by Kallysten
“How about you?” he asked, chasing away the hint of guilt he felt with a shake of his head. “You said…”
Eli’s voice trailed off again when Calden approached and, without warning, leaned down and pressed his mouth to Eli’s for a quick peck that was over before Eli even knew it had happened. Calden straightened up again and observed Eli as though waiting for his reaction.
“I’ve cared for you for years,” he said very quietly. “I never thought you’d ever care the same way in return.”
Their gazes remained locked for a few seconds before Calden returned to the piano.
“Clearly we’re both idiots,” Eli said, a little choked up. It was silly, really, that a small kiss could touch him like this after the past day. And yet.
Calden smiled. He was about to start playing again when words fell from Eli’s lips that he hadn’t meant to voice.
“Your mother said something to me earlier.”
Calden snorted. “Lana never learned to keep her nose out of my life. What did she say?”
“She claims your music says something about me.”
“Well, on that at least she was right,” Calden said with a quick look at him.
“How would she know?”
Calden’s light shrug felt forced. “Unlike you, my mother speaks Russian.”
“The title?”
“Your name.”
Eli couldn’t help but think of the past few weeks, of every time Calden had sat at the piano and worked on that new piece of music. Had he been thinking of Eli every time? Adding up clues he’d forget again before finally deciding to raise the topic with Eli? How much courage had he needed to take that leap with such limited information?
“Play it for me?” Eli requested, his voice too raw to rise much above a whisper.
Calden played it, starting from the first note, playing everything Eli had heard before in snatches, and composing the end as he went. It was beautiful, more so than Eli could express in words, and the only answer he could offer when Calden finished was a kiss.
(next chronological chapter)
August 15th & 16th
Calden wakes up with a pounding headache.
He doesn’t remember going to sleep, but he does remember when the headache started, and… Was Eli there? The headache makes everything a little foggy, and he isn’t sure whether he just dreamed Eli’s presence or if Eli was really there. Either way, judging by the fact that the alarm clock claims it’s eleven at night, Calden has undoubtedly missed their lunch.
All this time convincing himself it can’t go on this way and he has to tell Eli even if it means giving up on their friendship, and now he’s missed his chance. He groans, annoyed with himself, already half-sure that he won’t go through with it now. As much as he wants to break the status quo, he knows his own mind, that he’s scared of losing Eli and that the odds of Eli responding in a positive way are slim to none.
Massaging his temple with the fingers of one hand, he grabs the dressing gown hanging behind the door and slips it on then steps out of his bedroom. He hasn’t even come down to the kitchen yet when he hears Eli’s voice, a quiet mutter that might be meant for Eli himself.
“Oh, hell no. It hasn’t even been five hours.”
“Eli?” Calden says, confused and still rubbing ineffectually at his temple as though he can push away the pain pounding in his head. “What are you doing here?”
Eli joins Calden in the hallway from the living room. He starts to say something but frowns at Calden and seems to change his mind about what to say.
“What’s wrong? Headache?”
“Yes, I… Why are you here? Were you here earlier? I can’t quite remember what happened.”
Eli’s face is utterly blank, showing nothing as he reaches up and lays his palm against Calden’s forehead. Calden stills at the unexpected touch.
“No fever,” Eli says, walking into the kitchen to fill a glass of water. “But if you still have a headache, you should try to sleep a bit longer. Come on, doctor’s orders, back to bed.”
Holding the glass in one hand, Eli rests the other on Calden’s shoulder and pushes gently until Calden turns around. He should protest, say he got enough sleep, gather enough courage to tell Eli… but it’s hard to do any of that when Eli’s hand is still on his shoulder, coaxing him back upstairs.
In the bedroom, Eli picks up a small bottle from the night table and hands Calden two pills with the glass of water.
“For your headache,” he says, and watches Calden take the pills. Not aspirin; the pills are round, unfamiliar. Calden thinks of taking a look at the prescription bottle, but his head hurts too much for him to care right now.
Eli takes the empty glass from Calden. “All right, back to bed.”
“It’s only a headache,” Calden protests. “I just woke up, I’m not tired. Besides, we haven’t talked in three weeks and…” Calden’s heart jumps as he makes up his mind and forges ahead. “There’s… there’s something I meant to tell you.”
Eli shakes his head. “You can say it when you wake up. I’ll be there, I promise. But you really need to get some more sleep, Calden. Please.”
“You’ll be there?” Calden repeats, feeling very slow—and suddenly very, very tired. When Eli tugs the dressing gown off him, Calden doesn’t have it in him to stop him or help. His legs feel heavy, as do his eyelids. He sits on the edge of the bed, blinking up at Eli who gives him a thin smile.
“I’ll be there,” Eli says again, more softly now. “If someone tries to tell you anything different, she’s lying and you can tell her from me to leave you the hell alone.”
The same gentle hand that helped Calden out of his dressing gown now pushes him to lie down, then tugs the sheet and duvet over him. Calden wants to say… something. Ask who ‘someone’ is, because Eli sounds like he means a very particular person. Ask why he’s here, why he’ll be there, what his husband will say about it. Ask if he knows how much Calden cares about him, how much Calden—
But his mind is drowsy and slow, his eyes are closing, and he can barely hear Eli say, “More than five hours, this time. You’ve got nine days to make up for. Please.”
He has no idea what this means.
The confession he meant to make never passes his lips.
*
Of his full-to-bursting bladder or desperately empty stomach, Calden can’t say which is the one that wakes him. His mind still groggy from sleep, he goes to take care of the first—and in doing so, notices the words tattooed on his arm.
He goes as far as washing his hands, then he has to sit down from feeling a little lightheaded, both from hunger and from the information he just read on his own skin. Perched on the edge of the bathtub, he closes his eyes and accesses his memory palace, walking up to the front door, checking every cue one by one and the memories associated with each of them. He goes through five rooms before his heartbeat starts to calm down a little.
“All right,” he murmurs to himself. “Just anterograde. Nothing more.”
Why it’s such a comfort, he can’t quite say. Maybe for the simple fact that he hasn’t lost everything.
He returns to his memories, this time trying to pinpoint the last thing he remembers.
Eli.
The last thing he remembers is Eli coming to his house when Calden missed their lunch date. He looks at the tattoo on his arm again. It’s completely healed, with no hint of redness or irritation, so it’s been there for a while. How long has it been since Calden had the words inked into his skin?
How long since he was diagnosed?
Stepping back into his bedroom, he gets dressed, putting on an old t-shirt, pajama pants, and a dressing gown. For the first time he notices the voices coming from downstairs. He can’t distinguish the words, but the voices are familiar enough: Lana and Eli.
Drawing the belt tight over his grumbling belly, Calden steps down to join them. He finds them both in the kitchen, with Eli stirring something in a pot on the gas range whil
e Lana stands by the fridge, watching him. She notices Calden first and gives him a weak smile.
“Hello, darling. How are you feeling?”
Calden frowns at her, confused beyond words. He must be dreaming; there’s no other explanation for why his mother is in his home and calling him ‘darling’ the way she hasn’t done in at least twenty years. As for Eli, who is now turning to look at Calden… Why is he here? And cooking?
“Does your head still hurt?” Eli asks grimly.
“My head? No, I’m fine. I…”
Whatever else he was going to say is lost when Lana comes to give him a brief hug.
“Oh, Calden,” she says, and her voice is a little shaky. “You shouldn’t scare us like that.”
“Lana,” Eli says, his tone reproachful.
She pulls back, her expression smoothing out again, all emotions disappearing as she stands at parade rest. “Right. Well, I’m glad you’re better. I probably should go now. Unless… Eli?”
“Yes, better if you go,” Eli says. “I’ll give you a call later.”
It’s a dismissal if Calden ever heard one. Lana leaves, a nod her only goodbye. Calden watches her go, mystified as to why she’s taking orders from Eli or why she was even here.
He tries to gather the few pieces he’s been given so far. He did something that scared Eli enough that he called Lana… Unless she was the one who called him? Whatever it was, that something might have resulted in either a head wound or headache—the latter, more than likely, as there is no bandage on Calden’s skull. He looks at Eli, but before he can decide which of a dozen questions to ask first, Eli shakes his head.
“You’ve got questions,” he says with a wry smile. “You’ll get your answers. But first you need to eat something. Sit.”
Soon, Calden is seated at the table with a bowl of spicy soup in front of him and a notebook open to the first page. He eats absently while reading his own handwriting, satisfying both his hunger and his thirst for answers. Every now and then, he looks up to where Eli is standing by the kitchen door and asks a question.
“What’s the date?”
“August sixteenth.”
More than three months already since his diagnosis…
“And Lana agreed to put me in your care?”
Eli snorts at that. “Are you saying you’d have gone to live with your mother? Seriously?”
Calden grimaces. No, he wouldn’t have. The only person under whose care he can see himself is Eli, and even that chafes in unexpected ways. He understands why he needs someone there, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.
“What about…”
He stops himself before saying Bryce’s name. He would never have consented to Eli living here. The diary says Eli shares the house with Calden, and the ring that used to be on his left hand is gone… The conclusion is easy to draw.
“We’re divorced,” Eli answers the silent question, his voice absolutely void of emotion.
Calden nods at his soup and doesn’t answer. He’s not going to say he’s sorry. Eli hardly ever knows when Calden is lying, but that just might be too big of a lie to go unnoticed.
He’s reached the bottom of his bowl of soup as well as the end of the notebook, but if his hunger is sated, he still has a few questions. Sitting back in his chair, he observes Eli for a moment, while Eli observes him in return. His arms are crossed over his chest now, his posture rigid, and the small smile he was sporting earlier is gone.
“There’s something you want to say to me,” Calden says, and it’s not a question.
Eli nods. “As smart as ever. Come to the living room. And take your diary, you’re going to need it.”
He goes first, and his steps might be those of a man marching to the battlefront. Calden follows, the notebook in hand, and sits across from him in his armchair.
“How long was I awake?” he asks.
A thin, dangerous smile curls the corners of Eli’s mouth.
“How do you know?”
Calden shrugs. “My first instinct upon reading that I forget whenever I fall asleep was to wonder how long I can go without sleeping. Lana said I scared you, and as a doctor, I expect you would react poorly to me experimenting on sleep deprivation on myself. Then there’s your question about a possible headache, which can be a symptom of lack of sleep. Add to that the fact that I seem to have slept for quite a long time, and it can all only mean one thing. So. How long was I awake?”
“You,” Eli says with a slight shake of his head, “are amazing. You are also the most infuriating man I ever had the pleasure of knowing. You were awake for nine days—”
When Calden makes a quiet, appreciative noise, Eli’s voice rises with anger.
“—and wipe that smile off your face because that is not an achievement. You said you wanted to know how long you can function without sleep, but you were not functioning, Calden. You were having hallucinations, from the third day onward, I think. And in the end you went into a full-blown psychosis episode. I expect you don’t need me to define that for you. So you are not doing that again. Put it in your diary. If you ever try to pull that kind of idiotic stunt again, I swear…”
He pauses then, as though hesitating about the threat he’s about to deliver, and Calden’s throat tightens. If Eli says he’ll leave if Calden does this again, if he makes it clear that leaving Calden to fend for himself is something he could consider…
“I’ll sedate you by force,” Eli finishes, his voice growing harder with each word. “Lana will help if needed. I agreed to move in to help you. If you won’t listen to reason, I’ll do whatever I need to make sure you don’t hurt yourself. Are we clear?”
Calden scowls at him. “You’re not my nanny. If you think you can just send me to bed whenever you feel like it—”
Eli’s loud, raucous laugh silences him.
“Whenever I feel like it?” he repeats. “Do you think this is fun for me? Do you think I enjoy watching you argue with someone who isn’t there? Or watching you yell at Doctor Samford? Or hurt her?”
Calden’s mouth snaps shut. Was it that bad, really? Is that what Eli meant by psychosis? He can’t imagine any circumstances under which he’d willingly hurt Caroline. He must have been out of his mind.
“How long will you allow me, then?” he asks, and the question leaves a bitter taste on his tongue.
“Two days,” Eli says immediately. “And don’t bother trying to argue. I’m still mad at you for being so damn bone-headed. If you want to get into a shouting match, you’re not going to win.”
Calden has seen that harsh gleam in Eli’s eyes before; it’s almost daring him to object. It’s also warning him that this is a fight he has no way of winning. In a few days, or maybe a few weeks, when Eli has calmed down, Calden will have a better chance to plead his case. Until then, he might as well appear to agree.
“Very well,” he says, opening the diary and pulling the pen free from the spine. “Two days. I’ll write it in.”
Eli gives him a suspicious look. It’s clear he didn’t expect Calden to yield so quickly, which means it must have been the right decision to let it go for now. He writes a few words in about the nine-day experiment. He’s tempted to put in a note to remind himself to argue about the two-day limit in a week or so, but he doesn’t know who reads this diary other than himself, and it would defeat the purpose to inform Eli a new fight is coming. Besides, such a reminder is probably not needed. That rule is going to get annoying, and fast.
After writing it in, he thumbs through the rest of the notebook for a moment, re-reading a few parts. The one about Eli is both intriguing and frustratingly sparse. He easily understands why there isn’t more there: some of his thoughts or observations about Eli are not meant for anyone, least of all Eli himself. But how can Calden add up clues when he doesn’t have all the facts? He’d like to think he was a factor in Eli separating from Bryce—would like to believe Eli chose Calden over him—but for all he knows the timing of divorce and illness was coinc
idental. It’s against his nature to believe in coincidences, but if he guessed something different and was wrong…
He pulls out of his thoughts to find Eli watching him.
“What?” he says, feeling defensive despite himself, as though Eli had any way to guess what Calden is thinking about.
“Nothing,” Eli says, shaking his head once. “I need to go to the store but…”
“But you don’t want to leave me alone,” Calden says, rolling his eyes. “What if I say I will not leave the house?”
Eli considers him for a few seconds. “Is that a promise?”
“If you need it to be. Yes, it’s a promise.”
It’s not a hard promise to give, either. Solitude sounds good right now. Eli’s presence makes it difficult to think.
And still, when Eli leaves with a promise of his own that he won’t be long, Calden immediately feels like something is off. Missing. It’s very odd. Being under Eli’s care is verging on uncomfortable, but not having him there is worse.
Annoyed with himself, Calden leaves his diary on the armchair and goes to the piano. From the dust on the cover, it seems it’s been a while since he played. He pulls a soft cloth from the compartment inside the seat and proceeds to dust the upright piano, caressing every inch of wood until it gleams. Finally sitting down, he lets his fingers dance on the keys and plays a few phrases from random pieces, but soon his fingers still as a thought emerges in his mind.
He needs to keep a record about Eli, about the way he acts now, about what it might mean—for example, about his anger today, and the fact that he barely let it out; about his threat to sedate Calden, and the lack of threat to leave. And if he can’t put all that in words…
It takes him only seconds to find blank sheets and a pencil. At the top of the first page, he writes two words: ЭлиРайт. Eli’s name, but Eli wouldn’t know that if he saw it. Then he sets his fingers on the keys again and endeavors to send himself a message through musical notes.
