visiting hours /val+rith

You weren’t quite sure what the protocol was for this sort of thing.

After your last match, they’d been quick to dress your wounds with gauze and whatever sort of tinctures that would set the still dripping wound on the back of your head so that they could get a good set of photos with the organizers of the tournament. Heavy bandages had been wrapped as tight as possible around your chest to soak up the blood and to make sure that none of it leaked out through your shirt. They had to be sure you were presentable enough when they had you gladhand all the people who wanted a piece of their newest prize.

But you were never made to take in fake pleasantries or to tell the sort of story that would set all their heads back with laughter. You were an unhewn boulder with as much of a personality one, too. At least, one that you’d ever be willing to share with the likes of those you’d never met before. Those that could sing you praises just as easily cut you apart.

You excused yourself to head back to the medical tents, feigning some sort of need to re-wrap your bandages, when in reality it was to get some fresh air.

You’d pressed back into the gardens only to spy Val by his lonesome.

Maybe you could’ve turned around. He wouldn’t have wanted to see the boy that’d cut him down so quick. Not after the promise of a dance. And yet.

“Are you holding up okay?” You’re ten feet from him when you say it, hands in your pockets, eyes drawn downward. He looked nice. Better than the way you’d left him.

It was the way he said your name – going up in pitch – that had the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. He didn’t mind you being there in the slightest, in fact, it seemed as though he wanted to know all about what had transpired since you’d nearly cut him to pieces. You looked at him then as he winced, mentioning he was stuck there for a bit longer until his mother came back.

Would your grandfather have minded if you spent an extra few days staying in town, spending at least a little bit of your hard earned winnings? The thought crosses your mind as you stare at Val, rebounding in his dressings. He’s got a warmth that had been missing from the boys that you knew, the ones with long faces and glares to show off how tough each of them was.

“They all want me to train at their gyms, so they can use my name in advertising them.” You reply. No one had offered to pay you to work out and spar at their gym before, but then, your name had never meant anything to anyone. Now you imagined you could make enough money to move with your mother and grandfather into an apartment with rooms for each of you, so you wouldn’t have to hear your grandfather’s snoring every night.

“I got a medal, and a trophy. They have them back inside, I didn’t feel like carrying them around.” You smiled and gave a shrug. “I’ll save that for when I get home.”

You moved a little closer to him in his wheelchair. “Would you want someone to… push you around maybe? To go for a walk?”