18. darius

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

DARIUS

—

Tariq was nervous.

It was so obvious, right from the constant tapping of his feet against the floor of the car, the cracking of his knuckles despite the fact that he hated the sound, and the way his eyes were flitting from the blank screen of his phone to his watch every other second.

Maybe his nervousness wouldn't have been that obvious to anyone else. But it couldn't be more obvious to Dmitri.

His biggest tell, however, was the incessant groaning. Every five minutes, he would hunch over and let out a groan, saying something along the lines of, 'What if something is wrong?'.

"Everything will be fine," Dmitri murmured, his eyes focused on the road in front of him, the Friday afternoon sun beating down on him, causing him to squint slightly as he drove. "It's just a doctor's appointment. You've been to so many of those, this is just another one."

Exhaling deeply, Tariq rested his head against his seat, closing his eyes and muttering a weak, "What if my doctor tells me that something's wrong? Like, more than just deficiencies? What if she tells me that I have a fucking neurological disorder, or something? That would explain a lot of things, the shaking hands and shit. Or what if she says that I have—"

"I'm going to stop you before you go any further and spiral into a whole bout of overthinking," Dmitri interrupted, rolling his eyes at the annoyed glare that Tariq shot in his direction. He began to drum his fingers against the wheel, completely off beat to the song that was playing because he knew that it would piss Tariq off. "It's going to be fine."

Tariq shook his head, hands reaching up to toy with his necklace, painted fingernails contrasting the gold of the chain. "You don't know that, Dmitri," he stressed and rubbed his eyes, the nervousness sending his voice a pitch higher than it normally was.

If it was anyone else, Dmitri wouldn't have had a single clue on how to help them. Thankfully, this was Tariq, and he had seen Tariq panic before every single one of his appointments, no matter how trivial they were.

"I don't," he agreed, making his best effort to maintain a steady tone so as to not send Tariq into a state of further panic. "But I know that each and every one of appointments have been the same. In the two years that I accompanied you to your appointments, not one has been any different, apart from the occassional addition of a supplement. Okay? It'll be fine."

While his words weren't the most comforting, he knew that that was exactly what Tariq needed to hear. Just a reminder that every appointment before the one they were about to go to went smoothly. And that this one was no different.

"I'm fucking terrified," Tariq muttered, as if Dmitri didn't know that, couldn't see it by the way he was mumbling each word instead of saying it with his usual confidence.

It was still a little weird— spending time with Tariq. It had been exactly four days since they had 'made up', actually come clean with everything, and things were going so smoothly that it felt foreign, almost.

Nice, sure. There wasn't a single moment where spending time with Tariq and not fighting wasn't nice. But still, foreign.

The whole plan of Dmitri taking Tariq to his appointment was a completely spontaneous thing, though.

Tariq had been working upstairs, Dmitri had gone upstairs to talk to him, as he had been doing for the past four days, and had found him in a state of complete panic, because one, he had to go to his doctor's appointment, and two, he had to drive himself to the appointment and he hated driving more than anything.

So, of course, when Tariq had asked him to take him, he had accepted.

"It's on the right," Tariq spoke, his voice softer than it had been the entire day, more uncertain. Hesitant.

A hesitant Tariq was rare, but more than rare, it was painful. Because Tariq was never hesitant. Never.

"You know that it'll be fine, right? What's the worst— okay, never mind that, I won't ask you that, you'll end up crying." Pulling over in one of the parking spaces, and trying his very best not to bang into another car in the process, Dmitri parked the car, stopping the music. "Do you—" We're good. I can ask him this. "Do you want me to come in with you? I can, if you want."

Tariq just sat there for a moment, hunching over and placing his forehead on his knees, breathing softly. "Sorry. I do this every time, it's just— I'm scared," he admitted weakly, raising his head up and glancing at Dmitri. "I don't want anything to be wrong with me. Well, anything else." Neither do I.

But he couldn't say that. That wouldn't have been helpful at all, so he just said, "Nothing is going to be wrong with you," and pocketed his phone and keys, waiting for Tariq to get out of the car first.

Once the two of them were out of the car, Tariq sighed, entering the clinic and staring at his doctor's office for a second, before looking at Dmitri and offering up a small smile. A weak, probably fake one, but it was a smile. And that was enough. For now, at least.

"Will you wait?"

"I'm not gonna fuckin' book it the moment you go in," Dmitri stated with a roll of his eyes. "I'll wait. It'll be okay."

Tariq just nodded, still not moving. Does he expect something to be wrong?

"Uh—" he finally said, looking back at Dmitri. "Can you pray or something? I mean, I don't believe in that, but you do, right? That's like, the highest form of— I don't know. Sorry. Rationally, I know that nothing's gonna be wrong, but I'm just not thinking rationally right now, and—"

"Hey," Dmitri interrupted. "I'll pray. If you want me to, I'll do that."

Finally, Tariq nodded, his shoulders relaxing only slightly as he entered his doctor's office, the pale blue walls in Dmitri's line of vision only for a brief moment, before the door closed behind him, and all that he was left to look at was the dull yellow walls of the clinic.

Taking a seat on one of the plush chairs, Dmitri folded his hands and closed his eyes. God, let everything be okay with Tariq. Let him be okay. Please. Thank you, he said in his head, adding a quick Our Father and Hail Mary along with it. Amen.

There wasn't much to do after that other than go onto his phone, so that was what he did, mindlessly scrolling through his Instagram, declining a follow request from one of his students because that was fucking weird, and replying to a boomer ass meme that Eden had sent him three days ago.

It wasn't easy for him either— being at the clinic. It was where he had brought his grandfather after his first heart attack, it was where he had brought him after his second one. Unfortunately, he didn't catch the third one, too busy with college to be around for it.

Everything about the clinic, the doctors, the stupid fucking plush chairs that didn't have a proper back rest, the harsh, slightly flickering lights on the ceiling— it made him unbelievably uncomfortable. Almost to the point where he had refused to take Tariq when he had asked him.

But he knew that his discomfort wasn't even half as bad as the discomfort that Tariq was feeling. So, he sucked it up and dealt with it. As he always did.

Scrolling through his unread messages and quickly replying to how many ever he could, Dmitri found himself back at the one message that he couldn't reply to.

claire (therapy) -

Good morning, Dmitri! You haven't attended a session in over two weeks, just checking in to make sure you're well. Get back to me as soon as you can! :)

It was getting harder and harder to convince himself that he was doing perfectly fine.

But still, he didn't get back to her. Because as much as he wanted to, he couldn't, his mind going over everything that they had discussed in their last session, which was way, way over two weeks ago, now. Over two months, now.

Just as he was about to close his phone and shove his earphones into his ears, block out all noise, he received another message, an unknown number.

Well, not unknown. Very known. He wished he didn't know it, though.

xxx-xxx-xx82 -

Dmitri, I would like to speak to you. I think that the dinner that we had was completely pointless, I want to talk to you without your brothers. Just mother to son.

In an instant, a spark of rage struck at his chest, jaw involuntarily twitching as he re-read the message, his mother's words from earlier, more than a whole month ago, replaying in his head over and over.

There is a cure, Dmitri.

Nothing was worse than Christians thinking that being a Christian automatically meant that they had to be homophobic, too.

After over two years of battling with religion, and deciding on whether or not he was actually a Christian, or if he was forced into being one, it really fucking sucked to see his own parents tell him that he was a sin. Something to be cured.

It wasn't always like this, though. They were never that vocal about their homophobia, always small comments that Dmitri didn't even know were homophobic until he educated himself, never an outright I won't love you if you told me that you liked men.

But as soon as he came out to them, it wasn't just 'Oh, that person in church looks queer', it was 'You deserve to die for your sins, because I won't tolerate a— what did you call yourself?— a queer son'.

And fuck, did it hurt. For so long, he had spent his time just trying to undo the damage that they had done, right from the homophobic slurs every day, to the sitting in a different bench when they went to church.

It had gotten so bad to the point where he had stopped going to church, stopped praying altogether, no matter how much he loved it, loved being a part of something, believing in something that he couldn't even see.

Thankfully, Tariq had talked some sense into him and told him that he didn't have to give up his religion just because people were hateful.

Tariq had done so much in those two years that they were together, it was unreal.

There was no way he would have still stuck through with the whole religion thing if not for him, and holy shit, he was grateful. So incredibly grateful, because he needed his belief in God to keep him sane.

"Oy," a voice said, snapping Dmitri out of his thoughts. Pulling his earphones out of his ears and cutting off the sound of Sufjan Stevens— who was coincidentally perfect to listen to while thinking about religion—, he looked up, only to find Tariq staring down at him, for once. "Everything good?"

"I should be asking you that," Dmitri mumbled, shaking his head as if that would wake him up from the daze that he was in. "Sorry. How was it? What did your doctor say?"

Tariq shrugged, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Literally nothing," he said, and it was as if a bowling ball was lifted from Dmitri's chest. "I got my magnesium dosage upped, but that was expected. She told me to eat more bananas," he drawled, wiggling his eyebrows. Jesus.

"Don't look at me, I have zero sex drive," Dmitri shot back, a smile cracking on his own lips, because even though he always tried to comfort Tariq, tell him that his appointments would be okay, there was always the fear that something could be wrong. Always.

Snorting, Tariq began to walk, Dmitri walking slower to keep step with him. "Yeah?" he asked, going into the pharmacy that was right next to the clinic. "Don't recall you not having a sex drive," he said, so fucking loud that the two of them received a few glares from the strangers around them.

"No, I'm serious, like— for the number of jokes that I make about sex, I have no sex drive anymore. It's the depression, I guess," he muttered, watching as Tariq handed his prescription to the pharmacist.

"I mean—" Tariq began, only to get cut off by the pharmacist handing him all his meds, exactly nine different bottles in a brown paper bag. Nine? Doesn't he have eight? "Thank you," he said to the pharmacist, shooting them a quick smile and speed-walking out of the pharmacy.

When they got back into the car, Tariq just opened his paper bag and pulled out a single bottle, before placing it in Dmitri's center console. Huh? "Just— backup. It's backup iron, I'm supposedly very low on it. I thought it was better if you kept it, in case I forget to take it or something," he said, playing his own music with the aux cord and gesturing for Dmitri to drive.

So, shaking off his initial concern, Dmitri began to drive, even though he wasn't exactly sure where he was going. He knew that he was supposed to check on Juno, like he always did during his lunch break, but would Tariq be okay with that? Stopping at his place?

What do I do? Where am I even going?

Tariq seemed to have that exact same question. "Dmitri. Do you know where you're going?"

"Not a clue."

Laughing, it was so fucking nice to see him laugh, Tariq shook his head. "You always leave during lunch, right? To see your cat? I forgot her name, sorry, you—"

"Juno."

"God, I fucking love that name," he mumbled with a small smile. "Right, you go to visit your cat, right? We can go check on her, if you want."

Dmitri frowned, the overthinking starting almost immediately. Does he really want to, or is he just saying that? Does he even—

"I can literally see you overthinking. Not a good look," Tariq drawled, interrupting his overthinking and successfully drawing out a laugh from Dmitri.

"Everything I do is a good look."

"Wrong, but okay."

Snorting, Dmitri shook his head. "Insult me again and I might have to shove you out of the car," he threatened. "Can we go to my place? Just to check on Juno. She's blind, she literally crashes into everything in the house, it's so fucking frustrating. I just have to check if she's okay."

Tariq nodded, of course he did, he fucking adored cats, and said, "She's blind? Where the fuck do you get the money to pay for shit for her? I mean— I don't mean this in a bad way, but... The only money you make is from the coffee shop, right? How do you pay for everything?"

Well. "I do my writing shit," he pointed out as he continued to drive, a song in Latin— was it Latin?— coming on. It didn't even have a fucking steady beat, so he couldn't tap out of time and piss Tariq off. Next song. "I mean, it doesn't pay a lot, but there's Eden, too. And also, I just don't do shit for myself."

Now that he thought about it, it was slightly sad that he didn't do anything for himself.

"That's fucking ridiculous," Tariq stated. "You should look into getting a teaching job again, because clearly, you hate having to serve people coffee every day—"

"People read my name tag as Darius, it's hard not to hate that job."

"— So, you should look into getting back a job that you actually like," Tariq finished, a satisfied lilt to his voice as the next song came on, something with an actual beat.

Fuck yeah, time to piss him off. "I can't do it right now," he said as he parked the car in the garage, the worry that came every time he had to check on Juno building up in his chest.

Nothing had ever happened to her, and she had rarely ever injured herself, but it was still scary to think about.

"Uh— why? You clearly enjoy teaching, and—"

"I'm way too depressed to hold a teaching job right now," he admitted, the words just slipping off his tongue, it was always easier to admit it to Tariq than to anyone else.

"Oh."

"Like— I'm not depressed depressed, but I just don't think that my mental health is at its best state," Dmitri continued, stepping out of the car and waiting for Tariq to join him. "It'll work out better if I stick with this, it's only been like, two months since I got fired. I can't believe I got fired, wow. Anyway, I need stability. Can't keep switching jobs."

Is Juno okay? I hope she's okay.

He was fully aware that he was talking too much, and way too fast, probably, but his mind was racing with irrational thoughts, more than it usually did when he went to check in Juno, and he didn't even know why.

"What's wrong with you?" Tariq asked as Dmitri tried to unlock the fucking door, his fingers not co-operating with his mind. "Why are you talking so much? You only talk this much when you're anxious."

The worst part about being friends with your ex was definitely the fact that they could read you like a book.

"Worried about Juno," he muttered, fingers still fumbling with the lock. "I always get like this, don't worry. It's just that I check on her a lot earlier than this, she's gotten used to it, so—"

"Breathe," Tariq murmured, taking the keys out of Dmitri's hand and unlocking the door himself. "She'll be fine."

Quickly slipping off his shoes, Dmitri made his way upstairs, not even paying attention to Tariq's words, and pushing his bedroom door open, only to find Juno playing with the ridiculous fucking spring toys that he had bought for her when he got his first paycheck as a teacher.

Thank you, God.

"What did I say? She's perfectly fine without you."

Dmitri just laughed, crouching down and drumming his fingers against the floor once, just to signal her. And at once, her attention was diverted from the spring toy to Dmitri, curling up into a ball right on top of Tariq's hand which was placed on the floor.

"Hi, angel," he murmured, ignoring the laugh that came from Tariq's direction. "How were you today? How are you doing?"

"Will she ever move?"

Dmitri looked at Tariq, who was smiling softly, his hand still trapped under Juno's body. "Not for another twenty minutes, at least. I can get her to move if you want."

For a second, Tariq didn't say anything, so Dmitri glanced at him again, nudging him with his shoulder. "Do you want me to move her?"

Finally, he replied with a soft, "No, this is— this is okay. I'm good right here."

—

+3215

AN: this is gonna sound weird but uh😔 i miss u guys </3

esp the readers who comment on like every other line nd everhthysjfhskn i used to reply to everyone's comments so frequently, but now i haven't had the time to reply to all of them and that makes me so 💔

so yeah 😋 just know that i see all ur comments and they make my serotonin levels go ↗️↗️↗️ so thank u🥰 i will try my very best to reply to comments more bc i want to 🥺 i miss interacting w y'all 🥺❤️

so. i hope everyone has/had a good day today! thank u for reading🥰🥰❤️❤️