but he couldn’t forget how easily the boy had been able to destroy him, their relationship and their love. How could he be able to trust him again? Could he be able to return to believe in that love and in that man without having doubts that could devoured slowly his soul? Could he give back himself once again without having the fear that it could happen a second time and with more devastating effects? No one could give him that assurance because that was where the challenge of love lived: to trust blindly, without hesitations or prohibitions. What was the right thing to do? 

His mind traveled from thought to thought, like a spinning top gone mad. But only one remained motionless, almost as if it knew that, once the others had got tired, it would have had all of his full attention. That was the thought that had been waiting there since that bloody night, when he found himself screaming those three words that he had always feared only as a vain and desperate attempt to bring Brian back. And now, only now, Nick realized that Brian had never heard them. 

"I love you." He murmured unconsciously, leaning his forehead against Brian. 

He didn’t expect an answer. But it came anyway, even if weak and sleepy. “Me too.” 

***

Brian leaned against the door frame, remaining silent as he watched Nick intent on painting, wearing an old shirt, now dirty and, at some point, even torn. Yet, it was also the clothe he loved most on Nick's body. 

Once Nick had told him that for stealing and knowing every little secret about him, he had only to listen to him when he was playing or singing: immersed into music, all of his barriers fell unconscious, leaving his soul to be seen as crystalline as the sea. The same was true for Nick and painting. Pencil and white paper were almost always inseparable from his fingers but those weren’t the surface where Nick would poured his hidden emotions. No. When Nick felt that he was about to burst, canvas and brushes would come and talk, scream and cry for his soul. 

Exactly as in that moment. Even if the figure of Nick covered most of the canvas, Brian was able to capture what he was still drawing: from the left top departed long strokes of a dense black, so painful to the sight while in the lower, instead, silver and white mingled together. At the center, however, there was a dense red bubble where inside two stick figures recreated a hug. There, on a white canvas, Nick had represented them and their story: love, pain, and the two of them trying to get back on their feet. And now, now it was time for him to collect both and bring them forward. 

Even though every step that brought him closer to Nick was a piece of suffering, Brian tried to push them  as far as possible, replacing them with all the love possible just so he could be able to give it to Nick and, at the same time, he would try to heal the wounds that he had caused. He leaned against him, his forehead in contact with his back and his hands clasped on his stomach. After a few seconds, Nick’s hands leaned over his. 

"You still have a fever. You should be in bed. " 

Brian tightened even more around Nick. "It was cold. You weren’t there." 

"I was ... I needed ... " The sentence trailed off with a sigh, full of tears that wanted to go out. 

Brian put his lips on his shoulder, leaving a kiss. "I know." 

A few minutes went by silent before Nick could and be able to speak again. "I love you but ... I hate you. We were perfect and now ... now everything is ruined and I ... I don’t what to do. Because we can0t go back to what we were. And I hate you for that. " The last word broke while the first sob escaped away, followed by drops that were going to die on their fingers intertwined together. 

Brian said nothing, simply dropped both on the floor, taking Nick tight around him, just as he had done a few days before. Every hiccup was a sharp blade searching and finding new skin to hurt and scar but Brian ignored the pain, not even comparable to what Nick was feeling in that moment. 

"We'll make it through, Nick." He muttered, not stopping for a second to caress the back or the boy's arm.

"How?" 

"With time. It doesn't matter how long it will take me but I’m gonna make things right again. I’m gonna fix you. I'm gonna fix us."