As Andrew walks in front of me, I can’t help but admire every single detail of his features.

  His Greek-shaped nose. His kissable lips. His scratchy beard. His blond and pretty, glossy hair. His rosy cheeks tinted by the chill of the early night, the sun setting below the horizon in purple and pink hues. His—

  “Are you listening?”

  I close and open my lids a few times, awkwardly called back. He smiles, noticing me so flushed and flustered.

  He’s playing taunting again. The kiss must have reconnected him, because he touches. Looms close. Gazes at my lips. A lot.

  I still remark on his restraint. He’s testing me. Us. Together. As all of this is very new.

  And I do the same thing. “You did not listen to a single word.”

  “Hum. Surely something about my undisputable class. Or intelligence.”

  He snorts, gently reducing his strides so I catch up to him. “Of course, yes, because I’m clearly impressed and admiring.”

  “Without an ounce of doubt.” I watch myself stroke his beautiful hair.

  “I was saying, I watched the Zodiac.”

  My attention immediately snapped back to his words. “You did?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “Do I need to expect a dog named Graysmith or Avery at your place?”

  I laugh. “No dog. Unfortunately.”

  He nods. “It truly was captivating, I have to admit.”

  “Do you think it was him? Allen?”

  “The movie does want us to believe that. But that basement scene…”

  His shoulders go up to cover his neck. I focus on his throat working. “Frightening, right?”

  “Bone chilling.” He crosses his arms. “That was a distraction for sure. Just a slide diversion to keep the suspense going. That man liked seeing the fear and the possibility. I really enjoyed it.”

  My mental hands clap each other in a loud high five. “I’m very glad.”

  “We should watch one together sometime.” His voice drops just a few decibels.

  I step closer. “We could tonight.”

  “Tonight is our date.”

  “And?”

  “First dates start at the restaurant. Nice, innocent setting.”

  “What does that mean? Innocent?” He shows me a one-sided grin but decides not to elaborate. Purposefully. “You’re the one who talked about fucking ton—”

  He shushes me with a hand on my mouth, and I grin against his fingers. Nobody’s witnessing us at this hour on Andrew’s street, yet his head shakes from left to right, triple-checking even, just in case.

  He lets go after a peck. “I’ve managed to regain my senses, thank you very much. And we will go to the restaurant. I just need to quickly change first.”

  I panic, ogle my own boring and professional clothes. But we worked until late at the library and did our classes in the afternoon. This was the first breather in many hours.

  It had been hard, finding the motivation to take over the presentation after our little interlude in the meeting room. Despite his evident enthusiasm, I was the one struggling to calm back down. “Is my outfit alright?”

  He doesn’t even glance my way. “Yes, don’t worry.”

  As we arrive on his porch, the jiggling of Andrew’s keys awakens the terrible monster that waits behind the door. The meows get louder and louder, approaching sounds of utter torture, until he opens and Toulouse gets a sight of his master. “Crazy cat,” I whisper to avoid him hearing me.

  White fluffy fur follows the man of the house to the arch by the kitchen, and both disappear inside. I light up the rest of the rooms and start cleaning the mess he left. Tidying the blankets and relocating the cushions to their original position. Catching the multiple mugs, which surely contained his famous tea.

  The scent is just as strong. Only it doesn’t feel the same anymore. Instead of pushing it far away, I welcome it gladly. And the sensation transforms for the better.

  Andrew is eventually released by his irrefutable bossy animal and apologizes. “I’ll be quick.” Six cups are now waiting to be washed in the sink.

  “You need a hand?” I play with the rings on my finger and deliberately evade his eyes to sound more casual.

  “You want to help me choose my clothes?”

  “If you’d like.”

  When he doesn’t respond, I lift my gaze. His hands flex a few times. He chews on his lips. What is he thinking about? “Come.”

  He leads the way. The sheets are undone, and I wouldn’t have expected anything less from him. His walls are much darker than the colors selected in the rest of his home. It reminds me of his eyes and his strong, grasping smell. “Sit.”

  There’s no other possibility than the bed. As he fumbles inside his dresser, I execute his command. A long vertical mirror reflects the heavy dark green curtains on each window, siding the headboard. His bedside table is covered with useless trinkets, and I’m suddenly very curious about opening all his drawers. My fingers mindlessly play with the satin under them. So soft.

  I quickly understand that my opinion won’t be acknowledged. He did not turn around once and deliberated alone on the choices he had in front of him. But Andrew’s stylish. And each element is thoroughly tailored for his gait, from the pants to the accessories.

  He comes my way while buttoning his top. Casually stands between my legs. His bottom piece lies next to me for now, and he presents himself with nothing more than his shirt and underwear. “What are you doing?” I query, cheeks burning.

  “You said you would help.”

  I chuckle and grab the two sides of his shirt, but I’m quickly halted by the sight of the patch of hair under his bellybutton. “That’s cute.”

  “What?” He demands, and as an answer, my fingers delicately stroke the area. He smiles, embarrassed in front of his body reacting so easily. “The happy trail?”

  “Is that how it’s called?”

  “I think so, yes,” his voice becomes breathy and filled with lust, but I finish buttoning his shirt and shove his pants in front of his eyes.

  “Stop teasing, láska.”

  “What are you saying this time?” He takes his trousers and gets them on, with his eyes glued to mine. He talks about my crazy episode at his place. The first time I ever got close to him, in a physical way. The one moment that changed everything.

  He eventually notices that I’m not planning on answering. “Come on. It’s late already.” I remark.

  “Medford’s big. I’m sure it won’t be too hard finding out for only two—”

  His cellphone rings from somewhere else in the apartment, and he takes a few seconds to buckle his belt before reaching out towards the kitchen and the entrance. Toulouse swiftly walks up to me and meows loudly. I’m ready to bend over and cuddle the little rascal, but something crazier happens; he jumps onto my lap and purrs like a jackhammer.

  Andrew’s voice rises from afar. “Yes?” Kitty sniffs my hand before accepting the pets that I gladly indulge in. “What?”

  My focus immediately drifts off at the sound of Andrew’s tone. It shifted.

  I grab Toulouse into my arms and get out of the bedroom. “What do you mean?” Andrew’s free hand is resting over his waist, and by his posture, something bad happened.

  I walk up closer, but at a safe distance, in case he wouldn’t like to be touched or feel even more overwhelmed. For some reason, this sounds like déjà-vu. And although he’s not family, my stomach twists all the same. “Of course. I’m coming right now. As soon as I can, Mom. Try to breathe. Stay with the nurses. It’ll be fine. I’ll be there.”

  He hangs up and whirls around, somehow aware of my presence. But the words are lodged in his throat. His chin wobbles. His eyes water.

  I drop the cat on the floor and grab my car keys from the counter. “I’ll drive you.”

  ?

  I did not miss the disturbing smell of bleach and sanitizers.

  Nor the urgency floating around as the nurses and doctors wander about, from door to door, room to room. The machine sounds. The ‘click’ of keyboards. The ‘bips’ of the monitored hearts. Witnessing the one of my twin brother’s stopping sufficed to create a whole overwhelming feeling at the mere sound.

  We walk close, our hands brushing. I’m ready to grab him in case he needs it.

  Once in front of the reception counter, Andrew introduces himself and asks about his grandfather’s condition. The man quickly taps something on his computer and gets on his feet. “For now, he’s still in his room in the palliative care wing. Are you Mrs. Francesca Miller’s son?”

  “Yes, this is my mother.” His knuckles whiten as they grasp the board fiercely.

  “You can go up to his room. And wait for the doctors to handle the situation. Do you know—”

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  “Thank you.”

  Andrew storms out toward the elevator and doesn’t give the clerk a second glance. The latter stays mouth wide open, cheeks red from embarrassment. I give him a nod and thank him again, before reaching out for the elevator as well. The door closes right as I come in.

  I realize I have no idea how to care for him appropriately.

  When I was ten, watching Matej convulse on his bed as I was dragged outside by my parents made me absolutely furious. I wanted to fight back, at least for him, as his body had withered and looked impossibly small, frail, dry. Stefan and Katarina tried to appease me with words or hugs, but I couldn’t stand to feel anything on my skin.

  I needed time to sort things out. Put words on the inside. Alone.

  But is Andrew functioning the same? Does he want physical or moral attention? Should I be affectionate? Should I leave him alone? Will he be comfortable enough to ask me for whatever he needs? Is he waiting for me to take the lead?

  I wished all the possibilities weren’t petrifying me.

  Before I could utter a word, we arrived at the right level, and Andrew strode off to the proper room, where his mother was pacing fretfully in front of the door, her pretty brown eyes redden by sadness. “Oh, Andy.”

  He grips his mother fondly, caressing her venetian blonde hair and murmuring calming words over her temple.

  I quietly join them, hands behind my back. “What happened?” Andrew asks.

  Francesca takes a deep breath, wiping the tears from her eyes. “His heart beat just drastically dropped. He felt even more tired than usual, so I called for a nurse to check. And then…” She gathers her thoughts while another wave of tears fills the rim of her eyes. “And then, they asked that I leave the room, his monitors were going crazy, I—”

  She disappears against his torso, sobbing loudly. “It’s going to be okay, Mom.” He talks to her as much as to himself. “They’ll come out and explain what’s wrong.”

  “I’m so sorry,” She steps back, scanning her son from head to toe. “You were all dressed up. I ruined your night.”

  “Do not worry about that,” he responds, but gets interrupted when Francesca eventually notices my presence.

  “Oh, is this?” She points at me while silently querying Andrew. “Alexej, right?” She dabs her eyes again and tosses the wet paper aside to open her arms. “I am so sorry we have to meet this way, dear.”

  “Nice to meet you, madam.”

  “Please, call me Francesca. Or Fran.”

  “Francesca, it is.”

  She eyes me for a second, trying to sort out the conflicting emotions battling inside her head. “Solemn, I see. You compensate for Andy’s energy pics.”

  “Mom.”

  “Yes, yes, right.” She keeps my hand inside hers for a while longer, and I can sense the warmth of her loving, maternal personality radiating through the contact.

  “Did the doctors say anything about his condition?” I quietly rest my palm at the base of Andrew’s spine while his mother sits down on one of the chairs along the wall next to the door.

  She sighs. “Not really, no. It happened too fast. But he was bleeding. Under his arm. You remember the cut, Andy?”

  The latter nods and turns my way. “His skin is dry and so thin that he bruises easily. Two weeks ago, he made a brusque gesture and opened the underside of his arm with the handle of his bed.”

  “And despite the staff’s efforts, he never properly healed. And he moves a lot. He’s sick of this place.”

  “He doesn’t have much of a choice, Mom.” Andrew’s tone is a lot harsher. But I see where his anger is coming from.

  Francesca’s on the verge of crying again.

  The treatments for Leukemia are tough. Long. With no actual prospects of improvement. For those experiencing them, the resignation comes fast. The hope fades. Only the ones that stay have the strength, but it does not help.

  The door opens, and the nurses come out of the room with the bloodied sheets and instruments they used, reaching for their little cart to drop off the soiled cloth and retrieve the tools they need. The doctor quickly follows.

  Francesca stands up and strongly grabs her son’s hand, hanging on to the professional’s lips. “He is stable again.”

  Another wave of relieved tears falls down her face. Andrew nods, focused. His eyes and attention are glued to the woman in front of him. I idly stroke his back, covered by his long coat. “Was it an infection?” I intervened.

  “Most certainly, yes. His level of white blood cells is low, and his immune system is weak.”

  “Is the wound treated appropriately?” I continue, while both Andrew and Francesca quietly listen.

  “Over his arm?”

  “There’s a good chance the infection has entered his body through this improperly healing cut.”

  “Are you a doctor, sir?”

  I cross my arms. “In fact, I am. Specialized in Immunology. I do not tend to patients all day, but I do know my discipline. I’d like for my boyfriend’s grandfather to be correctly handled.”

  She sighs, but remains calm and cordial. “Of course, sir. Mr. Leone can be a difficult patient sometimes. His wound was taken care of, but he had decided to scratch on it, on multiple occasions, against our recommendations. As the healing tissue has never adequately formed despite our meticulous precaution, it is probably through this aperture that the infection made its way into his body.” She buries her hands inside the pockets of her white coat.

  “You didn’t bandage the wound?” One of my eyebrows shot up.

  “Not tightly enough, it seems. This will be arranged.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.” I dismiss the woman and turn towards Andrew and his mother. The latter is focused on the door and restraining her cries. The former has his eyes glued to my face. I stroke his nape affectionately.

  “Can we come in?” Francesca asks.

  “He’ll be sleeping for a while. This episode fatigued him greatly. Make it quick.”

  “We’ll be careful. Thank you very much.”

  Andrew’s mother enters the room while we’re both trying to read each other’s minds through intense staring. “Are you alright?”

  He nods and steals a quick kiss before following Francesca inside.

  Christian lies on his back, his upper body slightly elevated. I reach for his info at the end of the bed. “He looks so calm like that.” Andrew’s mother carefully murmurs.

  I try to shun away the rhythmic sound of the cardiac monitor as I check on the results. Not as bad as I imagined. But not miraculous either, considering his severe condition.

  “I wish he were awake,” Francesca says with her voice vibrating, “so I can tell him myself how stupid he was. Tearing that bandage apart himself.”

  “Easy, Mom, your Italian side is showing.”

  “I don’t care! It’s so dangerous, picking on his wound just to piss off the medical staff! He’s going to hear it from me. Che testone.”

  Andrew slides his arm over her shoulders and brings her close for a kiss on her forehead. “He’s tired. He has enough.”

  “Then what? We just let him…” The end of her sentence gets stuck in her throat, and their expression, watching over Christian, makes my heart stutter with empathy. The reality is here. Either they accompany him until cancer takes the best of him. Or they come to an agreement and say their goodbyes before it’s too late. Because there is no coming back from this.

  When Andrew shuts his eyes, I know he comprehends the only outcome.

  I hang back the tablet and lean closer to the door, waiting for them. Eventually, they turn around, and I let them exit first. Andrew grabs my hand on his way out.

  “Mom, do you need me to come home? You shouldn’t be left alone right now.”

  “Weren’t you two supposed to go somewhere?” She blows her nose gracefully while I close the door.

  I intervened. “There’s no obligation. We can wait for another day. This is more important.”

  Andrew nods. But she shakes her head. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Of course, I worry about you, Mom.”

  “I know, I know. But I’ll be alright.” She checks the time on her phone and swings her purse over her shoulder. “I’ll just prepare some comfort food and watch Love Actually for the thousandth time.”

  I snort behind Andrew’s ear. So, this is where he got his addiction for romantic love stories. And it suddenly hits. That he’s most certainly expecting grand gestures and ambitious devotion from me. The churn in my stomach takes a different twist. “Whatever you want.”

  “It’s all good. Thanks for coming, baby.” They hug each other. Francesca administers loud kisses over his cheeks. “We’ll come back together next time, hmm?”

  “Yes, mom.”

  “Alexej.”

  She stretches her arm again, and I gladly return the affection. She smells nice. Clean. Comforting. “Take care, Francesca.”

  “You too, dear.” She cups one of my cheeks. “Thank you so much.”

  “No problem.”

  “We’ll have to properly meet, over my table, right, Andrew?”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  She turns my way while waiting for an answer. “I would be delighted.”

  “Perfect!” Her solar smile was passed on to her son, for sure. Andrew shakes his head and silently apologizes. I quietly laugh.

  “Come on, we’ll walk you to your car,” Andrew says with the same grin on his face.

  ?

  The deafening silence of his place sharpens the high-pitched noise that hasn’t left my ears since we stepped inside the hospital.

  Toulouse gallops our way again, most certainly feeling the gloomy atmosphere. Animals have a sharp sensor when it comes to intense emotions. He strokes the side of his head against Andrew’s legs, but the latter doesn’t move. His back is turned my way, and he still bears his coat over his shoulders. Only when I step toward him do I realize he’s sobbing. “Andrew.”

  He goes limp when my hand snatches his elbow to pivot my way. His cheeks are drenched, and the sheer sight of him so destroyed and heartbroken makes me want to scream from the top of my lungs for this life that has doomed us both with cancer in our family. “I’m so sorry.” He whispers, and I shove his head in the crook of my neck to shut his nonsense.

  “Don’t you even start.”

  I embrace him as hard as I can. He’s shuddering with his sobs. I’d love to take that sorrow away from him.

  He doesn’t reject me. He’s tied up to me like I’m the only pillar left for him to hold onto. Like he would only crumble to the ground if I wasn’t there. He’s fisted the side of my coat and doesn't even care about the tears falling on my t-shirt. “How… how did you… You were only ten years old.”

  I try to shush him down with gentle strokes on his head, but he seems to need the words to come out. My own throat is blocked from all the agony and suffering he’s facing right now. “It’s so hard. It hurts… so much.”

  “I know, láska.”

  “I’m a mess… And I’m an adult… I can’t begin to imagine what…”

  “It was terrifying. And infuriating.” He lifts his face, all red and puffy from the tears, and yet even then, he’s the most beautiful person I have ever seen. “But I did not handle it properly.”

  “You were just a child! That’s not your fault.”

  “There’s no point in stirring through the past, Andrew. This is your pain. Let me be there for you.”

  His eyes glint with a different approach. His hands come up to gently rest upon my face, and I kiss his wrist. “You’re being so kind.”

  I laugh, but I can’t quite smile. The ball lodged in my throat gets bigger by the second. I’m devastated seeing this man aching so much. “Is that a problem?”

  “It’s not. It’s really not. I did not expect that from you.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head before I can continue.

  “I’ve ruined our date night.”

  “Andrew. Stop.”

  I force him against the wall and push his head up with two fingers on his chin. Drops keep falling off his eyes, and I kiss them all. One after the other. I kiss all of his face, his nose, his temple, the corner of his mouth, his lips, his chin. And despite the sadness, he’s forced to giggle. “You’re being silly.”

  “Does that make you feel a little better?”

  “A little, yes.”

  “Should I keep going?”

  “Please.”

  He watches me with his beautiful chocolate pearls, and I kiss him. Again, and again, and again. It’s wet and messy and slow, but it’s the best one I’ve ever experienced. It’s filled with underlying emotions we might not be ready to face just yet. It’s conveying all that we bore since the beginning. It’s sharing our mutual pain, and it soothes its edges in the best, most efficient way. Stronger than medicine. Stronger than everything else.

  We both break the contact and fill our lungs with oxygen. Silent for long seconds, basking in each other’s aura. Letting our bodies talk for us, filling our daily dose of required oxytocin. It is indescribable what he does to me. He could ask that I kneel, and I would obey. He could ask that I jump off a cliff, that I resign from Tufts, or that I abandon my project of working in a lab. I would accept without a second thought if it meant making him happy.

  It's frightening. Conceding control. Allowing another person to conduct my life. Realizing the changes. Understanding that it is positive.

  “You must be hungry,” he breathes, his voice hoarse but less shivering. No longer crying.

  “Not for food,” I answer, and he understands it just the right way. I feed from him and his words. From his presence. From his beauty and his voice and his scent. He nourishes my very own existence, just by existing himself.

  “Stay the night.”

  It’s an order. And not one I’m willing to contest. The possibility of taking the wheel and driving back home hadn’t even crossed my mind since we planned for a date. So, I nod.

  He leads the way, his hand eagerly dragging me with him. He lets the door open, closes the curtains but not the windows, and the fresh air of the outside cools our damaged souls.

  We discard our clothes, undressing each other with tenderness. Until we slip naked under the silky sheets.

  Andrew falls asleep quickly against my warming skin. And his regular breathing carries me with him a few heartbeats later.