Steven didn’t care. He needed to see Conrad, alive. Hurting maybe, but alive and breathing.
There was only a tiny circular window in the Isolation Unit, less than ten inches across. Steven had to press his cheek to the glass to see Conrad.
The sight chilled him. Conrad looked pale and washed out on the white hospital sheets. His mocha skin was gray with pain and fatigue. An IV drip towered over the bed. Steven winced to see the sharp needle in Conrad’s arm. His eyes were closed, the bulk of his once-strong body looking soft and pitiful on the bed.
Oh, please get better. Lover, get better, I need you.
* * * *
For the next two days, Steven bounced between Dr. Lugo’s small office, the window to the Isolation Unit, and the hospital cafeteria. He washed in the men’s restroom. The nurses to
