The Dead Boy's Guide To Second Chances

18. gladiator in the ring

FOUR MONTHS AND TWELVE DAYS AFTER THE DEATH OF OLIVER SALLOW

"Ouch! It bloody burns!"

"Of course it burns! It's a piercing!"

With a scowl, Nova slumps back onto her hands.

"I thought you said you've done this before," Oliver says, raising an eyebrow at her as he lowers the needle.

"I have. Several times," she snaps. A beat later, she admits, less sharp: "I might've not been entirely sober for them."

"Ah." Oliver reaches for the small box next to where Nova is perched on the edge of the desk. "Here. Pick."

Cheeks still an angry red—more, Oliver suspects, from embarrassment than true irritation—Nova snatches the box out of his grasp and goes rifling through her spoils. She nicked the piercing kit from the last case she worked (her fifth, though Oliver tries not to count), her own form of payment since they aren't compensated in any other way. When she showed up with it in the common room, Oliver didn't think about it twice before following her into the tiny storage room down the hall.

"This one," Nova says, and hands him a stud with a tiny skull.

Oliver takes it without comment and swiftly guides the piercing through her reddened earlobe. Once the clasp is fastened, he steps back and offers her his hand mirror.

"Not bad," she comments, studying his handiwork.

Humming, Oliver tosses her the small bottle of sterile saline. "Here. Keep that stud in for six weeks and don't touch it too much, you know the drill."

She taps her fingers to her brow in a mock salute. "Aye, captain."

Oliver slips the hand mirror back into his coat pocket. He's about to pack up the piercing set when Nova asks: "Hey, don't you want one as well?"

He pauses, cutting her a bewildered glance. "Hm?"

She gestures at the full box of piercing supplies. "I thought you'd be more thrilled about these. Don't you want another?"

"I don't think I have much capacity left," Oliver says, touching a hand to his already rather metallic ear. All of them were DIY projects in various bathrooms, in various towns.

"What about other places, then?" Mischief gleaming in her eyes, Nova taps a finger to her nose. "Like here?"

"You want to pierce my septum?"

"Sure, why not?"

Oliver studies her for a few seconds before he decidedly shakes his head. "No, thanks. I think I'm good on piercing infections for now." 

Truth be told, he's not entirely sure it could get infected—he still isn't entirely certain where the scope of his remaining bodily functions ends. His heart may have stilled, but some artifacts remain. He still feels pain, to stop him from being reckless. He still sleeps, likely as a way to keep him from going utterly insane in this state. Everything beyond that is a guessing game.

"Oh, come on. Don't tell me you're scared."

"Of you getting near my face with a needle?" Oliver says. "Very."

It's obviously a bait. Every other sentence between them is; their dynamic is a constant back and forth of half-serious barbs. It's an easy routine, something like normalcy when their current state is anything but.

It's what makes it all the more jarring when Nova's grin crumbles. "I let you do mine."

Oliver frowns. "You wanted me to do yours."