8. change of heart

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHANGE OF HEART

—

"Okay, no, I didn't mean to fuck the entire stack up, it was just wobbling all over the place anyway! You distracted me."

Laughing, Dmitri popped a single fry into his mouth, his ribs aching as his laughs got louder. "Okay, no. I didn't do shit, I just kissed you. The whole fucking stack falling was on you and your inability to play Jenga," he declared, taking a sip of his water, to hopefully calm the pain in his ribs.

It had been so long since he had laughed this much. So unbelievably long.

It felt nice, somehow. Strange, but nice.

Tariq just shook his head, his eyes sparkling as he clamped a hand over his mouth, a small snort escaping it anyway. "Fuck off, you're the one who decided that it would be fun to kiss my neck right when I was pulling the fucking brick out. Your fault."

"Both our faults," Dmitri finally conceded, watching as Tariq forked his salad into his mouth, his dark clothes contrasting the lights of the dingy diner they were seated in, some place called The Diner that Dmitri had never even heard of before.

He was trying, he really was. And while it wasn't easy to pretend like everything was normal, he was doing it. It was surprisingly working, his mind not working against him for once in his life, not jumping to the worst possible situation. The change was nice. Welcoming.

"Are you tired?" Tariq questioned, his tiny ass legs kicking Dmitri under the table. Short ass. "It's pretty fucking late."

Dmitri shrugged. The war that his stomach was fighting against him had finally come to a standstill, the nausea and the feeling of his heart bursting out of his chest thankfully disappearing once he had started eating his own dinner.

"Think I can stay up for another... two hours before I crash," he decided, even though he was fully aware that once his head hit the pillow, his mind would begin its job to wage a war against the rest of his body, and he wouldn't sleep until four in the morning.

Miracles weren't something that Dmitri believed in, despite his blatant Christianity, but it really was a miracle that he could wake up every morning and not feel like his body and mind had been dragged through hell and back.

Or maybe he was just so used to feeling like shit all the time that he had grown immune to his own tiredness.

Humming, Tariq turned around, only to pull out two bottles from his bag. Oh. Quickly, before Dmitri could even see what he was doing, he downed two different pills with water, a single white one and another red one.

He's going to apologise.

"Sorry," Tariq mumbled, wiping his face down with his hand. Called it. The two of them were the exact fucking same in that aspect. "Can you drop me home? Zoya should be home, I think."

Dmitri nodded at that, quickly typing out a text to Eden, letting her know that he would be home soon. Oddly enough, she replied with a dry message, very unusual of her. But he didn't question it, because it was late and she was probably tired.

At least, he hoped that that was the reason.

"Do you live with Zoya?" he asked, fishing out some money from his wallet and having to do practically everything in his power to stop himself from offering to pay for Tariq, too.

However, as it turned out, everything in his power wasn't enough.

"I'll pay."

Fuck. Why? Why did I—

"The fuck?" Tariq shook his head, a mere semblance of a smile dancing on his lips. But it disappeared almost as soon as it came, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he pulled a few bills out of his own wallet. "You're not paying, don't be fucking obtuse."

Dmitri had to smile at that. He had to. "I can't believe you didn't go to college," he laughed out, placing his share of the money into the checkbook. "Obtuse? Who the fuck speaks like that?"

Huffing, Tariq blew air out through his nostrils, replying to Dmitri's question with a roll of his eyes and an exasperated, "Some of us didn't want to go to college, Dmitri. I know that I could've gone literally anywhere I wanted to, but—"

"Man, that's such a fuckin' flex."

"— I didn't want to," he finished, getting up from the table once they were done paying. "I know that you have to take the opportunities that are given to you and everything, not everyone is privileged enough to even be able to go to college, but, I mean— I genuinely didn't want to. At all."

Why? was what Dmitri wanted to ask him, but he didn't, the single word refusing to leave his mouth. So all he said was, "Oh."

Oh my god. I'm so stupid.

After situating themselves in Dmitri's car, he began to drive, following the location that Tariq had typed into his phone, often having to remind himself to act normal, pretend that there was absolutely nothing wrong with what they were doing, as if they could go a single day without arguing.

He would try, though. He had promised to try.

A song by Mumford & Sons was playing on the radio— the radio always played better songs at night, less pop, more Tariq's taste. Obscure indie music that literally nobody had even heard of, folk music that never failed to put Dmitri to sleep, and the occasional song in a foreign language.

As an indie song echoed through the car, the rare car or motorcycle speeding past them as Dmitri drove, Tariq hummed along to the music, his voice just at that point between on-tune and off-tune, scrolling through his phone.

Suddenly, however, Tariq let out a loud gasp, his hand flying over his mouth as he stared down at his phone.

Of course, it was only natural instinct for Dmitri's eyes to move down to his phone, but before he could see anything, Tariq quickly pressed the power button, nothing on his phone except a black screen.

Odd. "What? Everything good?"

Tariq just nodded, his eyes wide, a quick laugh leaving his mouth. "Y-Yeah." Clearing his throat, he nodded again, less shaky this time. "Mhm. All good."

"Um. Okay," Dmitri accepted, dragging out the end of the word.

Don't say anything else. Don't do it. Don't fucking—

"Are you sure everything's okay? Because if something's wrong, I can—"

Nodding again, Tariq gave him a smile, not a toothy one, but a genuine one. Okay. Okay. "Yeah. It's— everything's... very, very good," he stated, pocketing his phone and turning his head around, looking out of the window now.

Well. That was that.

Upon reaching Tariq's house, or technically his apartment, his house being on the fourth floor, Dmitri parked the car outside, waiting for Tariq to get out.

But Tariq didn't step out. He didn't even open the door. He just turned his face around to glance at Dmitri, before saying, "Do you want to come upstairs?"

What? "Uh, I don't know if you—"

"Not for that," Tariq muttered, not even looking the least bit flustered. "Just— in case you want to take a piss or something. You and your weak ass bladder might need it," he pointed out, an amused smile playing on his lips.

"Shut the fuck up, short ass," Dmitri shot back, but nodded anyway, because as much as he hated to admit it, Tariq was right. Imagine having a strong bladder. Couldn't be me.

Tariq laughed, stepping out of the car and waiting for Dmitri to do the same. Once Dmitri was out of the car, he just said, "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It's not. Short people are hot. So are tall people. People."

He always got a little delirious when he was tired.

"You're so weird."

"Okay, Mr. I have cried because of how attractive men are."

Pouting, Tariq made his way up the stairs, Dmitri following close behind him. But Tariq didn't stop on the fourth floor. He just kept climbing, all the way up until he was on the last floor, and all that was left to climb was a single flight of stairs.

"What are we doing?" Dmitri asked, his voice echoing through the stairwell. Ew.

Tariq shushed him with a slightly disgruntled hiss and a quick hand reaching up to clamp his mouth. "We aren't supposed to be here, shut the fuck up," he whispered. "Follow me. This is really cool, I swear."

"The fuck do you mean—" Dmitri started, just as loud as the previous sentence, only reducing his volume after Tariq shot him a piercing glare, his eyes definitely conveying the message Shut the fuck up or I'll push you off the stairs.

"Okay," Tariq mumbled, breathing heavily as he slowly pushed the small door at the top of the stairwell, wincing at the strained creak that came from it as he did. Then, he crouched down a little as he entered the doorway, beckoning for Dmitri to follow him.

So, although begrudgingly, that was what Dmitri did— his head nearly smacking into the frame of the door because clearly, he had underestimated how small the door was.

And only after he got through the doorway did Dmitri see what Tariq wanted him to see.

Lights. Everywhere.

Tiny specks of yellow spots dotting the ground beneath him, the cityscape a jumble of shapes, ones that Dmitri couldn't even begin to make out, the sky too black for him to see anything. The unapologetically urban city stared at him, lights flickering as if they were winking at him, and all he could do was stare back.

It was as if someone had taken a handful of glitter and thrown it as far as the eye could see. And almost instantly, he knew why Tariq had wanted to show him this.

He had always been a whore for city lights.

"Isn't it fucking wild?"

Tariq, too, was a whore for city lights.

Dmitri turned his head around to face Tariq, his eyes shining just as bright as the city before the two of them, maybe even brighter.

"Yeah," he breathed out, lowering himself to the ground and sitting down, wrapping his arms around his knees. Holy fuck, it's so pretty.

Tariq smiled, doing the same, but he groaned as he did, smile transforming into a tiny wince. "I love how something as simple as climbing up the stairs makes my legs ache," he stated, staring straight ahead. "Un-fucking-believable."

Letting out a soft chuckle that sounded a lot louder in the silence of the night, Dmitri shook his head. "We could've taken the elevator," he pointed out.

"You hate elevators."

Shoulders stiffening, Dmitri nodded slowly. Just for tonight. "Yeah. Guess I do."

A comfortable silence fell over them as Dmitri stared ahead, taking in the lights, the air, the atmosphere. Everything. Strangely enough, for the first time in a long, long time, Dmitri's brain wasn't yelling at him, torturing him, and for once, he wasn't being plagued by the constant negative thoughts that he always seemed to create for himself.

Three minutes later, Tariq broke the silence with a small grunt as he stretched his legs out, fingers reaching out to rub circles on his own thigh. Then, he switched his position by placing his palms flat on the ground behind him, resting his body weight on them.

"Cramping, I think," he mumbled. "Fuck, my thigh is cramped. Fuck. Motherfuck—"

"Do you want me to like— massage it out for you?" This is so fucking weird.

Shaking his head, Tariq groaned, hand pressing down on his thigh. Then, he switched his position again, completely laying down on the ground. "Okay, okay, it's fine. I'm good."

Dmitri nodded. "Are you just gonna lay there?"

"I don't see how it's a problem," Tariq responded from his position on the ground. A few seconds later, he sighed into the air, pushing himself upright again. Indecisive bitch. "Dmitri?"

"What did I say about saying my name like that?"

Tariq laughed, but it was so far from a real one that it couldn't even be considered a laugh. "Sorry." Then, he paused again, turning around to face him. "I'm sorry your grandpa died. I know how much he meant to you."

No. "I don't think I want to talk about this right now," Dmitri voiced out, his heart already beginning to clench painfully in his chest.

What Tariq said was true, though. He was the only person who knew exactly how much his grandpa meant to him. But fuck, did it hurt to talk about it.

"O-Oh, yeah, that's fine," Tariq stuttered out, words bleeding into each other. "I'm sorry."

He deserved more than an I don't want to talk about this. Dmitri knew that. After all, his grandfather was the only one who actually supported about their relationship, and treated Tariq like his own fucking grandson.

"It— uh, it happened—" Dmitri stopped, his eyes pricking with a piercing heat. Not now. Not now. "Three years ago. He died three years ago."

While it didn't feel fresh, it wasn't a fully healed wound. There was a protective scab over it, one that prevented Dmitri from hurting so much, from feeling so much, but sometimes, he would pick at the scab until it bled all over again, and he was forced to go through the healing process all over again, until a new scab was formed.

Tariq nodded, his voice brittle, sounding like he was teetering on the edge of tears when said, "You were in college? When it happened?"

That was easily one of the worst times of his life. Not something that he ever wanted to repeat.

"Yeah. Heart attack."

God, he was going to cry if he spoke about it anymore. The lump in his throat was enough for him to know.

He was lucky Tariq could always tell when he was shutting down, when he couldn't talk anymore, because when he said, "I'm sorry. Do you want to go back inside, or— ?"

A nod was all Dmitri gave Tariq, the lump in his throat preventing him from saying anything else. Getting up, he didn't turn around to see if Tariq was following him, just going down the stairs and trying his best not to let his legs give out on him as he did.

"Dmitri," Tariq said just as they got to the door of his house, the welcome mat never looking less welcoming. "Are you okay? Your entire body is shaking."

I didn't even notice. "I'm fine," he quipped back, though his voice didn't come out as strong as he would have liked. "I'm fine. I'm leaving."

Tariq frowned, thick eyebrows furrowing together. "You're literally shaking. Do you want some water?" he asked, and that was enough to cause something inside of Dmitri to snap.

"There's a fucking reason we broke up, Tariq." God, I should shut up.

"I know, but—"

"Fuck this one night shit, this is bullshit," he stressed, not feeling anything but a painful numbness in his body. "We broke up. We're not together anymore, and there's a reason for that, and we can't do this. Fuck this."

A grim expression crossed Tariq's face, and he nodded, his lips curving upward into a bitter smile. "I don't know why the fuck I try, when it's clear that there's no fucking point to this. I'm sorry. Have a good night, Dmitri."

Then, he entered his house, shutting the door behind him without a second glance.

And finally, Dmitri let a dry sob leave his mouth, because even when he felt like shit, even when he was thinking about the fact that one of the only people he cared about was dead, he couldn't get rid of the numbness. He couldn't bring himself to cry real tears.

So, all he did was sink his nails into his palm, until he drew blood.

But even then, he felt nothing.

Nothing but numbness.

—

When Dmitri got home, it was way past eleven.

Typically, he would have reached at ten, but on his drive back home, he had to pull over in the middle of the road because his entire body was shaking to the point where he could barely sit down and drive.

He expected Eden to be asleep, she always slept early, no matter the day, weekday or weekend. But when he saw the purple light glowing in her room through the tiny crack in her door, he knew exactly what was happening.

Gently pushing the door open, he entered her room, finding her exactly how he expected her to be— seated on the floor, hunched in on herself, her face buried in her hands.

"Hey. Eden," he whispered, only to be greeted by a tear-streaked face. "You're okay. What's up?" I need to sleep. Fuck.

Eden sniffed, shaking her head fervently. "It was just too much," she mumbled back, squeezing her eyes shut. "The neighbours— they were— there were fireworks, I hate th-the noises, and— the sound, the light, it was too much. And the hospital, my sister gave birth, and there were just— that was a lot, I was so scared for her. B-But the neighbours were too much. The noise was too much, I have work to do, and they're fuckin' going wild with their fireworks. What the fuck is the need? There's no celebration today."

Dmitri really fucking hated their neighbours. He hated anyone who burst fireworks, there was no need. At all.

"Can I come closer?"

Nodding, Eden sniffed again, glancing up at him through red-rimmed eyes. "How was your dinner?"

Not for now. "Later," he assured, sitting down next to her, close enough for her to take his hand whenever she wanted, but far enough for her to have her own space.

They sat in silence for two minutes, with Eden's eyes closed as she breathed deeply, flinching at every firework that went off, and Dmitri mumbling meaningless assurances that probably made zero sense.

However, when she re-opened her eyes, she looked down, before grabbing Dmitri's hand in her own, and whispering, "D, what the fuck is this?"

"What?"

"Your hand is bleeding."

In an instant, Dmitri yanked his hand away, his heart beginning to hammer away at his chest as he set his hands down, hidden away from Eden's sight and his own.

"I was just nervous about the dinner and everything," he defended, because there was no way he was going to make Eden worry even more. Absolutely not. "But everything is fine. You're fine, I'm fine. Everything's okay."

Eden sighed, shaking her head. "D... I'm fine because I actually ask you for help when I need it. I don't think you are."

Why does this keep happening? "E, it's honestly—"

"Just— stay with me? Sleep in my room tonight? You can let Juno sleep here, too."

At first, Dmitri was about to say no. That was the natural thing to do, for him, at least. But then he saw the concern on Eden's face, and the last thing that he wanted to do was disappoint someone else.

So, all he said was, "Yeah. I'll sleep here tonight," and a softer, "I'm sorry."

—

+3230

AN: idk when the angst will stop but i promise there will b a happy ending for everyone.

promise 🥰

so yea, thank u all for reading !! i hope u have/had a good day today! lmk how ur day has been in the comments if u want🥰 bye😚