There was something about pain. Something about it’s blindingly white, cold shock. It genuinely comforted him.

“Is it because it reminds you you’re alive?” she asked, trying not to pick at her bandages. They were new. New and white.

No. It didn’t really have anything to do with that. Not like it did for her. He kept that latter part to himself.

“Maybe it’s the adrenaline rush. That’s what it was for Mickey.”

He knew what it was for Mickey. Something about how close it could come. How far away it was. But Mickey wasn’t very good at judging the distance.

“They say he’s going to pull through.”

He shouldn’t have had to pull through. They were supposed to be watching Mickey close. More close than either of them. She never did much more than graze the surface. He didn’t always do that. One didn’t have to break the skin to feel pain.

“It’s not about the pain for me,” she admitted. “It’s watching the red. It’s always so red, isn’t it?”

He took her hands, removing them from her arms. After doing so, he removed his own bandage and pinched the skin. It wasn’t a big deal, it wasn’t something that needed more than a simple plaster, so no one had really paid attention to it. But he could pinch it, right there, and it still hurt. It welled a little, the red she liked. It distracted her from her own blood.

“I wonder why I like the red so much?”