86A/N: Okay...here is my re-write to Love is Blind - a fic I wrote that I didn't much like - although it's almost completely different now. I think it's better than before, though, so no worries. The only thing that's still the same is the small part in the beginning about a fire. I decided to write it in first person from now on, though there will probably be a third person if a character other than Carmen or Kyle is narrating - not too often, I promise.
Disclaimer: I own the - hopefully - new and improved characters of this story, not to mention the plot.
Warnings: Slash, MxM, yaoi, whatever you want to call it. Probably some bad language and sexual situations, though it won't be anything too bad. If it is, I'll up the rating. But I don't think that will be necessary.
Summary: Carmen survived the tragic accident that stole his parents and his voice. He thinks he can now handle anything. Throw in a playboy therapist and an overprotective, mysterious new guardian. Now he's not so sure anymore.
Prologue: The Broken Boy
Hot flames licked my face and I couldn't stop screaming. I flung my limbs out all around me, trying to find some sort of a haven from the fire, but I couldn't - there wasn't. It was everywhere and soon I was breathing in all the smoke like a dragon from one of my dad's storybooks, but unlike the mythical creature, my lungs weren't made for this scorching heat and couldn't take it, so I coughed and gasped. My screams soon became muffled and my eyes began to water, but I wouldn't give up - I wasn't ready to die like this, not yet. I continued weakly flailing my arms and kicking my legs until something - inside me or around me? - gave away and I felt a jagged pain burning through my throat, the sharp and almost metallic taste of blood, before the world turned its lights out for me.
'I'm sorry...'
'It can't be...'
'His voice...'
The sound of an argument woke me up. It wasn't particularly loud; in fact, it seemed to me like they were trying to be quiet. I wouldn't have even known they were arguing if it hadn't been for the passion behind their heated whispers.
There were two of them, both men. One was a middle-aged man in a long, white overcoat, possibly a doctor of some sort. The other was a very handsome man with ash-blonde hair and eyes hidden behind mirrored lenses. Something about him was oddly familiar. Neither noticed that I was awake - awake and observing - and I didn't clue them in. Why should I? I didn't owe them anything. If anything, they owed me! After all, I didn't know where I was.
The last thing I remembered was the picnic. Every year, my parents and I, along with our dog, get into a car and drive. We drive on and on until we come to our favorite picnic spot: a small clearing by an almost magical lakeside. I love going there and I have gone for the last seventeen-or-so years, but this year I was reluctant. Don't ask why because I wouldn't know. It was just a feeling - intuition, you could say - but my parents were loath to believe.
'He's probably just embarrassed to be spending so much time with us,' Father had answered when I told them of my feelings. Mother had pinched her lips together angrily and demanded we go, if only one last time. They didn't believe me about my bad feeling...but maybe I was right? Why else would I be here in this sterile room with a doctor and a stranger? That thought gave life to another, more horrible one. Where were my parents?
I sat up in bed and two pairs of eyes, the doctor's and the man's, turned to me. Both looked immediately alarmed and ran to my side, one on each end of the mattress I was resting in. They had reason to be worried; it had hurt like hell lifting myself off of the bed. Looking down at myself, I realized why. I was covered in bandages, starting from my throat, running past my chest, and peaking under my hospital-issued blanket. I looked up at the two men inquisitively. Both grimaced, though they tried to hide the expression, and that only furthered my curiosity.
"I know you're probably wondering about what's going on," the handsome stranger began in - what he probably thought was - a soothing voice. "But you have to rest now, Carmen, and we – I – promise to explain everything to you later."
I raised my brows and opened my mouth, intending to answer, but found that I couldn't. Panic flooded in as I raised my hands, clawing at my bandaged throat in an attempt to get my voice free. In answer to my panic, the blonde man panicked as well.
"What the hell is wrong with him!?" he yelled at the doctor, who attempted to placate us both. He placed his cold, gloved hands on my shoulders and pushed me back onto the mattress, pulling my hands away at the first opportunity and resting them against my chest. There was something shiny in his hand and it glinted in the bright, generic lights. He slid it gently into my left arm and I whimpered. The familiar stranger responded by taking my hand into his own and stroking it with the pads of his fingertips. It was oddly soothing. My vision went fuzzy at the edges and the world darkened around me. The last thing I felt was the warmth of his hand around mine.
"There was some extensive damage to his voice-box," the doctor finally offered, looking infinitely regretful. The blonde man remained silent for a while and the doctor feared that he would remain silent forever, just like the sleeping boy, but the man finally answered.
"Will he ever be okay?" His voice was tired as he raised up a hand to sooth the pressure building behind the bridge of his nose. The sleeping boy whimpered and he immediately returned the appendage, sighing and turning to the doctor, who furrowed his brows in confusion.
"Okay? Physically, he will heal, though in all likelihood, he may never speak again. Emotionally, though, I can't be sure. You might want to find him a therapist, I can even suggest a few, if you'd like?" The blonde nodded, accepting the other man's technical answer, and stared down at the peaceful figure before him. The doctor allowed him his silence, turning around to leave the room, but he turned back just as he was about to leave. "What will you do now?"
The blonde didn't even look up. "I'm taking him home."
Nodding, the doctor finally left the room, not turning back. He didn't know why, but he just couldn't keep a professional detachment when it came to this case. Silently, he whispered a small prayer to the god he'd never before believed in. 'Please help this boy – this family – and I will not doubt miracles again...'
A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you to my wonderful beta, CyneNoir. She's awesome and brilliant and simply amazing. You should read her work.
Thank you: Everyone who has read and reviewed Love is Blind. I hope you'll like this better.
R&R: I hope you like this! I mean, I'm kind of anxious about this. Please leave me reviews - I love to hear your thoughts, even if, especially if, you leave me critiques. 3