CHAPTER ELEVEN

GUILT

—

Dmitri's back ached.

It started from his neck, and travelled all the way down his spine, ending at only his waist. And when he pushed himself off the couch and his entire back let out a sickening crack, he wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and cry.

If this was even half the pain that Tariq dealt with, his heart went out to him.

Tariq. Fuck, what if he remembers?

That was for fully-awake Dmitri to deal with. Not for barely-functioning Dmitri to deal with.

Sometimes, those two Dmitri's were the same.

He glanced at his phone, squinting as he read his messages from last night, ones that he was too tired to check before he went to bed. As expected, he had a few drunk ones from Eden, pictures of her and Trinh throwing back shots together, her kissing Trinh's cheek, her flashing a thumbs up to the camera, captioning her picture with the words: I am druuuuunk.

Deciding to go check on Trinh and Eden first, Dmitri made his way up the stairs, ignoring the way his back ached with every other step as he knocked on the bedroom door. God, I should have just slept in the fucking bed.

After a whole thirty seconds of knocking with no response from either of them, he pushed the door open, only to find the two of them sprawled over each other, their bodies practically invisible under the blankets.

Fuck them for being this cute.

Then, he made his way down to the guest room, pausing behind the door for a few seconds, because he did not want to face Tariq after last night.

That is, if he could still remember. God knows, Dmitri didn't, and he wasn't even the one who had gotten drunk.

Hesitantly pushing the door open, Dmitri walked in, an involuntary smile spreading on his lips when he took one look at Tariq.

He was always the most chaotic sleeper.

Arms splayed out, legs taking up half the bed, face smashed into the pillow, and his shirt hanging off his frame as he slept- he was a fucking wreck.

"Tariq," he whispered, shaking his shoulder lightly. In an even more hushed tone, he repeated, "Tariq. Get the fuck up."

"What?" he grumbled, groaning under his breath as he switched his position, finally moving his face out of the pillow, crease lines covering his cheek.

Didn't expect him to reply. Fuck, I didn't plan ahead. "It's past eleven, do you wanna wake up? How's your head?"

Tariq just groaned, reaching out for something, swatting his hand around until he placed it right on Dmitri's cheek, humming softly when he felt it under his hand. Is he still drunk?

"Uh—" Dmitri began, praying, literally praying that his cheeks weren't heating up. "Your hand is on my cheek," he pointed out, reaching up to move it. Unfortunately— unfortunately?— Tariq was quicker to react, moving his hand down until he felt Dmitri's chest, laying his hand right on the spot where his shirt was unbuttoned. Fuck.

He didn't know what the fuck to do.

"Maybe I'll let you sleep for—" Dmitri began, but before he could even get a whole sentence out, Tariq interrupted him with a cough and a small—

"You left last night."

What? Oh fuck. "I did," Dmitri agreed, almost certain that Tariq could feel his heart pounding in his chest, though he, himself, wasn't sure why it was pounding. Maybe it was because Tariq still had his hand on his bare skin, or maybe it was because Tariq was right in front of him and while he was a half-drunk half-sober mess, he had never looked more familiar.

"Why'd you leave?" he mumbled, finally, finally letting go of Dmitri's shirt. "I was warm. Until you left."

Holy fuck, he was so delirious. More delirious than he was when he was drunk.

"Can you sit up?" he asked, voice involuntarily softer, it always got softer around Tariq. "Try not to throw up on me. Please."

Muttering a slew of curses under his breath, Tariq pushed the blankets off his body, clutching his head with his hand as he hissed. "I hate myself," he mumbled, sleeve of his shirt hanging off his shoulder, a small black mark present on his shoulder. Is that a—

"I cannot believe I got that drunk," he whispered, clearing his throat and adding a weak, "I'm sorry."

For what? Sighing, Dmitri took a seat on the bedas he waited for Tariq to elaborate. But by the looks of it, he didn't want to, his eyes closed as he shook his head, mumbling the word "fuck" over and over, until he just went silent.

Eventually, he said, "I don't remember shit from last night. Other than repeatedly complaining, and—" Then, he paused, hand covering his mouth as he gasped. "Wait. Fuck. Did I cry?"

"You're an emotional drunk," Dmitri decided to say, because Tariq already looked like he was having an existential crisis, and while adding fuel to the fire was something that he always did, he didn't want to do it right then.

If it was even possible, Tariq looked even more fed up with himself upon hearing that, a groan escaping his mouth. "Fuck me. I fucking hate it here."

"Funnily enough, you said the exact same thing last night."

"Oh my fucking god. Shoot me, Dmitri. Fuck, what the fuck was I thinking?"

Dmitri couldn't help but laugh at that, watching as Tariq combed his hand through his hair, the bright red nail polish on his nails practically glaring at him.

The last time Dmitri had encouraged Tariq to wear nail polish, he had complied, but he had also cried in the middle of their date, the panic of other people 'finding out' blatant in his eyes. So, this was... new.

Then again, it had been literal years.

It was hard— remembering that little detail. Everything from early nineteen to late twenty one was a genuine blur to Dmitri. His grandfather getting diagnosed with his heart condition. His family telling him that his 'condition' was worse than his grandfather's. His depression hitting so hard, to the point where he had gone to his classes without brushing his teeth, taking a shower for a whole two weeks.

He had only started living again last year. After going on meds, after therapy, after fixing the pieces that had cracked in those few years.

And it was so hard for his brain to comprehend that so many days, weeks, months, years had gone by with him living in stagnancy, while the rest of the world else moved on.

Shit was wild.

"Did I embarrass myself?" Tariq asked, getting up and making his way into the bathroom. "Other than the crying and shit? Did I like— publicly embarrass myself?"

"Not that I'm aware of." Dmitri shrugged. Should I tell him everything? "I think I was with you for a good majority of the time. Well, from the time you got drunk drunk, at least."

Tariq poked his head out of the bathroom door, a toothbrush stuck in his mouth as he said, "Did I spill anything to you?"

"Not that I remember."

"Liar," Tariq called out, and that was all he said before he disappeared back into the bathroom.

Oops.

Once Tariq was done with his business in the bathroom, he walked out, already looking much better than he did when he first woke up— the ever-present bags under his eyes still there, but less prominent, and his face less tired now that he had washed it.

As Dmitri folded the last of the blankets, Tariq flopped onto the unmade bed, grabbing a pillow and holding it close to his body as he groaned into it.

Finally, he said, "My head is literally fucking spinning. The whole room is just completely out of focus, my whole body hurts."

Dmitri frowned, setting down the folded blanket. "That's not normal," he pointed out, carefully watching Tariq, whose eyes were squeezed shut, breathing slightly laboured. Oh no. "I think you might have a fever."

This always happened. Always.

"I hate my body," Tariq muttered, opening his eyes, which were filled with water. If it were anyone else, Dmitri would have thought they were crying. But this was Tariq, and these weren't Tariq's crying tears. This was his 'holy shit, my eyes are burning and my entire body is heated up' tears.

"Most people get headaches after a night of drinking," he continued, groaning softly and rubbing his eyes. "I get shaking hands— well, that's all the time—, palpitations, pins and needles, a fucking fever, and all the regular hangover symptoms. Amazing."

"That's not your fault," Dmitri defended. "Your fever should be gone in a bit, right? That's how your hangover fevers are, they leave in a few hours. I think."

Tariq just shrugged, and before Dmitri could even comprehend what was happening, a small laugh left his mouth, which soon turned into a fit of giggling from Tariq, leaving Dmitri more confused than ever.

"The fuck is wrong with you? Have you finally snapped?" he asked warily, going to close the windows and the curtains. What the fuck is going on?

Snorting, Tariq shook his head, and another short laugh later, he said, "I remember being so unbelievably annoying last night. I was literally all over you."

"That's what you were giggling about?" Jesus, help me. "You weren't annoying, by the way."

Frankly, Dmitri didn't remember much of the previous night either. He could remember all the conversations he had had with Tariq, he could vaguely remember putting Trinh and Eden to bed, but that was it. Maybe that was all that happened. He couldn't be sure.

"Tr— Dmitri, you get annoyed by every single thing," Tariq stated nonchalantly, yawning and muttering out a weak apology. "Anyway. What else did I spill to you?"

Tell him. It's not even that big of a deal. "Nothing else."

"Man, I'm supposed to be the lying bastard, not you," Tariq joked, but was it really a joke? Dmitri had no fucking idea. As usual.

"I know what we talked about right before I fell asleep," Tariq finally said. Oh. "But I won't say it. I shouldn't have said it last night, either, I practically forced you into telling me, and I really am sorry."

This time, Dmitri didn't just let his unsolicited apology slide. This time, he decided to ask him, "For what?"

Tariq sighed, eyes already dropping back shut. "For what I said the other day. When you told me what you told me. I'm sorry I said that, and I'm also sorry about everything else. That... That wasn't the best reaction to what you had said."

Last night, Dmitri had assumed that he would be able to talk about what they were talking about in the morning. Now that it was morning, he wasn't so sure.

Sighing, he took a seat on the floor, his words flowing out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "Did it suck to hear it? Yeah. Did I think about it the entire day? Also, yes. Was it your fault? Also, also, yes."

"Always nice to hear that."

"Shut up. But do I know that you didn't mean it? Yeah. So it's okay," Dmitri affirmed softly. "Shut up about it now, okay?"

Tariq frowned. "But—"

In order to prevent him from going on about the same topic, Dmitri interrupted him with a quick, "You told me that you sell nudes." And that you had a boyfriend who treated you like shit. And other things about said boyfriend. And about me.

Tariq let out a deep sigh at that, the regret evident in his eyes as he muttered the words, "Who let me get that drunk?" and sighed again.

"That's not even—" As bad as the other things you said. "— that bad."

"Dmitri, it literally is," he mumbled, immediately adding a weak, "I'm fucking freezing."

The pallor under Tariq's copper skin before, but he saw it now, and holy shit, did it hurt to see him sick after everything he had said the previous night.

Because now, he knew exactly how Tariq felt every time he got sick. And Tariq didn't know that he knew.

"It's really not. It's just pictures of your body."

"Zoya doesn't know," he blurted, and suddenly, it made sense. Why Tariq was panicking. "Fuck. What if it gets back to my parents? I mean— they took the being gay thing well, but only after I explained it to them. They're still confused about a bunch of shit, but they're trying. But holy fuck, if they find out I sell pictures of myself, they will disown me, it's—"

"Oy," Dmitri interrupted again, rolling his eyes. "As far as I'm concerned, I'm the only one who knows. Right? It's not like I'm gonna tell anyone. Your parents will find out when you tell them."

I need to tell him what he said about his ex-boyfriend. I need to tell him.

Humming, Tariq closed his eyes, leaning his head back on the headboard of the bed. "Anything else?"

"You also— uh, you fawned over me. It was great. Did wonders for my individuality complex," Dmitri managed to say, the weight on his shoulders becoming ten times heavier. Ignoring the pure mortification that emerged behind Tariq's eyes, he continued, "Not a lot. Just... something about me being—"

"Erase it."

Dmitri frowned, staring at him. "What?"

"Erase it from your memory," Tariq clarified, wincing, probably (hopefully) from the embarrassment. God knows, Dmitri would have been embarrassed. "Don't think about it. Oh my— what did I even say? What the fuck? Is that the most embarrassing thing that I did? Please tell me it is."

Ex-boyfriend. Tell him about the ex-boyfriend thing. "You called my hands attractive," he said, about to add a weak, 'You told me I was beautiful', when Tariq's face contorted into one of pain, hand going down to clutch his calf muscle as he hissed and said—

"Cramp. I'm cramping, fuck. Fuck. I need water."

Brushing aside the sting that he felt in his heart when those words left Tariq's mouth, Dmitri stood up from the ground, handing him the bottle of water that he had originally got for Eden and Trinh. "Do you want me to help, or— ?"

"No, it's not bad," Tariq muttered, rubbing repeated circles on his own leg. "I'm dehydrated, I think. Severely dehydrated. Should've eaten something after throwing up, that was stupid of me not to."

"That's not on you, I can help if—"

"No."

Well.

After a minute, Tariq sighed and nodded. "It's okay." Then, he took a sip of water from the bottle. "I'm fine, it was just one cramp," he reassured, himself, most likely, but Dmitri chose not to comment.

"'M tired," he muttered, yawning for the second time— was it the second time?— that day. "Thanks for like_ whatever. Whatever you did last night. Everything. I don't fucking remember. And again, I'm sorry."

"No problem," he replied, the guilt gnawing at his stomach, yelling at him to just tell him, he didn't even know why he wasn't telling him, the words refused to come out of his mouth.

Do it. Fucking do it.

Just as Dmitri mustered up the courage to speak, to admit to Tariq that he had spoken about his ex-boyfriend, something that he definitely wouldn't have wanted to tell him when he was sober, a soft hum came from Tariq's direction.

He turned around from the pictures of Trinh that he was fake-inspecting, only to find Tariq's eyes closed, chest rising and falling steadily.

"Uh—"

"Asleep."

Shit. "I need to—"

"You're fucking annoying," Tariq muttered, his eyes still closed. I need to tell you something. "Are you really gonna bother a sick dude? Just... Watch me sleep or something."

And that was the last thing that Tariq said before grabbing the recently folded blankets and wrapping himself in them, only his head peeking out of the sheets as he slept.

Dmitri didn't watch him sleep, though. He just stood up, and left a sleeping Tariq alone, for the second time that day. He walked, walked, walked all the way back into the living room, taking in the mess that surrounded him.

Someone had to clean up. And he had to get rid of the guilt. Somehow.

Using that as his motive, he cleaned the entire house; washed the dishes, emptied the trash, even swept the place up, for a slow, grueling three hours, so that the exhaustion could somehow outweigh the guilt.

Then, he left. Because he didn't know why he hadn't told Tariq, couldn't tell Tariq.

He really couldn't understand his brain, sometimes.

Or maybe this time, it wasn't his brain. Maybe, it was just him.

He didn't fucking know. All he knew was that he was tired, and that he couldn't handle being around Tariq.

So, he left a post-it outside Trinh's bedroom door, scrawling the words 'Drink water, and please make sure Tariq does, too. He's sick. If you need help, let me know. Happy birthday, again, Trinh!' on it, and left the house, leaving everything except the guilt behind him.

—

+2881

AN: so, so hard to find the motivation to edit this book when i get at least One comment every day either trashing on my characters (whom i love with my whole fucking heart), or trashing on my plot line (which i spent a whole month planning out).

pls🙏🏽 i am begging u🙏🏽 if u do not like it, LEAVE. i won't be mad if u read my other 2 books and u don't want to read this one. i understand that completely.
i WILL be mad if you choose to read this book and then tell me that my characters are annoying/dramatic/whatever the fuck y'all come up with, i don't fucking know.

i'm sorry this was so long, and i'm also very sorry i missed the previous update, i love u all very much and i hope u have a good day today ❤️❤️