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When Malik was four, the doctor asked to listen to his heart and he said, "I don't have one."
The statement was not petulant or whining, but the simple statement of a truth he had understood for as long as he was capable of awareness.
The doctor laughed but his mother's smile was more strained (because Malik had never cried like normal children did. He cried over hurts and when he was hungry, but not when he found himself alone. He did not cry through the darkness of night wanting to be held. She did not know if it was because of the lack of a heart, but he was certainly lacking something.)
The stethoscope had been offered to Malik, so he could listen to his own heart, the way its beat was a steady, healthy rhythm.
"You hear that?" The kind doctor said and Malik nodded because he did, "there's your heart." He continued and Malik handed the stethoscope back and said thank you.
When Malik's mother showed him the pink, puckered face of Malik's new baby brother, he thought the baby resembled a bright pink raisin.
His mother had said, "this is your brother, Kadar. You are a big brother now, Malik. You need to give him your love and your protection."
And maybe that was when Malik started having an inkling about what he was missing. Because he hesitated over the responsibility of love the way he did not about protection.
Being five, he couldn't put the thoughts into words but even then he was almost certain he wouldn't be able to love his brother.
Still, his mother was looking at him expectantly (and worriedly), so he leaned forward to place a kiss on Kadar's forehead like it was some kind of agreement.
It took a few months for 'almost certainty' to settle into 'complete certainty'. After weeks and weeks of watching his mother feed and change and hum to his fussing baby brother Malik knew he could not love his baby brother the way his mother did.
(The same way he could not properly answer his mother's affections, the way she ran her hand over his hair and kissed him on the top of his head and called him her brave little prince.)
But he could learn to hold Kadar so his head was supported, he could help put Kadar's milk in the microwave and test it on the back of his hand to make sure it was not too hot.
He could make his mother smile by doing all these things, and it wasn't love but maybe it was close enough.
Love, Malik decided, was demanding and exhausting, even if it were just a shadow of it.
Kadar's invsaion of his bed was met with a sigh. Malik pushed himself up on his elbows and watched as Kadar squirmed and cralwed under the blanket (like a fat bug) until his face appeared at the edge of Malik's blanket.
"Hi." He said and Malik sighed again before he laid back down and Kadar squirmed closer.
"Hey." He said back, "Can't sleep?"
"Yeah."
The reason, Malik knew, could range anywhere from 'I think there's a clown in my closet' to 'I had a nightmare'.
The reason didn't actually matter.
"You want to sleep here?" And Kadar nodded and scooted closer until he was pressed up against Malik, so very sure that he would not be unwelcome.
Malik had made sure of that. He did not know how love felt like, but he was sure he knew what heartbreak was and how terrible it was. And Malik had decided that, if he couldn't love his brother then at the very least he would not let him feel unloved (he could not say why but it felt important).
Malik's eyes were sliding closed again when Kadar tugged at his shirt. "Can you sing for me?"
This was a new thing and it was a request that was happening with increasing frequency. It was "can you sing for me" when Kadar was upset, when he needed to be bribed, when he couldn't sleep.
It was always, 'can you sing for me' and Malik was starting to suspect that some sort of trickery was afoot.
But it made his mother smile and it seemed like the sort of thing a loving older brother would do, so he did it everytime even though when he sang there was a dull, throbbing pain in his chest.
He had become good at not grimacing though, so nothing seemed out of place when he started to hum, then worked towards singing a song that his mother thought he'd heard on the radio or from school.
He sang, "You shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by the moonlight."
As he grew up, Malik only got better at the charade (though he couldn't be bothered to put it up for the world. It was enough to convince his family).
His brother had never questioned the reality (or lack there of) of his love, though his mother had worried when he didn't seem to have any friends (he had acquaintances and he enjoyed their company when it was there, but he never craved their prescence and never connected with them in any meaningful way emotionally).
His reassurance to her was that it was because he was busy with school. When it failed at its intended purpose, he asked to get a pet.
He was in his second year in highschool when he went to pick out a pet at a shelter.
He came home with a mostly white cat with a light, yellowish spot of fur on her back. Her name was Daisy and she was missing her left front leg. He could not feel love at first sight (was doubtful of its existence), but he could understand pity and he could understand mercy and, statistically, adult cats were less likely to be adopted than kittens especially ones with physical defects. Maybe that was close enough.
They brought her home and Malik was as kind to her as he was to Kadar (though he never sang for her). He was surprised by how much of his attention the cat demanded from him. The shelter people had told him she was aloof.
It pleased his mother, either way and it filled up the extra time Malik had free now that Kadar barely needed him to do anything for him.
Daisy liked to curl up on Malik's chest whenever it was physically possible and, when it wasn't, she'd knead him until he relented and slouched down enough for her to lay down on him. Then she'd start to purr.
He'd read somewhere that a cat's purr happened at a frequency that promoted healing.
Malik ran his fingers over the top of the cat's head. "I don't think that's going to help me." He whispered once when there was no one else there.
But she persisted the way his mother had persisted in pressing kisses to his forehead, the way Kadar still came to him to talk when he was stressed or upset.
Malik was content with his life being what it was. There was this vague feeling of knowing that love was important in some way but at the same time it didn't seem relevant to his life and that was fine.
Or it had been until Altair had walked into his life.
They had been at Malik's work place (a florist shop called The Moon and the Oak) when Altair had introduced himself as Altair Ibn-La'Ahad with his hands tucked into his hoodie pocket and an arrogant tilt to his mouth.
But before that, they had first met in a club before having what Malik thought was going to be a one night stand at a hotel.
One of the first things he had said after the standard greeting, before he let Altair pull him into a taxi and check into the closest hotel had been, "I'm not looking for a relationship."
Because he found he enjoyed sex, but also knew he wasn't emotionally available for a relationship.
Altair had laughed at his honesty. "Neither am I."
He had left before morning because Daisy was waiting for him at his apartment and while he didn't get lonely, she did.
"Girlfriend?" Altair had asked which prompted Malik to laugh as he was pulling his jeans back on. "I'm just saying," he continued, "I hope I'm not an accessory to your cheating."
It was the way he said it, his voice flat and his stupid, attractive mouth pulled up in a self-assured smirk, that made the laughter bubble up from Malik's chest. He smiled back wryly. "Daisy's my cat."
Malik had leaned over to kiss him and said, "thank you for tonight."
"I didn't think you'd be a florist."
Malik snorted as he finished wrapping up the bouquet that was meant to be picked up in an hour by a client named Oscar. "I'm not sure I want to know what you thought I'd be."
Altair laughed at that as he leaned against the counter.
"What can I do for you?"
"Well, I need flowers."
Malik looked up with one eyebrow raised and Altair was grinning like he knew exactly how helpful he was being. "That's usually why people come here." He tied the bouquet and cut the string. "What did you want, exactly?"
"The most stereotypical Valentine's Day flower combination all in one bouquet. Maybe wrapped up in something with pink hearts." He paused, "and sparkles. Do you do sparkles?"
The question, the ridiculousness of the whole request (contrasted with the very deadpan way it had been delivered), made Malik chuckle. "I think we do. Do you want a card to go with it?"
"Yes. Address it to Maria Thorpe."
"Girlfriend? I'm just saying," Malik said as he finished with the bouquet in his hands, "I hope I wasn't an accessory to your cheating."
"Just a friend." Altair said, and it was obvious there was some sort of inside joke there, especially when he added, "she's probably going to kill me for this."
"And yet that's not going to stop you." He said as he pulled over a calculator. "What's your budget?"
When they had reached the price Altair was willing to spend his prank, Malik asked, "is there anything else I can help you with?"
"Your phone number would be nice."
Malik could have told him how he shouldn't ask people for their numbers at work, especially if they do work in customer service. There were articles that talked in detail about why that wasn't a good idea. But more pressing than that particular concern was: "I thought we agreed that neither of us wanted a relationship."
Altair shrugged and his hands went back into his hoodie pocket. "I don't. But you're attractive, we're sexually compatible and I don't always want to go to the club when I want sex."
"You say that like you always get sex after you go to the club."
Altair smirked, "well, you've gotten a good look at me. Don't I seem like the sort of person who always gets laid?"
That, Malik could not deny. So instead he said, "but your ego is unattractive."
Altair had left his number behind in the end and told Malik to think about it.
When he called him (with Daisy curled up on his chest still purring like a little motor), he said, "but can we still go to the club? I like their fries."
Altair laughed on the other end of the phone. "Sure."
Malik wasn't ever entirely convinced that their arrangement was a good idea.
It felt like every moment they didn't spend having sex they spent sniping at each other. That wasn't the problem (though Kadar seemed to think it was).
The problem was that as they become more familiar with each other, their encounters moved from hotels to each other's homes.
The problem was that Altair knew where Malik kept his eclectic collection of teas and which ones he would make a face when he drank and which ones he actually enjoyed.
He knew that Daisy didn't like belly rubs but would tolerate ear scritches from near strangers.
The problem was, Malik had gotten used to having a warm body lying in bed beside him and he had gotten used to laughing at the stupid, useless things Altair texted him in the day.
It was terrific the way a forest fire was terrific (awe inspiring in its intesity as much as it instilled terror), because he woke up one day to Altair brushing over his cheek with the back of his knuckles and it was like a stone had settled in his stomach.
Because Malik had made a life out of compromises, little gestures that were close enough to love to pass muster so he wouldn't break anyone's heart.
Because Altair was smiling at him and he knew those compromises wouldn't be fair to make.
The panic must have shown on his face, because Altair was frowning. "Malik?"
"I'm sorry." His voice was raspy after sleep and he pushed himself to sitting. "I can't love you."
And Altair flinched back and his hands made an aborted motion to tuck themselves away where people can't see his hands ball up. (A nervous habit, one Malik had wondered about the origins of.)
He didn't reach out to touch him, but Malik tried to be gentle when he spoke, "I can't love you because I don't know how."
Gentleness was all he could offer, but gentleness had the opposite effect because Altair crossed his arms. "What does that even mean? Stop beating around the bush, Malik."
Malik let out a long sigh. "It's not you. I--" He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "I don't know how to love. I don't have--whatever it is people need to love. I just can't love anyone."
"Bullshit." Altair growled and he stood up from the bed. "I don't care if you reject me." But there was a pinch in his brows that said otherwise. "But don't lie to me."
"I'm not lying." Maybe he should have, Malik thought. It might have been kinder. As Altair got dressed Malik didn't stop him (he thought, if he'd loved him maybe he would have tried). "Altair!"
He didn't expect him to stop with his hand on the door to the bedroom. But it would have been too much to ask that he turned around too.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." He said and he couldn't know if Altair had accepted it because all he did was rip open the door and storm out.
The sound that marked the end of the whole debacle was the front door being slammed shut.
If Malik were capable of feeling anything like heartbreak (which he wasn't) it'd still be overshadowed by the crushing guilt of having broken someone's heart. He'd kept to his resolution since he'd decided on it as a child. He had been doing so well.
Why it had been important didn't even matter, all that ever mattered was that it did.
He was staring at his phone, staring at the message he'd written to Altair (I hope you find someone who makes you happy. Don't stop believing in love) and didn't know what to do.
Kadar came to him while he was lying on the couch, Daisy curled on his chest again. He turned his head to look at his brother when he didn't just pass through the living room. "Where's Altair?"
"I don't know." Daisy nudged against Malik's hand and he resumed petting her. "He left."
"Why? Did you guys fight?"
"I think we broke up."
"You think?" Then it was, "you don't look upset."
All of a sudden, Malik was far more interested in watching his cat. When they had been younger, Malik had been the one to teach Kadar to be patient, to wait instead of crying when things didn't immediately go his way. He showed the fruits of Malik's labour now as he waited for Malik to answer.
"I'm upset that I hurt him."
"But what did you do?" Kadar said as he sat down on the coffee table which made Malik frown at him. "The guy was head over heels on love with you."
A sigh. "That's exactly the problem."
"Why?"
'Why' indeed.
"I don't love him." He said and left it at that. To say anymore might lead to a subject he wasn't ready to talk about with Kadar (he had broken one man's heart already. He wasn't in any hurry to do the same to his brother).
Two weeks later, There wasa reply to his message. It said: can I come over?
And it must have been sent when Altair was already nearby because he was at the door within five minutes after Malik texted back: yes.
"Don't apologize again." He said as Malik gestured him inside. "Why do you think you can't love anyone?"
And Malik told him, from the beginning (the doctor who showed him he had a heart, his mother who asked him to love his brother), told Altair about Daisy, about that time in highschool when his teacher had praised an essay he wrote about the role of love in Romeo and Juliet that he hadn't even understood the merits of himself.
"You told me not to stop believing in love."
"Love is important." Malik said and, in the spur of the moment he grabbed Altair's hands in his, "It is precious and I don't want you to stop believing that. I can't love you but someone will. So please." Something painful was lodged in his chest. "Don't give up on it."
Altair didn't smile. His mouth went through the motion but any sign of humour was missing. "You can't feel love but you can believe in it?"
"I'm sorry."
Malik expected him to storm out, to leave and never return. But instead, Altair squeezed his hands back. "Can I stay?"
"Why would you want to?"
And Altair was still smiling at him just as he did before. "Because I love you."
The words made something painful clench in his chest. It was almost certainly going to be a bad idea (just as it had been a bad idea to give Altair his number to begin with), but Malik could not find it in him to say no.
"I'll never love you."
"I know."
They eventually moved in with each other.
For the most part they went about their lives like before. But sometimes, when they lay together at night, right before they drifted off to sleep Malik would say, "you don't have to stay."
And Altair would groan (because he wanted to sleep) before he pulled Malik against his chest and rolled over to he was draped over him like a blanket. "I know. Now go to sleep."
Malik had never sung for himself. The pain in his chest was very real when he sang and it was about as enjoyable as being stepped on the foot by a someone in heels.
But it had always seemed to be a comfort to Kadar so when Altair was down with a fever, Malik sat by his bedside and sang.
"Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?" He finished as he wiped the sweat from Altair's forhead. Then he said, "the point of a lullaby is that you're supposed to try and sleep."
"Did you used to sing these to Kadar? They're very depressing." And all the answer he got was a shrug before Malik put a cold cloth on his forhead. "Why did the bird die for a rose?"
"What?"
"In the song. Why did the bird die for the rose?" And Altair continued, rambling as only someone with a fever could, "the song started with, 'death is a great price to pay for a red rose'. Why did the bird die for a rose?"
Malik smiled at him (the throbbing pain in his chest from singing seeming to intensify for a moment before it died back down again). "It's just a song." He said, his hand stroking Altair's cheek. "Go back to sleep."
When the fever had broken it was, "I didn't know you could sing."
"It hurts when I sing."
They went to the flea market one weekend and there was a man there with a green lizard sitting on his shoulder. Malik was leafing through some of the books he was selling when the man approached them. "Hello, Nightingale. No, not him--" He said when Malik and Altair looked around before looking at each other, "you!" The man said pointing a finger at Malik, "have you come for your rose? It's still here--somewhere."
"I don't want a rose." Malik said, but his fingers were clenched tight over the spine of a book.
"Really? But you had died for it--and you have found another young lover! Will you bleed for this one too?" He was cackling even as Malik shoved the book back onto the table to grab Altair who looked like he was ready to start a fight.
"Let's go." He said stiffly.
And they left.
Afterwards, they sat down outside where there was a fountain. "Are you all right?" was prompted by the way Malik was pale and shaking as he clutched at his chest.
"I'm fine." Sounded like a lie so Altair pulled him close (and glared in the direction of the flea market).
"Who was that?"
Malik said, "I don't know."
But Malik slept fitfully on the subway as they headed home(he dreamed of a thorn in his heart that went deeper and deeper and he dreamed of songs about young love) until Altair just shook him awake.
"Maybe we should go see a doctor."
"No." Malik said, his heart beating against his chest like a bird's. "I just need some rest."
But that night, as they lay in bed, Malik said, "the bird didn't die for a rose. In the song." When Altair merely stared at him he added, "you asked when you were running a fever." Malik lay back down on his back, staring at the ceiling. He whispered like it was some great secret, "she died for love."
They went back the next week when the flea market was open again. The man with the lizard was still there but so was a woman wearing a butterfly brooch. She said, "Oh." When she saw Malik and left the box she'd been organizing to take his hands in hers. "It's you." Like he was an old friend. "Have you come for the rose?"
Malik shook his head and took his hands back, stepping away to stand closer to Altair. "Why do I need the rose?"
"You bled for it." She said, she pointed at her own chest, where her heart should be, "it hurts here, right? It hurts because there's a thorn there, from the rose. The rose can fix it because it was stained red with your blood."
Malik nodded as if he understood but didn't make an offer to buy the rose.
The subway station was within view when Altair stopped. "Do you really not want it?"
Malik shrugged. "It's probably just a story they're telling to sell us something."
"Maybe." Altair said. "But do you think they are?"
Silence was Malik's answer as well as another shrug.
A woman with a baby carriage walked around them with a glare and Altair pulled them both to the side to sit on a park bench. "Isn't it worth a try? Didn't you tell me? 'Don't give up on love'." Altair's touch on his cheek, the way he turned his head with a light touch made Malik's heart ache. "It's all right if you don't want to, but I think someone who believe in love like you do should have a chance to experience it."
"And if it doesn't work?" Malik's voice was harsh because the pain was worse than it had ever been, like someone was driving something sharp through his ribs. "Or if it works and I don't love you still?"
"That's fine." Altair said and Malik wanted to scream at him that it wasn't, but the pain was white hot and it made him gasp and fall forward. "Malik? Are you--" Altair asked as soon as he'd caught him, but Malik interrupted.
"I'm okay." He said, but there was sweat gathering on his forhead even as he pushed himself away from Altair. "You really think I should get the rose?"
"Yes."
Malik closed his eyes and leaned back against the bench. He shut his eyes. "Then go."
Altair came back with a single red rose. "They said you have to hold it to your chest and sing under the moon."
"That seems really specific." Malik said as he stood up. The pain was more manageable now, though it seemed to be throbbing a little again. He took the rose gingerly, careful about the thorns. Then he shook his head. "Let's go back."
"Does it hurt?" Malik said with the rose in his hands and Daisy taking up her usual spot on his chest. When Altair looked up at him from the stove, Malik was blushing. "I mean love. Does it hurt?"
"Sometimes." Altair answered. He added a pinch of salt to the soup. "But I think it's worth it."
The pain in his chest had gotten worse again, but he thought it might have been Altair's smile (all soft and sad) that made him close his eyes.
There was an oak tree painted on the wall in the corner of the flower shop. A small bench fit snugly in the nook and Malik often sat there during his breaks. He was sitting there now, waiting Altair to come pick him up (there was a new burger place opening up nearby and they wanted to go try it). He turned the rose around in his hand.
It was a single, red rose, with long thorns all along the stem that no one had trimmed off. He'd had to keep it in a cannister that used to hold cookies to carry it around safely. It was still light out but there was a moon painted on the wall with the oak tree as Malik leaned back against the wall of the nook. He laid the rose against his chest and stared up at the ceiling for a moment.
People passing by the store could have sworn they heard a bird's song as they passed.
Altair unlocked the door to the store with the key Malik had given him. "Malik?" He said the bell on top of the door rang. It was pointless to look around when it was almost certain Malik would be sitting in the little nook.
He smiled when he found that Malik had fallen asleep. When he shook him awake he said, "wake up."
After a jaw cracking yawn, Malik smiled back, "are you ready to go?" When he swung his legs off the nook, he jerked back where there was a crunch. There on the floor (where he'd just stepped) was a single dried rose.
They went through the motions of dinner (because they'd already made plans), having conversations about the crust and the toppings and the price before splitting the bill. They were almost home, stuck at a red light when Malik finally broke.
"Aren't you going to ask?"
Altair glanced at him before looking back at the intersection. "Ask what?"
"If I love you." He didn't mean to sound confrontational, but Malik was so naturally inclinded to grouchyness that it was unavoidable.
The pedestrian light was counting down and Altair tapped his finger to it on the wheel out of habit. "I think it'd be too early to ask. Do you even know what being in love feels like?"
"No." Was his sullen answer and it came after the lights had changed and the car started. "But don't you want to know?"
"Malik," Altair didn't look away from the road when he reached over and grabbed Malik's hand where it had been rubbing against the fabric of his own jeans (because Malik liked to fidget when he was nervous), "I love you. I loved you even when I knew you'd never love me back. I think I can wait until you figure this out or until I get you to fall in love with me."
"And what if I don't?" Malik said, so softly it was like he was scared for it to be heard. His heart was pounding but, at the very least, it didn't hurt anymore.
Altair squeezed his hand briefly. "It's still more of a chance than I had before." And then he let go.
Malik fell in love with Daisy faster than anything else it seemed.
Altair had never doubted that Malik cared about his cat, but the wonder in his eyes as the cat crawled all over him was something different from his usual easy acceptance of Daisy's affections. The way she nudged up against his chin made Malik laugh and cradle her against his chest.
"Hello." He said like this was his first day picking her up from the shelter all over again (and maybe this was how a normal person felt when they went, the joy that starts in his chest and spreads outwards when you realize that you've connected with another creature). It was hard to match it with the way Malik had stood at the door, his hand clinging to Altair's, asking, what if I don't care about her? Because he had made a lifetime out of making others feel loved.
Altair watched the two of them and wished it could be as easy for them.
When Malik left the room, Daisy plodded over and draped herself over Altair's lap and meowed at him until he scratched her behind the ears.
"We'll make it work." Altair said.
Daisy purred.
Love, Malik discovered was many things.
It was colours of bouquet full of giraffe lilies, yellow roses and red carnations with sprays of baby's breath, like a handful of fire.
It was the unmistakable smell kefir lime leaves added to soup, sweet and creamy.
It was the way the sun light slanted through the window near sunset, making everything seem warm and glowing.
It was his mother, inviting him out to have lunch with her because they haven't seen each other in a while (and the way she touched his cheek with wide eyes when he smiled like she thought she'd never live to see it).
It was Kadar, texting him inane things at 5 am (like cat gifs or funny jokes he'd heard).
It was Altair asking him, "what do you want for dinner? I was thinking we could get take out. Malik?"
Malik shook himself out of his daze. "I'm sorry." He said as Daisy walked over his lap on her way to drink water. "I'm good with take out."
Altair was staring at him, his laptop balanced on top of his lap. Presumably he already had something pulled up or he was looking for somewhere new to order from. It didn't actually matter, as Malik scooted over so he could see the screen too. This close, he could feel the heat of Altair's body (always far too warm, like there was a flame buring inside him), and his scent (not sweet but distinct and pleasant all the same) was oh-so-very close.
"I want chicken." Malik said, putting his chin on Altair's shoulder.
"Really?" Altair said but it was a distracted thing (it amused Malik sometimes, how easily distracted Altair was). "Isn't that cannibalism?"
"I'm a man." Even now Malik couldn't help but be sarcastic. Still, there was no mistaking the purposeful way he put his hand on Altair's thigh. "If you've forgotten maybe you need a reminder?"
"Maybe I do." Altair reached out to turn Malik's head so he could kiss him.
"What are you thinking about?" Altair said as they lay in bed, their skin still tacky with sweat. They were lying on their sides, facing each other. It occurred to Malik, all of a sudden, that Altair hadn't touched him the way he had that morning long ago. They touched (often) but it was never that gentle brush, that almost thoughtless gesture.
Malik understood now in a way he never did that it must have been torture. To have someone and yet never have them.
This time, Malik reached out, traced the line of Altair's jaw with his fingertips. He watched the way Altair's eyes widened, the way he caught his breath. "Was it hard being in love with me?"
Altair leaned into his touch and Malik heart, which had only just settled down was beating hard again. "It was." Then he turned his head to kiss Malik's fingers for an excuse to avoid looking at him. "You're so frustrating. Even without that whole problem where you can't love, you can be so--" He sighed and it brushed over Malik's skin. "But I love the way you smiled. I liked your sarcasm and the way you challenge everything I say. I love your conviction." And Malik moved his hand to turn Altair face to him.
"I love you." Malik said and watched the way Altair's smile widened, "at least. I think I do. This is new for me."
"I know." Altair gathered Malik close and kissed him. Then he said, "I love you." like he'd been waiting forever for the chance to say it.