Dronning murmurs echo against his foggy senses. Sickly white floors stretch far, nauseating vivid light flickers above, the shadow of his eyelashes bending at the curve of his high-boned cheek. Squeezing shut his eyes, an open draft flutters, static noise muffles in the distance, a constant hum. Sore clasped fingers strain against bone, palms tightly flushed together, skin stretching. The tapping below doesn’t stop. 

Droplets of sweat beading together, scorching as they drip down the neck of his bowed head. A father’s quiet hum soothing their upset child, a nasty sputtering coughing, seizing sneezes and ailing sniffs. Mouth dry, throat too sore to swallow, the tapping below doesn’t stop. Red itchy skin prickle, raw and vivid at every minor movement, nails digging further into his flushed knuckles. The bandages underneath his navy hoodie vividly pressing against aching flesh. 

Quiet chatter rose, the front desk telephone blasting awake, his body jolting right up, blaring against Isaias’ ears. Rattling against the floors, the static noise stretching back from his senses. Cold sweat trickles behind his ears as his eyes flick around, taking in the clinic’s wide waiting area, air is so thin that he stutters for an uneasy breath. 

“Isaias García?” A voice calls out. 

The name has his heart plummeting, launching him back into a brittle reality. Tongue layed heavy, numb in his dry mouth unable to form a word in response. Isaias stumbles to his feet, static buzz drilling into his ears, air too slow. Dizzy, Isaias shook out a wobbly breath, throat closing. 

“Right here,” Jon calls out, lifting his hand, the burly man gathers their belongings and heads to the voice in question.

A gentle hand presses against the back of his shoulder, startling Isaias to his side. Loose waves gathered up into a tame bun, the sweet linger of rosewater weaving through the air, a slim brass earring falling to a teardrop. The touch is scorching. 

Maywa stood tall, something solid in her air but even Isaias could see the exhausted lines sagging her form. A significant curl of a smile melted away her weary expression, as if nothing was out of the ordinary, simply a regular day in the week. Sickness drenches his gut, Isaias drops his eyes to his trainers, nails burying into skin.

“Vamos, amor,” Maywa leads forward, her hand guiding. 

With each heavy step the thumping grew, an aching tremor trembling through the muscles of his knee, Isaias fought not to buckle under its sharpness. Clenching his jaw, teeth grinding. 

The presence of many eyes towered over him, narrowing at every detail of his scornful state, the thumping jumped. Scorching heat washes over him. Shoulders hunching, desperate to make himself smaller, unnoticeable, only for chills to run behind his neck trickling down his back. His ears sizzled as icy memories churned in the pit of his stomach. 

“Isaias García?” Inquired a short lean man dressed up in professional navy scrubs, politely smiling upon seeing the small family. 

Jon gave one of his winning sun-filled smiles, “Yes, that would be us,” Patting Isaias shoulder, “--him more specifically,”

The nurse chuckles, nodding, taking in the tall boy’s hunched form, Isaias' broad shoulders tensed under the gaze. Jon’s large hand hovered over his arm comfortingly but Isaias drowned in its suffocating air. 

“Okay that’s perfect,” The nurse slid a clipboard under his arm as a silver name tag glints on the right side of his chest, “My name is David, I’ll be showing you the way. Please follow me,”

The man gestured to double doors, slipping to the side, holding a door open.

Isaias' breathing stutters, chest heavy with unforgiving emotions. Pulse drilling into his ears, thudding, its vibration freezing his feet to the ground. 

“Come on,” A heavy hand gently gives him a gentle nudge, Isaias blinks awake and looks to his side.

Met an aching expression withering on Jon’s tired face, eyes soft with a trying smile, thin sleepless lines deepening under the clinic’s lights. The gentlest ruffle of curls behind his head has Isaias numbly walking forward through double doors. 

Following behind a fast pace nurse, through wide stretched corridors, each echoing footstep itching into Isaias’ ears. Perfectly lined occupied chairs sat flush against the walls, nothing but coughs and small groans in the hollow space. Legs felt too heavy, breath too short. Numbers flash at the corner of his eyes, snapping to the floor in fear of what they might spark back into his foggy mind. The thudding wedged at his throat.

The nurse slowly begins to slow, finally halting to a stop in front of a wooden door. David knocks, and turns to them, “Just one minute please,” And walks right inside, a cheery greeting muffled as the door closes.

Leaving the small cluster of three in suspenseful silence. Uncomfortably heavy, nowhere to turn but the bare truth, between Jon’s tense form and Maywa’s silent war. Isaias stared down at his picked fingers, pressing down on a bleeding cuticle.

Its sharp sting was the only distraction he could give himself before the door finally opened. An elegant form stepped out, beaming a welcoming smile, straight hair trimmed below her soft curved jaw and skin giving a warm olive glow. A well-suited white coat draping at the knees, navy scrubs hugging a slim form. 

“Hello, I’m Doctor Badakar,” The doctor greeted lively, stepping forward to shake Maywa and Jon’s hands, “I’ll be helping Isaias García’s treatment today.”

Jon gave an equally vibrant smile as they all greeted the doctor, “Please, come in, come in,” Dr Badakar stepped aside, widely stretching the door open as they all entered the room.

Isaias followed close behind Maywa, swallowing uneasily, taking in the clinic room. 

Bone cream walls surrounded them, bright lights practically dizzying. The tinge of disinfectant in the air flushing against Isaias’ throat, in a sickly familiar aftertaste. Spotless white cabinets lined both sides of the grand room, at its center an adjustable bed lay waiting. Dull washed-out blue floors, Isaias kept his eyes firmly down to his shoelaces, practically blank with raging thoughts. 

“Please sit,” The nurse smiled, gesturing to cushioned chairs across from Dr Badakar's tall chair.

Feeling himself steered, Isaias tensely sat down beside his Aunt. Jon slipped his cap off, running his fingers through thick hair. There is this uncomfortable shift to his shoulders, hesitating before settling himself next to his nephew. 

The doctor shone a smile, “So how is everyone today?” 

“All good, we just like to see how things go today,” Jon responds with a light flutter of what seemed like a breathless laugh, “If there’s anything we need to know before-” Jon swallows, straining a tight smile, “The check-up.”

“This is our first time here, and we’d really like to understand the process before anything,“ Maywa adds honestly, fingers clasping tightly as they strained.

“Of course,” The doctor understandably nods, adjusting forward to the couple, “From what I’ve been informed, Mr García is currently under your care, yes?” 

“That’s right,” 

“I understand this is a delicate situation,” Dr. Badakar begins, turning her chair slightly back, coming back with a slim stack of papers, “And I want to be completely clear on everything that will be proceeding today,”

Rough hands pressed together, fingertips pressing against knuckles. Jon exhaled a breath out. He took a small glance at his nephew beside him. With a bowed spine, the boy’s broad shoulders took space yet to Jon, Isaias looked so frighteningly small.

Maywa set her shoulders back, hands clasped tightly together.