CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THIS LIFE
—
The rest of the week went by in a blur.
Dmitri had finally managed to pay his rent for the previous month and this month, the articles that he had been writing for the stupid fucking magazine was somehow enough to pay his bills, and he had even booked an eye appointment for himself, because honestly, his eyesight was only getting worse and worse, almost to the point where he couldn't read anything.
The only down of the week was that Tariq hadn't said a word to him.
He couldn't blame him, though. There was no denying that it was his fault and no one else's. But still, he wished there was some way to make things better, it was the least he could do.
Apologising definitely didn't work. He had learnt that the hard way when Tariq had cursed him out for even trying to apologise.
"Okay, are you ready?" Eden asked, snapping him out of his thoughts, and he turned around to face her, her eyes frantic. "Do you have your meds? Your laptop? And have you got a hotel? And—"
"E, what the fuck? It's a wedding, I'm only going for a day. And yes, I have a hotel. It's a cheap one that's shady as fuck, but that's okay because the expensive ones in L.A. are the cost of our fucking rent," Dmitri rambled, grabbing his glasses and packing them, almost certain that there would be something to read at the wedding, and he wouldn't be able to read it.
Huffing, Eden shrugged, handing him his keys, a giant bottle of water, and an extra charger. Jesus. "I'm just sayin'," she drawled, lips pursing together. "You're a very irresponsible adult, D."
As soon as those words left her mouth, a twinge of hurt erupted in his chest, her words repeating in his head. Should I tell her that that low-key stung? Or should I just—
"What's wrong?" Eden asked, a slight frown on her lips as she spoke. "Did I say somethin'?"
"Uh—" he began, hand involuntarily reaching up to touch the back of his neck, a nervous habit he could never really shake. "I don't particularly like that? Being called irresponsible or whatever," he admitted softly, not making eye contact with Eden.
Eden raised her eyebrows, confusion evident on her face when she said, "Huh? I've always called you that as a joke."
And I've always hated it.
It was rare, but the two of them did get into minor disagreements, sometimes. It was only natural, they were two very different people, with very different personalities.
But whenever they did, Dmitri hated it. He despised it, because as loud and obnoxious as Eden was, and as straightforward as Dmitri was, the two of them always, always shut down when they disagreed on something.
"Yeah, and now I'm asking you to stop." I don't want to have this conversation.
"Why?" Eden asked, head cocking slightly to the right.
Dmitri shrugged, anxiousness building up at the bottom of his stomach, bubbling up, because holy shit, while he was straightforward, he fucking hated confrontation. Especially when he knew that admitting this to Eden would make her feel bad.
"My parents— uh, they constantly called me like, irresponsible 'n shit," he mumbled, mouth going parchment dry, now that he was actually speaking. "Like, whenever I was in an episode— I didn't know that those were even depressive episodes back then— they would call me irresponsible for not completing my work on time. Or not getting out of bed to go to school. Or not eating, or anything really.
"Like—" Then, he paused, shooting Eden a quick glance. "Sorry, this is fuckin' ridiculous. Makes no sense, so—"
"Shut your fuckin' mouth and continue."
He couldn't help but laugh at that, a still slightly uncertain one, but at least the anxiety in his stomach had disappeared. "I just— don't like being called that. Irresponsible and lazy. Don't like those words," he finished softly, about to change the topic of conversation with a quick, 'Anyway', until Eden replied with a hum, and an apologetic—
"Damn. I'm sorry." Chest rising with a quick breath, Eden nodded, before taking a step forward and wrapping her arms around Dmitri's body, just holding him. Well. "I hate that your high school experience was so fuckin' shitty," she mumbled, only letting go when Dmitri reciprocated the hug. "And also, I'm sorry. You're not irresponsible. You're very responsible, actually."
Snorting, Dmitri shook his head, mentally yelling at himself for even overthinking it in the first place. "My high school experience wasn't so bad, I had—" Tariq. "I had fun," he stated, ignoring the roll of Eden's eyes. No thinking about Tariq. No thinking about him when your mood is a solid eight on ten.
Eden nodded. "Heck yeah." Then, what looked to be as an afterthought, she added, "My parents are your parents, now."
There was nothing to complain about there. Eden's parents were the best. So were Tariq's. They felt like home. Like how parents were supposed to feel.
His own parents felt like hell on earth.
"Are you all set?" Eden asked after a few seconds of silence, grabbing a slice of wheat bread and eating it. Is she— ? "Bitch, stop starin' at me like that. Yes, I'm snackin' on bread, what about it?"
A laugh left his mouth at that, a genuine one, and he shook his head, holding his hands up in defense. "Nothing. I just— I love you, E. Thanks for always keeping me in check." And for everything else, too.
Eyes briefly softening, Eden nodded, picking up Dmitri's duffle bag and handing it to him. "If you're still sentimental because of your whole episode 'n everythin', then I mean, you don't have to—"
"That was two weeks ago, E," he reminded, because time really was just a concept. A concept that neither of them had a clue of. "I'm just sayin', I love you. A lot."
Smiling softly, Eden nodded. "Okay," she accepted, leaning her head up to kiss him softly on the cheek. "Sorry, it's just weird when you don't spend the night at home. Can't believe you're goin' all the way to LA for a day. Without me, your best friend. Imagine."
Dmitri shook his head, breathing out a laugh as he slung the duffle bag on his shoulder. "Call Trinh over, y'all can spend the night together," he suggested.
Eden gasped, her eyes widening dramatically. "How dare you suggest something so lewd to me, an asexual? The audacity."
Good God, I love her. "Don't be ridiculous," he muttered, reaching forward and shoving her forehead forward. "I'll see you tomorrow, E."
Waving him off with a flick of her hand, Eden shrugged, yelling out a loud, "Bye!" when he walked out the door, closing it with a bang.
The first thing that he did when he clambered into his car was roll down the windows, the car still having that new car smell, despite it being a two year old, hand me down car. The second thing that he did was connect his phone to the aux cord, his recently made playlist playing a song by Cage The Elephant.
However, just two songs later, a Spotify ad popped up, interrupting his music. Jesus fucking Christ.
It was going to be a long two hours.
—
Exactly fourteen Spotify advertisements later, Dmitri reached the hotel he was staying at for the night.
Frankly, there was no need for him to stay the night, he could've just driven back to San Diego that night instead of staying at a hotel.
But also, he didn't want to fall asleep at the wheel.
Pulling his car up into a vacant parking spot, Dmitri quickly parked it, yanking his phone out of the aux cord and effectively stopping the stupid fucking ad that was playing. Spotify ads. They can choke.
Then, he made his way into the dingy hotel with low lighting and a slightly ominous music playing through the lobby, shooting the guy next to the door a tight smile and a nod.
And only when he looked forward did he come to realise that he should have booked the more expensive hotel.
Because standing right in front of him was Tariq, booking a room in the same fucking hotel.
It made sense, if Dmitri thought about it. It was one of the cheaper hotels in the city, and it was close to the location of the church where Silas was getting married. But he didn't exactly want to think about it.
Lethargically moving forward, he made his way to the back of the counter, standing a few feet away from Tariq, so that he wouldn't be spotted.
But unfortunately for him, he was loud as fuck.
Head snapping around at the sound of Dmitri's very heavy, dragging footsteps, Tariq made eye contact with him, and just stared at him for a second.
With a scratchy voice, one that sounded like he was on a solid six or maybe even a five out of ten on the Tariq Scale, he said, "Just my fucking luck."
"Fuck off," Dmitri shot back, he wasn't even sure why he snapped, it was just a reflex at this point. "Trust me, I didn't want this."
Tariq rolled his eyes, sliding his credit card back into his wallet and picking up his duffle bag, wincing a little in the process. Should I help? "Not like I wanted you here, either."
That one stung. A lot.
That wasn't something you told someone who tried to take their own life.
By the look of it, Tariq realised his mistake, too. But he didn't correct himself, didn't apologise. He just sighed, and with a slight hobble in his step, he left the lobby.
Damn, the receptionist is probably so fucking confused. Or they just don't give a fuck. Yeah, that's more likely.
Once Dmitri got his keys from the receptionist, doing everything in his power to not let his intense fear of fucking something up while speaking to them get in the way as he spoke, he made his way upstairs to the third floor, room 3B.
And of course, Tariq's room was 3A. The room right opposite his.
But that wasn't what bothered him, not at that moment, at least.
What bothered him was that Tariq was seated on the floor of the hallway, right outside his room as he inhaled sharply, his skin flushed, but somehow, pale.
Fuck. Crouching down, Dmitri set his own duffle bag down outside his room, at eye level with Tariq when he said, "Are you sick?"
Tariq nodded, wiping his face down with his hand. "I had a pretty shit fever like, three days ago, I think," he mumbled, his voice so hoarse that he didn't even sound like himself anymore. "And I was fine yesterday, but I just feel really fucking gross today. I think I might be sweating it out or something." Hand reaching out to touch Dmitri's thigh, Tariq gripped it, using it to push himself up off the ground, his small frame nearly falling over as he did.
Dmitri couldn't even begin to imagine how bad Tariq must've been feeling right then. Not just physically, emotionally, too.
"What if you just skipped the wedding?" Dmitri suggested, because holy shit, Tariq didn't look good. It definitely wasn't the worst he had seen him, but it wasn't good. "I'm sure Silas wouldn't mind."
Tariq groaned, shaking his head adamantly. "I'll be fine in a little bit." Stubborn ass. "I'll just—" Weakly gesturing to the inside of his room, Tariq closed his eyes, his entire face slightly slick with sweat. "I'm sorry about what I said earlier, I wasn't— I just need..." he trailed off, almost falling smack dab onto the floors of the hallway if Dmitri hadn't caught him, wrapping an arm around him and guiding him to the bed.
"I'll wake up soon," Tariq mumbled, falling into bed, his dark red t-shirt covered in sweat. "Not skipping the wedding. No, sir."
Oh my god. Placing a blanket on top of Tariq, one which he instantly kicked off, Dmitri dragged his duffel bag into the room, the bag unnaturally heavy for a day's stay.
One of the zips was slightly open, Dmitri realised. Open to the point where he could see what was inside the bag.
Cameras.
Oh. It's for his pictures.
Well, that wasn't as interesting as Dmitri expected it to be.
Why take them on one of the only off days he's had in a while? Overworkers.
Sighing, he made his way out of the room, and made his way into his own room, the worry for Tariq eating him alive. While there was probably no need to worry, not really, Dmitri still did. It was instinct, almost.
The clock above the chipped walls was ticking rhythmically, the time reading fifteen minutes past eight. Meaning that Dmitri had enough and more time to take a quick nap before the wedding, his head aching from the drive earlier.
Wait, but I should probably stay awake to wake Tariq up.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, opening up his clock app and quickly setting an alarm for eleven o'clock, or at least, he hoped that he set it for eleven o'clock.
Then, he got into the fresh sheets of the hotel bed, the surprising softness of the bed already enveloping him, causing him to fall into a deep sleep.
—
When Dmitri woke up again, he felt more disgruntled than ever.
Mouth full of cotton, he groaned, sitting up and grabbing a bottle of water, washing away the sandpaper taste in his mouth. Then, he checked the time.
Eleven thirty. Not too bad.
Sleeping through his alarms was always his worst habit. Or so he liked to think.
Just as he was about to get out of bed, take a shower, he saw that he had a text from someone. An unknown, but very known number.
xxx-xxx-xx36 -
mf didn't wake me up 😒
A small chuckle left Dmitri's mouth, until he was painfully reminded of the fact that Tariq still hated him. And a text message didn't change that.
Shooting Tariq a quick 'oops' back, Dmitri rolled out of bed, making his way into the bathroom and stripping out of his clothes as he stepped into the freezing shower.
Once he was done, he tugged on his pants, buttoning up the plain white shirt and tying his tie, fucking up exactly three times. I hate weddings. Jesus.
"I look stupid," he muttered to himself, not bothering with his hair because it was getting so unbelievably long in such a short amount of time that he had no idea what to do. "So fucking stupid," he repeated, shrugging on the fucking black blazer and slipping into the dress shoes that he only wore for special occasions at the school.
Okay. Time to go check on Tariq.
Hastily grabbing his phone, keys— car and room— and his wallet, he made his way out of the room, knocking twice on Tariq's own door.
"Just— God fucking damnit, give me one fucking second, I'm—" Tariq called out from inside the room, and the sound of heavy footsteps was heard before Tariq swung the door open, his chest rising and falling heavily.
His chest that was very much on full display.
In fact, there wasn't much covering his entire upper body, his plain white shirt completely unbuttoned and untucked.
"Are you not ready?" Dmitri urged, stepping into the room and watching as Tariq grabbed his cameras that were scattered on the bed, shoving them into his bag. "I literally know that you sell pictures of yourself, you don't have to hide it."
Tariq sighed, nodding reluctantly. Then, he began to button up his shirt, or at least tried to, his trembling fingers unable to even hold the button as he buttoned it.
So, Dmitri moved forward, swatting Tariq's hand away and taking the shirt in his own hands, buttoning up each of the buttons. This is so weird. Fuck.
"Wait," Tariq muttered when he was done with the button below the two on top, taking a step back. "Oh my god, my hands won't stop shaking, Dmitri. Holy fucking shit," he stressed, holding up his hand which was trembling to the point where it looked like it hurt.
Fortunately, Dmitri was used to this, so, taking a step forward, he reached out, placing both his hands above and below Tariq's hand, sandwiching it together, as he always did.
What he didn't expect was for Tariq to smack his hand away and step back, annoyance blooming on his face.
"Just because you're helping me, it doesn't mean we're automatically chill," he snapped, clenching and unclenching his fist as he shook his hand out. Then, closing his eyes, he shook his head. "Sorry. You're helping, I'm just... really fucking exhausted. That's not an excuse but—"
"Shut up and give me your tie," Dmitri instructed, accepting the tie from Tariq's hands, doing everything in his power to prevent himself from just holding his hand, steadying it, easing the trembling.
Tariq rolled his eyes but complied, raising his chin for Dmitri to tie his tie for him, his Adam's apple looking so fucking flick-able.
"You've tied your tie so badly," Tariq muttered, shoving his hair out of his face. "Repulsive."
"Fuck off," Dmitri laughed out as he looped Tariq's tie in for him, his fingers just briefly grazing his neck, only for half a second. Fuck
Once he was done, tying Tariq's tie and having his inner panicked monologue over how attractive Tariq looked at that particular moment, he took a step back, watching as Tariq rummaged through his bag for his suit jacket.
Well, his suit jacket and something else, too.
"Eyeliner or no?"
Holy fucking shit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. "Can you— will you be able to do it?" he stuttered out, his whole fucking body lit up on fire. "Your hands are shaking 'n everything, right? So, can you—"
Rolling his eyes, Tariq took Dmitri's hand, opening out the loose fist that he didn't even know he had created, and placed the eyeliner in it. "You're acting like you don't know how to do it. You used to do it all the time on yourself." He grinned, holy fucking shit, did he grin, and pulled a chair out, sitting down on it. "You can do it for me. It makes me feel hot."
"You're hot all the time."
Sometimes, Dmitri wished he could go back in time, just to smack himself in the face.
Tariq snorted, the amused smile still playing on his lips. "Good to know. I mean, I do know, but it's always good to get the extra affirmation from my ex-boyfriend."
Dmitri was about to combust. Then and there. "Are we just forgetting about the fact that you despise me?" he blurted, because honest to fuck, he was confused out of his mind. Why did everything feel fine when it wasn't?
A brief look of surprise erupted behind Tariq's eyes, but it disappeared instantly, so quick that Dmitri barely even saw it. "Not forgetting," Tariq confirmed. "Just ignoring it for now, because even though my fever's gone, I feel incredibly fucking ill, and I really don't want to argue right now. And we're in LA. A completely different city. We can go back to hating each other once we're back in San Diego. Hating you is exhausting."
Sometimes, Tariq could say the most painfully deep shit and just brush it off like it was nothing.
Hating him was exhausting, too, though.
"Just— close your fucking eyes," Dmitri mumbled, kneeling down and uncapping the eyeliner, doing it in exactly two minutes, in the same way he always did it for himself.
Well, used to do it for himself, until he gave up on actually putting effort into his appearance.
We're so unbelievably close. Our faces are so, so fucking close to each other.
"You smell so fucking good, it hurts."
That was enough for Dmitri to get rid of his thoughts, remind himself that he couldn't have those thoughts about Tariq, that it crashed once and it would crash again.
"Shut up," he retorted, his cheeks on fire. His whole body on fire, Tariq's words nothing but kerosene, feeding it with each sentence. "I think it's dry, you can open your eyes." He's so attractive, I might cry. Tariq in a suit. Fuck.
Tariq hummed and opened his eyes, looking at himself in the tiny, slightly dirty mirror. "Look at that. You haven't lost your touch, even though you've become bland as fuck!"
Dryly glancing at Tariq, Dmitri huffed, trying not to let the twitch of his lips give him away. "It's the depression that makes me bland. Coincidentally enough, it's the depression that gives me my humour, too."
"What humour?"
Dmitri just rolled his eyes, placing the eyeliner back on the small table near the bed, next to the lamp, notepad and the obscure looking telephone.
"How are you getting to the church?" Dmitri questioned, observing Tariq as he packed everything else into his bag.
"Taxi, I think? I don't fucking know."
Dmitri hummed, and before he knew it, he was saying, "You could come with me. I could drive us."
If Tariq was shocked, he didn't show it, and instead he just got out a soft, "Yeah," closing his eyes. And holy fuck, his eyeliner was so fucking attractive, his entire outfit was so unbelievably attractive, right from the unbuttoned suit jacket that fit his body so well, all the way down to his pants that— fuck.
He knew that Tariq was attractive, there was no denying that. But this was dangerous territory. Very dangerous territory.
Because before, he acknowledged that Tariq was attractive, but his hate for him was enough to outweigh his attractiveness. Now, he wasn't so sure if his hate was strong enough.
"Uh— o-okay, so we should probably—" I should shut up.
Tariq laughed. "You can admit that you wanna jump my bones. You're very hot in a suit, too, Dmitri. Would fuck."
"You already did," Dmitri pointed out, because even though he had told himself to shut up, he never listened to anyone, and his self wasn't an exception.
Another small laugh later, Tariq shook his head and said, "Actually, you did the fucking, but okay."
"Maybe we could switch, then."
This time, Tariq definitely showed the shock by breathing out an incredulous laugh and a weak, "Our car ride is gonna be wild as fuck if we continue."
He couldn't have been more wrong, though. Because as soon as they got into the car and he began to drive, Tariq just rested his head in his hand and closed his eyes, instantly falling asleep.
And only forty five minutes later, when they reached the church did Tariq wake up, letting out a soft groan and a hiss at the afternoon sun. Dramatic ass.
"Why the fuck did you let me sleep?" he mumbled, huffing. "I probably look like a wreck now that I've woken up from a fucking nap."
"You look just fine." Giving him a once-over, he reached out to straighten out his tie, ignoring the look that Tariq shot him. "And it's not like I could've stopped you, you literally got into the car and decided it was a fuckin' bed, for some reason. The fuck could I do?"
Tariq just rolled his eyes, patting his cheeks once as if that would wake him up. "Let's just— let's go," he muttered, smoothening out his shirt and getting out of the car, blinking hard for a second, hand reaching out to touch the car. "Stood up too fast. Oops."
"Living on the edge," Dmitri dryly stated once he was out of the car as well.
"Hm."
Shooting him a confused look, Dmitri frowned, taking in his slightly slouched frame, his tired eyes. Everything. "Oy. Everything okay?"
Tariq nodded, but then, he shook his head, shoving his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket as he walked in the direction of the church, Dmitri falling into step with him, because honestly, Tariq's legs were tiny. He could never walk fast enough for Dmitri to not be able to catch up.
"I hate being sick," he mumbled, taking a seat in one of the middle pews. Should I sit next to him? I'm so confused. "It's so tiring. I'm fucking exhausted, and I've barely done anything today. Everything is really exhausting to do right now."
Definitely know how that feels. Deciding to sit next to him, Dmitri sidled over, sitting down on the bench and humming, before he said, "The wedding is only for like— half an hour, right? Just get through the ceremony, we can just show our faces at the reception— Silas will understand—, and after that, you can sleep."
"We?" Tariq questioned, his voice soft.
Unfortunately, before Dmitri could even reply, the ceremony started. And God, did it go by in a blur.
Silas already standing at the altar, Genevieve walking in, her dress flowing out behind her, violins playing a wedding march, exchanging of vows, exchanging of rings, and that was it. They were done.
"It's done," Tariq whispered to Dmitri once everyone had started leaving. "Just have to make it to the reception, now. And then we're done. I can sleep. Maybe God does exist after all."
Dmitri snorted, cocking his head in the direction of the giant statue of Jesus. "Maybe you shouldn't be saying that in a church?"
Getting up from his seat, Tariq shrugged, clearing his throat before saying, "Oh well," and clambering into the car again, buckling on the seatbelt. "Can we maybe not play music?"
Huh? Eyebrows pinching together, Dmitri turned to look at Tariq, beginning his drive to the fancy ass hall where they were having the reception. "You always want music when we drive."
"Head is pounding," he mumbled, resting his head against the seat as he sighed. "If it's not one pain, it's another pain. I hate this more than anything."
Oh. Pushing down the hurt that pierced his chest when those words left Tariq's mouth, he nodded, still observing him out of the corner of his eye. "Five minutes and we'll be there. And honestly— we literally don't even have to go to the reception," he pointed out, turning right when the GPS said so.
"We're going," Tariq confirmed, his normally bronze skin tone slightly darker due to the light sheen of sweat coating it. "We can stay for like, two minutes, but we have to go," he stressed, and that was when Dmitri realised that this meant much more to him than he let on.
It was the whole complex of Tariq's, the I can do normal things even if I'm sick, one.
Three minutes later (Dmitri took a shortcut despite Tariq's protests), they reached the hall, Tariq pausing once on the way inside, though Dmitri didn't particularly know why. He claimed that he needed to pep himself up before entering, but the hobble in his step was a dead giveaway that he was in pain.
But Dmitri didn't exactly estimate how much pain until they went over to congratulate Silas and a small groan escaped Tariq's mouth, his teeth sinking down into his bottom lip, looking like he was about to draw blood if he went any further.
"Hey," Dmitri started, nudging him. "What's wrong?"
Tariq just shook his head. Well, okay.
So, Dmitri tried again. "Are you in pain?"
And again, Tariq shook his head, plastering on a smile as he congratulated Silas and Genevieve, making quick conversation with them while Dmitri stayed by his side, the gears in his head turning so quick that he could barely form out a 'congratulations' to the couple.
Then, Tariq turned around, speed-walking all the way out of the hall, and practically crashing into a chair that was placed outside, for fuck knows what reason.
"Oh my fucking god," he muttered, resting his head down on his knee and groaning. "My foot is cramped in my shoe. I can barely walk, Jesus."
Frowning, Dmitri squatted down, ignoring the burn in his legs from doing so. "Do you wanna leave? We can just leave if you want. Honestly—"
"Shut up for a second," Tariq instructed, letting out a soft groan under his breath. "Listen to the fucking song they're playing."
"What the fu—"
"Just listen."
So, Dmitri shut up and listened. And only then did he realise they they were playing the same song that the both of them had quite literally met each other to, when they were at a concert together, when they had exchanged numbers because Tariq had said, 'You're in my Chemistry class and you listen to Vampire Weekend? We should be friends!'.
"Let's just— stay for a second. For this song," Tariq mumbled, closing his eyes.
So, they stayed.
—
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