27. melt

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

MELT

—

Five days.

Five whole days had passed with Dmitri being completely out of it, spending all his time holed up in his room, his only source of comfort (and stable interaction) being with Juno, who constantly sought out warmth in his chest, occasionally curling up into a ball on his laptop because it was that warm.

It wasn't that he was too depressed to get out of bed. He had moved past that, he wasn't in that phase of his self destruction anymore.

The past few days were more of an I'm going to bury myself in work and hope for the best kind of thing, where he just let time speed by as he worked on article after article, not leaving the room unless he needed food or water.

Sometimes, he refused to leave the room even if he needed food or water, the fear of having to face Eden and actually talk things through with her enough motivation for him to stay inside his room.

After spilling his guts out to Tariq, after crying to him about how fucked up everything was, after having a whole sob fest in the middle of the fucking park, he hadn't spoken to him, either.

It wasn't a good strategy. He knew that it wasn't. Pushing his friends, the only people who cared about him, away never worked out well in his favour.

But for now, it seemed to be working fine.

Tariq had texted him a sum total of four times in the past five days, three texts on the same day that he had dropped him home, and one the next day.

And evidently, Eden had given up on trying to get him to talk to her, since every time she said something to him, he would reply with a one word answer.

He didn't know why he was doing it. Pushing people away.

He just knew that he had to do it, because people knew too much, and as soon as people knew too much, they also knew how fucked up he was.

Eden always knew, but it was just safer if he pushed everyone out. Not just Tariq.

But today was a new day. Today was the day he had decided to go back to work to, the job that required his social skills, not the one where he spent hours typing away at a desk.

Unfortunately, going back to work also meant seeing Tariq and Trinh.

Suck it up. Deal with it.

After taking a quick shower and placing a soft kiss on Juno's head (and another, because she was the absolute light of his life), he made his way out of the house, getting into his car and leaving.

Typically, he would have driven with Trinh and Eden, they would have dropped Eden off at school first, and then, they would have gone to the coffee shop together.

Today, Trinh and Eden had already left, probably because they didn't expect him to actually leave the room to go to work.

Dmitri couldn't help but wonder what they actually thought about him. Whether they hated that he was spending his days locked in his room, that he was cooking dinner for Eden and disappearing back into his room before she could even come down to eat it, that he hadn't eaten a single meal with them in so long now.

The two of them probably despised him, and they had every right to do so. He despised himself for doing what he was doing, but it was the only way to make it work.

He just didn't want to hurt anyone anymore. Telling Tariq his thoughts was enough hurting to last him a lifetime.

Parking his car outside The Blackbird, Dmitri closed his eyes for a moment, resting his head against the steering wheel and exhaling slowly. I can do it. This is easy. This is fine. I can do it.

It was slightly pathetic that he had to prep himself to do something as simple as go to work.

Finally mustering up the courage to get out of his car, Dmitri entered the shop, the scent of coffee beans, the paintings on the walls, the semi-dirty semi-clean counters, the familiarity hitting him all at once.

Now, he had to face Trinh.

Or to put it simply, he had to make sure to avoid Trinh.

But almost as soon as he started to put his Avoid Trinh plan into action, someone called his name from the counters, a hand adorned with a bright orange bracelet waving him over.

Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fuck.

"Dmitri!" Trinh called out again, her voice filled with enthusiasm that he was almost sure was fake, because why the fuck would she be excited to see him when he had done nothing but ignore her for over a week? "Dmitri, hey! I'm glad you're back at work!"

Lethargically moving forward, Dmitri made his way towards her, giving her his best smile that he could put on and saying, "Hey, Trinh."

At that, Trinh's eyes widened dramatically, her hands reaching up to push her recently re-dyed blue hair out of her eyes. Though Dmitri wasn't exactly sure how recent it was. "Hey? Are you fucking serious? Dmitri, it's been so long! Have you been—"

I can't do it. "Just— give me one second," he murmured, pushing past her and disappearing into the back room, instantly crashing down onto the crickety stool and shoving his head into his hands, his breathing already quickening.

It had been too long. Too long since he had spoken to Trinh. And he wasn't sure if he wanted to deal with the mess that came along with trying to explain why he hadn't spoken to Trinh, hadn't replied to her messages, hadn't done anything but isolate.

"You know that that stool is really fucking unstable, right? One wrong move and down you go, crashing to the ground."

Head snapping up, Dmitri looked up, even though he knew exactly who was talking to him. There was only one person he knew with a voice like that.

Too stunned to actually say anything, Tariq took that as his cue to continue. "We should probably invest in re-decorating this room. It's a pretty cool place, very good for having a quick cry," he stated as he removed his t-shirt which had a giant coffee stain on its front.

Averting his gaze to the ground, Dmitri just mumbled out a quick, "Yeah. Maybe", his mind too frazzled to do anything else.

Seeing Trinh and having to talk to her was bad enough. But seeing Tariq almost immediately after? That was a disaster waiting to happen.

A disaster for his mind, of course.

As Tariq tugged on a fresh t-shirt and tucked it into his jeans, he shot another quick glance at Dmitri, one that he quickly directed to the ground when he saw that he was staring right back.

"Is there any reason as to why you haven't replied to any of my texts?" Tariq mused, still tucking his t-shirt into his jeans, his thin frame looking even fucking thinner in his baggy jeans. "Did I do something wrong?"

No, I did.

But Dmitri couldn't say anything, he physically couldn't, so he just gave him a hesitant shake of his head, still seated on the stool despite what Tariq had said. He wasn't going to leave the room until Tariq left, he decided.

"How come you're at work?"

"I genuinely don't see how that's your business."

Immediately, in the blink of an eye, Tariq's expression shifted from one of softness, gentleness, to a guarded, slightly incredulous one, mixed with a tinge of concern.

The only reason Dmitri could read Tariq's face was because it was Tariq. And Tariq was always readable to him.

"I don't know what changed in the past four days," Tariq started, eyes fixated on Dmitri now. "Because I wasn't even around in those four days, I didn't even talk to you. So I don't know what the fuck I did to piss you off—"

It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault. I just don't know what to do.

"— But if I did do something, please tell me. I don't want you to just— not tell me. I'm sorry. If I did something, I'm sorry."

The reasonable thing to do would have been to just let Tariq know that he did nothing wrong. That he had nothing to blame himself for, he didn't even do anything wrong.

So, of course, Dmitri did the opposite of the reasonable thing.

"Can you please—" Breath hitching in his throat, Dmitri shook his head, the lack of oxygen in his lungs burning his throat so bad that tears were starting to prick at the corners of his eyes. Or maybe that wasn't the reason for his tears. "Can you please leave? Please?"

Tariq was confused. That much was clear from the slight upward twitch of his left eyebrow, and the way his lips pulled downward into a frown.

What really solidified his confusion, though, was the incredulous, "What the fuck for?" that escaped his mouth.

Frantically shaking his head, Dmitri closed his eyes, the involuntary groan that left his mouth louder than he intended it to be as he said, "God, this is so fucked. It's all so fucked."

He didn't know what was fucked. He didn't know anything.

All he knew was that he was tired of trying to survive on his own, but at the same time, he was tired of trying to exist with other people when all he knew to do was push them away.

"What's fucked?"

"I don't know," he stressed, the tightness in his chest only building with each word. "Just— I don't know, Tariq. I don't know. I don't—"

"You don't know," Tariq repeated for him, balling his soiled t-shirt up in his hand and stuffing it into his bag. "Okay. When you do know, I'd appreciate it if you told me. Because right now? I'm confused out of my fucking mind."

Dmitri sighed softly, his chest just aching from how much he was holding in, how much he wanted to be okay. That was all he wanted. "I'm—"

"No, I'm not done," Tariq interrupted, voice hard but soft, cold but warm, Dmitri didn't know what it was anymore. "We talked about it that day, you told me everything. And I understood when you distanced yourself for a bit, that must have been overwhelming to talk about. I don't blame you for that. I'm just trying to understand why you're still pushing me away, when all I've done is try to understand everything better. I don't get it, Dmitri, and you're not making it any easier for me to understand. But I'll be here. Whenever you're ready to come around, I'll be here."

Then, he nodded and said, "Yeah. Now, I'm done," before slinging his bag over his shoulder and leaving the room.

I need to go back home. This is too much for today. I need a fucking break. Another one.

Another small groan later, Dmitri mechanically stood up, made his way out of the room, and came face to face with Trinh.

Well, it was more of a face to chest thing, since Trinh was a whole foot shorter than him.

"I'm leaving," he mumbled to her, shaky hands reaching behind to undo his own apron, getting it right on the third try. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I have to go back home. You can cut it out of my salary, I don't care. I've barely showed up to work this past month, so you don't have to give me any money for this month. I just— I'm sorry, I need to leave."

Not bothering to wait for a response, he walked back to his car, his body not even feeling like his own, setting the car into reverse and driving, seconds bleeding into minutes, and before he knew it, he was back at home.

For once, the first thing that he did wasn't check on Juno.

Rather, it was to make his way towards the freezer, grab two ice packs and place them on his forearms, his body trembling. Whether it was from the cold, or from adrenaline, or from the fear of himself, he wasn't sure.

Sinking down onto one of the chairs at the dining table, he bowed his head down, and with trembling hands, he ripped the ice packs open, cold, translucent cubes falling out of it, and squeezed them in his hands, just kept squeezing until he couldn't feel his fingers.

I can't do this. Fuck, I can't do this. I can't—

"Dmitri?" a voice asked, the most familiar voice he knew. "Hey, hey, is everything—"

It was almost predictable for Tariq to show up. He always did.

"No," Dmitri choked out before Tariq could continue, his arms aflame, fire coursing through his veins, burning, burning, burning until there was nothing left to burn.

Tariq just pulled a chair out, the one beside him, and sat down, taking the ice cubes out of his hand and murmuring, "Hey. Talk to me. I know that it's hard, I know. You don't have to do this, though."

Groaning softly, he got out a stifled, "I don't know what to do. I'm so confused, I genuinely don't know what the fuck I'm doing."

"Why are you pushing me away?"

I wish I knew. Fuck, I wish I knew. "Because I'm scared. I'm so fucking terrified," he whispered, bowing his head down. "I don't know of what, so don't ask me that. I just am."

A soothing hush and a half-nod later, Tariq reached out his hands to hold Dmitri's hands, but before his fingers could even graze them, he pulled them away. He didn't know why he did it, but he did.

"Dmitri, your fingers are probably freezing," Tariq muttered, but he moved his hands back anyway.

"Don't touch me."

Why? Why am I doing this?

Tariq paused, cocking his head in Dmitri's direction. Finally, he just shook his head, and said, "Why?"

"Because we aren't together," he whispered, tears of pure agitation nearly spilling over. "We aren't fucking dating, for you to constantly be there for me when I'm falling apart."

"That doesn't mean that I can't care about you." No. "I still care, that never stopped."

"I don't want you to," Dmitri muttered, the fire in his veins spreading to his chest now.

Of course, Tariq didn't listen to a word Dmitri said. He just pulled his chair to the right, closer to Dmitri, and wrapped an arm around his shaking body.

And even if it was just for a moment, even if it was just slightly, the trembling eased.

"Please don't hold me," he mumbled. "Please."

"Uh—" Tariq started, briefly glancing at him, eyebrows furrowing together. Then, he said, "Why?"

He seemed to be asking that question a lot, lately. It was too bad Dmitri didn't know the answer to it.

"Because I won't know how to let go if you do."

So, Tariq just sighed, waiting until the shaking of his body had calmed down, until the ice on the table had melted into a small puddle, until he wasn't choking on smoke from the fire that had engulfed him.

And even when he stopped shaking completely, Tariq still held him. The whole time.

—

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A

N: it goes up from here <3 !!!

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