Chapter Text
I thought of dying
because I hadn't met you yet
I've fallen a little bit in love with a world
that someone like you was born into
I have just a bit of hope for a world
that has someone like you living in it
In the weeks following the incident at the hospital, Clive swam in dark waters. He shook off his friends' hesitant attempts to ask what exactly had happened at the hospital, just saying that Joshua would be alright but it was unlikely they would see him again. The only person he told the whole story to was Jill, who promised to do her best to stall the publisher's requests for the final manuscript of The Phoenix's Knight. Clive couldn't even bear to look at the text, let alone work on it. He had talked about the story with Joshua so many times that the two were inseparable in his mind. Every passage was a reminder, piercing his heart anew.
What use was it to write beautiful stories if his actions could only do harm in the real world? How was that different from being a liar and a fraud?
One spring morning, he woke up to someone knocking on his door. In fact, the sound could more accurately be described as banging, fist meeting wood with commendable fervour. Clive thought it might be Gav or August escalating their attempts at well-meaning intervention, and he squeezed his eyes closed. He couldn't…he shouldn't—
"Open up, Rosfield! We have things to discuss."
Clive jolted. That was Dion's voice—and he sounded like he wasn't above bringing an axe to let himself in if his fist didn't do the job. Clive got up and went to answer the door, if only to avoid having the neighbours call the police on Joshua's brother…his other brother.
He fully expected to be punched as soon as he opened the door, but instead Dion just looked at him with a vague disgust.
"You look horrible."
It was probably true. Clive hadn't looked in a mirror in a while.
He stepped out of the way for Dion to walk in with Terence at his tail, the latter looking quite relieved that he hadn't had to be the one to put a stop to his husband making a scene in the hallway. Dion didn't take off his shoes or coat, instead crossing his arms and leaning against the wall with his eyes trained on Clive.
No one said anything for a moment.
"So I guess…you know," Clive said. His voice was rough from disuse.
"Joshua told me the whole thing," Dion nodded.
"How…how is he?"
Clive had no right to ask that, but he had to, had to know…
"He got back from the hospital last week. He's back at our place now. Managed to get to him before that harpy."
Dion made a face.
"He's back on his meds, too, so although it's not a fun time, he's managing. Emotionally? I'd say he's about the same as you. He's half-convinced himself that you never want to see him again."
Clive blinked. He must have misheard.
"That's backwards."
"Tell that to him. He's tried calling and texting you since getting his phone back, but said it won't go through."
Clive's eyes wandered around the room until he spotted his phone on the windowsill. He pressed the menu button, but the screen stayed blank—the battery was dead. How long had it been like that? Jill had usually come in with her own key, so maybe that was why she hadn't mentioned it…
"I'm giving you two choices," Dion said. "Either you come with us right now and sort this out…or we take all of Joshua's belongings and all of us move on with our lives, for good. No more surprises. I'm tired of this family letting him down all the time…myself included."
Terence put a sympathetic hand on Dion's shoulder at the bitterness of the final words. Clive, meanwhile, needed no thinking time to make his choice. At the very least, he couldn't allow Joshua to keep on thinking it was Clive who was harbouring any resentment between them.
After a very brief hygiene update, the three of them walked into the couple's car, Terence taking the wheel.
"Just…one question," Clive said from his seat in the back as the engine whirred to life. "Why does she talk about him…not having much time left?"
He hoped Dion would laugh, or make some snide comment about his stepmother being melodramatic, or even ask Clive what on earth he was talking about. Instead, there was a heavy sigh that made Clive's skin crawl.
"I guess he wouldn't have told you about any of that."
Clive shook his head, dreading what was to come but burning with the need to know. Dion adjusted himself on the seat so he could angle his head towards the back of the car to make his voice heard.
"Joshua's been sickly for all his life. It didn't help that because of his mother's delusions, she didn't let him get normal care—thought the evils of modern medicine would interfere with his celestial nature. That continued until Joshua was ten and got a pneumonia so bad it almost killed him. It was only because Cyril—one of her 'spiritual aides'—convinced her that the divine favour had left Joshua that she allowed a doctor to come…one who was firmly in my father's pocket so he wouldn't report her for obvious negligence, of course."
Dion's tone was bitter, his own regretful memories rising to the surface as he recounted the story.
"After that, he got on a treatment plan and started to get better than he ever was, but in his mother's eyes, the extraordinary son that she had loved was long gone. She pushed him away and focused her efforts on conceiving another child. It took her six years to get there, but eventually she did."
"…She's very good at abandoning children she no longer wants," Clive said, heart throbbing with a decades-old ache.
"And yet, whenever Joshua's condition takes a turn for the worse, she's the first to run in and play the doting mother."
Terence had stopped at a red light, and for a moment the only sound inside the car was the turn signal ticking away. Then, Dion spoke again, now with less visceral disgust.
"I'll let Joshua explain what his condition actually is and how it affects him, but the main point to understand is that it can go downhill very fast. The question of when depends on the person—could be today, could be decades in the future. The treatment slows the progress and eases the symptoms, but it can't actually cure the underlying cause."
The light turned green, and the car tugged into motion again.
"One year ago, something happened that altered Joshua's mood quite a bit. We were worried about him, especially when he just disappeared for a night."
The night on the bridge.
"…He got his rejection from the university," Clive recalled.
Dion craned his head and gave Clive an odd look.
"Yes, there was that too. But that's not what I mean. He'd had a flare-up the previous semester, which my dear stepmother apparently took as a sign that the end times were near. So she told him that she had reserved him a place in a hospice."
Clive's breath staggered.
"A what?"
"It's called Heavenhall," Terence cut in from the driver's seat. "A very scenic place far out in the countryside north from Glorieuse, beautiful grounds and well maintained… But it's decidedly not a place for the living, but for the dying."
"Being thrown out there, far from everyone he knows and with nothing but trees and statues of Great Greagor to look at would kill him dead much faster," Dion seethed, "and I suspect that's rather the point. Your mother used to worship him in life…and now she's getting impatient to worship him in death."
Clive dug his nails into his palms to contain the dark mass accumulating inside him. He was rapidly learning new depths of rancour he was capable of having for the woman who had given birth to both him and the most precious thing he had in this world. It was only because of what Dion said next that Clive's mind snapped back into focus.
"The reason why I came to you isn't because I'm elated about the mess you've dumped on Joshua, even if it wasn't intentional. It's because after he came back from the hospital, he's started talking about the possibility of bowing to his mother's will and going to the hospice after all—and I want to put a stop to that at any cost."
Joshua was sitting on the sofa with a book in hand—one of Clive's—when the trio walked in.
"We brought a guest for you," Terence said.
"What do you me—"
Joshua's sentence died on his tongue when he spotted Clive in the doorway. He sprang on his feet, but seemed unsure if he wanted to run to Clive or throw himself out of the window. Clive, meanwhile, had no such doubts. He crossed the room without removing his shoes and grabbed Joshua's face in his hands, pressing a kiss on his temple.
"I've missed you."
"Clive, I…"
The sound of Dion clearing his throat broke the moment.
"We're uh…going to take a walk now," Terence said with a serene smile. "A long one. Let us know when you want lunch."
The two fled the scene, leaving behind only an awkward silence. Clive removed his coat and shoes while Joshua got two glasses of water that he placed on the coffee table. Then, they both sat on the couch and stared at their hands.
"So we're…brothers," Joshua broke the silence eventually.
Well, it was as good a place as any to start unraveling the mess.
"…Yeah," Clive nodded. "Does that…bother you?"
"Not nearly as much as it probably should. It sounds insane, but…I really can't care about it that much."
"The insanity must run in the family, then."
Clive relished the snort that escaped Joshua despite the circumstances.
"You know, it just…feels too perfect," Joshua held up his empty palms in a helpless shrug. "What are the odds that we would meet, just like that? That I would feel this…connection to you that night, from the very first time."
An icy hand stroked Clive's innards again. He had to be truthful in this, as well. Speak it all out so Joshua would know. He deserved to know.
"That…wasn't our first meeting, back there on the bridge."
Joshua blinked, inclining his head.
"What?"
"You wouldn't remember, but we've met once before that. It was just days after you were born. Mother came home with you and put you to sleep in your crib. Mother and Father were talking downstairs and I sneaked in to finally see you because she wouldn't let me anywhere near otherwise. You were so small…"
For a moment, Clive's heart was filled to bursting by the memory.
"You looked at me and gurgled in a way that I thought sounded like you were saying hello. I reached into the crib, and you…you grabbed my finger. You held it in your tiny hand, so much more tightly than I knew was possible."
He could feel it even now, the phantom sensation of those small fingers squeezing at his.
"I got carried away. I shouldn't have done it, but I got on my tiptoes and picked you up. I'd seen Mother do it, so I knew how to hold your head and keep you steady. You didn't seem upset at all, just smiling in a funny way and staring at me with your beautiful eyes. I was so proud at that moment, and I told you: I'm your big brother now, and I'm going to look after you. But then…"
The whiplash of the memory haunted him still, from the soft, all-encompassing light and love into a nightmare.
"Mother was at the door before I realised it, and she screamed as soon as she saw me there. She yanked at my arm to take you away, and I…I dropped you."
His hands had gone numb with fright, muscles seizing up as the precious cargo slipped from between his fingers. The Clive in present day covered his mouth with his hand as the past roiled over him, fresh and undefeated despite the years gone by.
"She…she picked you up from the floor as she shrieked, and you wailed, and my mind just blanked. I don't remember much of what happened then…but the next morning I woke up in my bed, and she had disappeared, together with you. I found Father sitting at the kitchen table looking more defeated than I'd ever seen him, and when I asked about you…"
It's just the two of us now, son.
Even though his father had always told him it wasn't his fault, that the accident was because Mother had lost her temper and that her reasons for leaving lay in their different opinions about the baby's future, a part of Clive had always wondered…could they still have been a family if he hadn't courted her anger?
"We never even knew your name…"
Clive fell silent, hanging his head from the weight of the secret he had carried for so long. Joshua, who had listened to the story without saying a word, spoke quietly.
"All these years…she never mentioned you. Not so much as a hint. She only ever told me we left my birth home because someone there…wanted to hurt me."
"Joshua, I swear to you I didn't mean to do it," Clive said with fervour. "It was a mistake that I'll carry all my life, but I never, ever wanted anything bad to happen to you. Not back then, and not now."
Joshua shook his head, reaching over the distance between them to place a hand on Clive's thigh.
"Clive, you don't have to tell me that. I could never believe such things about you. You're the kindest, most selfless person I've ever met, and…I know that Mother often sees what she wants to see. You're not to blame for anything that's wrong with me, no matter how much she wants to pretend otherwise."
The words reminded Clive of the question that had haunted him for weeks. He raised his head slowly, seeking Joshua's eyes as if to gauge whether he should dare to ask it. He settled for a halfway there solution.
"Dion told me. About the hospice and…other things."
Joshua withdrew his hand and pressed it into a fist against the sofa instead, grounding himself for the next hurdle.
"…Yeah. I wanted to apologise to you for…not being that forthcoming with the truth. Even though you may well have saved my life."
"We were strangers. It's reasonable to…want to keep some things to yourself."
It was the truth, although the very thought of Joshua using polite platitudes and softened narratives on him, at any point in the past or the future, was almost nauseatingly unnatural.
"But we haven't been strangers for a long time now," Joshua argued. "At first, I kept telling myself it was easier like that, that I would be leaving soon enough anyway so there was no need to talk about it…and by the time I knew I would have to, I just…put it off. I didn't want things to change."
"What did you think would change?"
The question was barely a whisper, the answer its mirror.
"Everything. Us. The way you…saw me."
Clive said nothing, letting the words sink heavy in his mind.
"I know it was stupid to stop taking my meds and ignore my appointments," Joshua continued. "Believe me, I've been told off thoroughly by my doctor—she's certainly not one to mince words—and Jote, too. She's uh, my pharmacist. She's been really worried."
Joshua rubbed at his temple, looking like he was trying to sort out the words in his head so they came out in the right order.
"I guess I wanted to try out being someone completely different—someone who made crazy choices like moving in with someone after a chance encounter because it just felt right. I wanted to be someone who goes to places and meets all kinds of people, and who doesn't hesitate to want things. Maybe even…someone like Joshua Rosfield."
Clive couldn't resist cupping his face with a hand.
"You've always been Joshua Rosfield."
"I know that know," Joshua said, leaning into Clive's hand. "Remember when you talked about how you needed to believe in stories where the heroes can overcome impossible odds and everything turns out well? I think I got a bit too caught up on that story, thinking that it might turn out there wasn't an impending doom after all, that it would all go away if I just tried hard enough to ignore it. But that…obviously didn't work out."
He shifted on the sofa, pulling his knees up to his chest.
"I…had decided I'd tell you on Valentine's day, at the restaurant. Probably not everything, but…when you brought up the possibility of us staying together for long-term, I knew you deserved to be at least made aware. But after what happened, I…got scared again."
Clive was still trying to understand the crux of the matter.
"Were you scared of…me thinking less of you? Abandoning you?"
The thought sent cold shivers running down his spine, as Joshua looked at him with a sheen in his eyes.
"The opposite, actually. I'm not sure if you notice you're doing it, but…ever since the New Year, you tense with every cough, and your eyes follow me whenever I lean on something, no matter how subtly. You wouldn't abandon me, Clive…you'd let me pull you down with me."
"Joshua—"
"What if I don't live until thirty?" Joshua asked, his voice sharp like a challenge. "Or what if I do, and it's awful? What if I make you waste all of your time and money, and then die and leave you with nothing anyway?"
The sheen was rapidly pooling into tears that threatened to fall, and Clive knew he was getting there himself, his vision growing blurry. His body moved without thinking, capturing Joshua into a tight embrace like he could physically shield him from all the nightmare scenarios. Joshua was still speaking, although his voice was quieter now, partly muffled by Clive's shoulder.
"What if…what if it's like in your book, and the only way for me to get better is to burn to ashes and be reborn?"
"Fuck the book, Joshua," Clive choked out as more tears mixed in with Joshua's hair. He pulled back just enough to press their foreheads together, holding Joshua's shoulders.
"You're not a sacred bird, and I'm not a knight who's selflessly doing good deeds. You're a person, you're real, and I love you and want you so much I can hardly think straight. The only thing wasted are the years before we found each other, and if you think I'm giving up a single day I could have with you…"
Joshua met his gaze, eyes red-rimmed but endlessly beautiful.
"You're serious about this?"
"More than ever," Clive nodded.
Joshua swallowed, straightening his back to wipe his cheeks with his palm.
"Alright….on one condition."
"Which is?"
Joshua bent down and picked up the book that had fallen off due to their sudden movements. He carefully placed it on the table with the untouched glasses.
"That you never let me hear my favourite author say something like that again. 'Fuck the book'…really?"
Clive couldn't help the small burst of relieved laughter that escaped him. The crushing weight on his heart was finally starting to ease, faith bourgeoning once more.
"Besides…" Joshua said as he focused on Clive again, "I think there are far more suitable candidates available."
"What does that—"
Clive was cut off by an enthusiastic kiss. He allowed himself to melt into it, running a hand through Joshua's hair while the other rested against his shoulder blade. Joshua's hands were on Clive's chest, and then one was…heading down?
"Joshua, wait," Clive tried as they separated for air.
"I can't," Joshua panted, shifting to nibble at Clive's earlobe. "It's been weeks, I can't take it anymore."
It wasn't like Clive didn't know what Joshua was talking about. They had come to expect a certain routine during their time together, and with Joshua palming at his crotch like that, his body wouldn't need much persuading at all. His rational mind, however, still had some concerns.
"When we get home—"
"Too long. When Dion and Terence come back, there'll be…lunch and entirely too much serious discussion and it'll take all day."
"But, ah…here? On their couch?"
"They won't mind," Joshua insisted, having already tossed his shirt aside and tugging at the hem of Clive's. "I think they'll almost expect it. I can see Terence suggesting they go stock up on disinfectant as we speak."
Clive was stunned enough by this that he forgot to resist Joshua pulling the shirt over his head and pushing him down.
"You…have a really weird relationship with your brother."
Joshua was straddling him like a throne now, with that smug look on his face that suggested he had thought of something outrageous to say.
"I guess I could say the same about you—big brother."
Clive shuddered.