For the first time since he'd come to Josh's apartment, Emery closed his bedroom door for the night, leaning against it and breathing deeply. He took his glasses off so he could run his other hand over his face, eyes closed. Lately it seemed every moment with Josh was too much to bear. He was caught in a duality of feelings, in wanting to hoard each second while, simultaneously, not wanting to live it in the first place, and—
No, that wasn't fair. It was never a question of not wanting to live those times. It was the small issue of them hampering his decision to move forward, to find his own space, to do better. Josh touched him so often these days, and always as if Emery mattered — it was wreaking havoc on both his heart and his determination. If he thought he'd ever get a fraction of a chance to make up for what he'd done, it'd be a different matter. It'd be worth the pain.
But then, whatever Josh saw fit to give of himself would always be worth the pain.
Emery didn't want to leave, even though he knew he would have to, sooner or later. But he wanted to be living here when Josh fell in love with someone else even less so. To witness firsthand what those touches would look like when shared with someone who meant something to Josh. To see beloved gray eyes lighting up with love at another man would be a particularly cruel form of punishment.
Especially considering the knowledge Emery might have had that love for himself, if he hadn't been a coward, was never far from his mind.
By the same token, giving up those moments felt like unforgivable foolishness. If he'd thought life would go on much as it was these days, he'd never have wanted anything to change. A life spent with Josh, even under the current circumstances, would be worth any hurt. But he wouldn't always have this. Whatever drove Josh to allow it, it would stop once someone else entered his life, and Emery would become the embarrassing baggage Josh couldn't quite get rid of.
Perhaps it had already begun, judging by the distance Josh had ruthlessly imposed between the two of them in the latter part of the night, even when they were side by side. Always friendly, cordial, warm, even, but so far away Emery wouldn't have the slightest chance to reach him. And it felt different, tonight. Different from Josh's jog the previous night — though he was out jogging even now — different from the way he sometimes moved between warm and icy at a moment's notice.
Emery had the heartbreaking suspicion that, whatever Josh's reasons, he wouldn't get back yesterday's Josh. Ever.
He crossed his arms, hands gripping his upper arms tightly, and exhaled in measured breaths. Why hadn't Josh found someone yet? Was Emery the answer to that question? Did Josh know the full extent of Emery's feelings and feel awkward enough not to go on dates if he couldn't bring his date home with him? Was he protecting Emery at his own expense even now?
All the warm, caring touches Josh had allowed him so far... Josh was lonely. Trapped in an impossible situation by Emery's very presence under his roof. Resigned to holding Emery's hand, as he had done so often, as a poor substitute for the real thing.
Emery knew loneliness well. The soul-crushing feeling of being unable to reach out to anyone because of his circumstances. It was only now dawning on him with devastating clarity that he was Josh's circumstances.
He tightened his hands further, all but hugging himself, burning eyes scrunched shut, and slid along the door until he was sitting on the floor.
His presence here was hurting Josh.
Last year — some eight months ago — Josh had spent two nights in a row with someone else. Then he'd come back home vulnerable from his client's passing, and Emery's brilliant plan to distract him by going to Central Park had culminated in Emery falling apart and Josh picking up the pieces. Josh hadn't spent another night away since, except for when he was working.
Emery was stealing every bit of joy from Josh, and Josh let him.
He wiped his eyes, a new certainty filling him despite the deep-seated ache in his heart. Best to take the first step. He needed to find a place of his own, even at the expense of this pretend relationship with the man he loved. That might be the only thing that would salvage a friendship out of it, in the end.
And, if he did that — if he lived in his own space, earning enough that he didn't need anyone's kindness to stay fed, clothed, and off the streets — and Josh still called him up at times? Still showed up, still chose to spend time with him? Then he'd know for certain that there was something in him Josh valued, regardless of circumstance or need.
He put his glasses back on, taking in his surroundings. Everything in his bedroom had been chosen by Josh, so carefully, so... Lovingly, in a way. Emery refused to believe they couldn't remain friends, if he acted swiftly enough and didn't commit any further egregious sins against Josh.
And this, all of this, was his to take wherever he went, to always remember how Josh had cared enough to make him feel he was home here. He could make a home somewhere else as a way to preserve the memory of this one.
It was somewhat crushing, the need to begin with a closed bedroom door, but first steps were always hard.
Goodnight, Josh. Sleep well.