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The door to Ops whooshed open, and in stepped Trevor, rubbing his hands together for warmth. The windy chill that had seeped through his jacket on the ride over almost immediately dispersed under the lights. He placed his bike helmet on the table closest to the door and scanned the main room for any of his team members. The place was nearly empty—as per usual on a Wednesday night during Protocol 5—save for its sole resident. As he walked over to his desk in the corner, Trevor spotted Philip by his computer, rustling through a clear bag.
"Hey,” Trevor greeted, raising a hand toward Philip and shooting Poppy a smile.
“Hey.” Philip placed a handful of collard greens into the turtle’s cage and offered Trevor a nod. And then they were quiet.
The silence between Trevor and Philip was different than most silence Trevor had experienced. The silence at his house, as rare as it was, was smotheringly uneasy—a fragile respite from the habitual arguing coming from his parents’ room. At school, the silence was spiritless and often interrupted by the buzzing of LED lights or the scratching of tired pencils. Even here at Ops with the team, silence occurred in terse response to one of MacLaren’s rhetorical questions or a purposeless return to Protocol 5.
Silence was always thick, brimming with something waiting to be spoken. But with Philip, it was comfortable. Words didn’t need to be spoken as the seconds, minutes, hours ticked by. They felt each other’s presence, and that was enough.
But Trevor was beginning to notice that there was something thicker than silence hanging in the air whenever they were together. He sensed it in the lingering glances and touches, each a smidge longer than the last. It was in the smiles—small yet indelible, stolen like secrets between them. It was in each lively “Good morning!”, bright as the rising sun, and it intensified with each wistful “Good night.”
You like him, he told himself childishly, foolishly. It was as if the teenage part of his brain had spoken up.
Trevor had been in love with someone before, so he knew what it felt like. This was different. The way he felt about Phillip was...indescribable. His affection for his wife had been persistent and never-ending, like a waterfall that flowed and flowed. But Philip? Every time Trevor caught his eye, something overwhelming burst forth in his chest—a river of tacit longing so strong it could knock him over.
Even now, as Philip drew near, Trevor could feel his emotions gushing, bubbling, foaming as the current ran through him.
Philip landed a heavy hand on Trevor’s shoulder and leaned over his workspace. “What are you working on?”
Trevor could feel Philip’s hand imprinting itself on his memory: its weight, the way it rubbed against the fabric of his shirt, how it looked from the corner of his eye. His heart, a steady drum, began to pick up. “Nothing much,” he shrugged, and he meant it. He was simply cleaning parts of older mechanisms with a bit of condensed air. “Just keeping my hands busy. You?”
“Nothing much,” Philip echoed. And then they were quiet again.
Trevor could hear each breath Philip took as he continued working, now acutely aware of how close they were. He lifted the small part on his desk to his face and squinted inside of it. The box was a prototypical component of the device they’d used to siphon electricity from the city. It was intricate in its design; everything about it had to be just right to work. But it looked like there was a loose screw along the inside hatch.
A quick fix. He just needed his screwdriver from the shelf behind him.
Instinctually, Trevor swiveled on his stool to reach for his tools—and came face to face with Philip, still standing behind him. He couldn’t have been more than three inches away.
Neither of them moved.
Trevor opened his mouth to apologize, but the only words sitting on his tongue were I want to kiss you, hesitant yet urgent.
Do it, his mind urged. Trevor knew he could; they were practically already touching. But what if Philip didn’t feel the same rush whenever they saw each other? What if he immediately pulled away? Trevor had never been good at admitting how he felt about someone. What if there were certain things that were meant to remain unspoken?
Before he could overthink it any more, Trevor closed half the distance between them, his eyes locked on Philip’s mouth. He could see every wrinkle on his pink lips; they looked so soft up close. And when Philip leaned forward and rammed them against Trevor’s own lips, he realized how long he’d been waiting for this moment.
They clashed into each other like magnets—inevitable, inseparable. They moved fast and rough at first, kissing and kissing and kissing. Trevor was dizzy with ecstasy as he placed his hands around Philip’s neck. All he could think, over and over, was finally.
They gravitated to the bed in the other room, stumbling over each other in a way that wormed smiles into their kisses. Trevor was certain they looked drunk from afar—the both of them grinning as they tried to press themselves into each other, meld their atoms together—and in a way, they were. Trevor hadn’t felt this electrified in a long time. He and Philip had gone from barely, bashfully touching to becoming whole in mere moments; he was overwhelmed by an invigorating passion he never thought he’d feel again.
The body certainly played a factor: Trevor’s blood was pumping, his heart was racing, and his skin was on fire. His cheeks were tight; he couldn't stop smiling, even if he wanted to. They finally separated, and Trevor’s smile blossomed as he watched Philip close the door. They both stared at one another, chests heaving, and broke out into breathless laughter.
“Should’ve done that sooner,” Philip bubbled. His eyes were all light, all lively Good Morning.
“Definitely.” His voice more hoarse than usual, Trevor only barely managed to keep himself from running at Philip again.
Luckily, it was Philip who made the first move this time. He approached Trevor, taking him by the hand, and led him over to the bed. Trevor entwined his fingers with Philip’s and stared down at their hands. Together.
Finally.
“I’ve, uh, I've never done this before,” Trevor admitted, even though he was still unsure what this was.
Philip paused, his hair shifting over the side of his face. “Are you sure you want to?”
Trevor could hear it underneath his words—the strain in his voice. The terrifying idea of not being able to be with Trevor like this, of Trevor realizing that the kissing, the touching—that this was all a mistake.
Trevor squeezed Philip’s hand and flashed a small, reassuring smile. “I want to be close to you,” he said, and he was so earnest, it almost scared him.
As travelers, a huge part of their job was constantly lying to everyone they knew. The manipulation could be suffocating; everything was always fake. But this moment between them, it was honest. They both felt it.
Trevor leaned in for another intoxicating kiss. Reunited, the two moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Philip’s hands were placed swiftly under Trevor’s shirt, dancing across his chest. They were hot against his already warm skin, gently finding each groove, each mark. Trevor released a soft groan as Philip pulled his shirt up and over his head. The cool air made his skin anew.
Trevor watched as Philip removed his own shirt. His eyes drank in Philip’s revealed chest, and before he realized it, he was reaching out and touching the raised, pink blemish on his stomach. He remembered the day Philip earned that scar well—the mission with Aleksander Andrako. He felt the edges of the wound, felt the pain that still remained, and looked back up at Philip’s face. Philip nodded in permission, his hair falling to his nose now.
Trevor brushed the gold strands behind Philip’s ear and rested his lips on Philip’s neck. He planted a trail of soft kisses down to his collarbone, stubble brushing against his check, while his hands roamed Philip’s abs, chest, arms—anything he could reach. Trevor left none of his skin unexplored. He wanted to memorize each scar, each dip, each hair. He wanted to be able to close his eyes and feel his fingertips and simply know that the landscape before him was Philip.
“I need you,” Philip groaned. Trevor had been so lost in discovering his body that he hadn’t noticed the way he was panting.
Trevor grinned. “I’m here.” And then they were together again—inseparable, with the same fervor as the first kiss.
Trevor’s heart raced as he placed his hands on Philip’s shoulders. They fell back onto the bed, moving with each other in choreographed dance. Philip’s lips were unforgettable, yet they managed to shock Trevor with their sweetness every time they collided. Each time he touched Philip, each time they kissed, he was in paradise. Trevor wanted them to remain here together forever.
Philip’s hand trailed from Trevor’s stomach to his crotch. For a moment, Trevor couldn’t breathe.
Just like that, Trevor stiffened, his body locking in place. Something spiked in his chest. He couldn’t breathe.
Perceiving the change, Philip almost immediately pulled away. Concern wrinkled the corners of his eyes. “Trev? Everything okay?”
Trevor gasped for breath as a tremor slowly began to wrack through his body. No matter how deeply he breathed, he couldn’t seem to get enough air. His heart, at first racing for Philip, now thudded inside of his chest. What was happening to him?
I can’t breathe, Trevor wanted to say. “I can’t,” was all he managed to get out.
And then he recognized the spike in his chest for what it was—fear. A primal panic that had welled up inside of him and burst into the shards that pierced him now. His chest, still warm from Philip’s hands, grew even hotter as his lungs seemingly squeezed closed. A dull pain flared through his torso, making it even harder to breathe deeply.
What was happening? Why couldn’t he control his body?
“Trevor, I need you to breathe for me.” Philip’s voice cut through the panic, but there was nothing Trevor could do. All he could manage were short, shallow gasps.
Something’s wrong, he tried to shout. I can’t breathe. But when he opened his mouth, nothing came out.
Trevor sat up and turned away from Philip, raising his hands to his taut chest. He saw how violently his fingers shook and was immediately reminded of his previous body: old and fragile. He felt so...small. He’d been so close to death then, constantly wondering whether the next breath would be his last. It’s happening now, he thought, the panic worsening as he stared at his hands. I’m finally dying.
Philip suddenly appeared in front of Trevor, taking his hands in his own. Trevor’s heart skipped at the mere touch.
“Hey,” Philip said softly, “I’m here. I’m with you. Everything’s okay. It looks like you’re having a panic attack, but you’ll be okay. I can get Marcy on coms now.”
A panic attack. Trevor had witnessed panic attacks before—he’d even helped people through a few—but he’d never had one. Not until now. But at least that meant he wasn’t dying, he realized. He was going to be okay. If only that realization would stop his body from going haywire.
“Don’t,” he gasped. Don’t tell Marcy. Don’t tell anyone. It didn’t make it out, but from the look in Philip’s eyes, Trevor knew he understood.
“Okay. Just—just try to breathe with me, okay?” Philip breathed in...then exhaled slowly. Inhale...exhale…. Inhale….
It felt like hours passed before Trevor could even begin to inhale with Philip. The exhales were harder to match; Trevor’s breaths were still a little shallow, and he couldn’t breathe out any more air than he had. But Philip was persistent. He continued breathing deeply and slowly—four counts in, four counts out, Trevor discerned—until Trevor could finally breathe again.
After a minute more, Philip exhaled a final time. “You good?”
“Yeah.” The response was automatic; he barely managed to avoid an “absolutely”, which was too obvious a lie. He despised the way his voice shook.
Philip tried to meet Trevor’s gaze, but Trevor couldn’t bear to look at him. His cheeks burned with embarrassment. He’d ruined it. He’d ruined their paradise, their brief respite from the rest of the world. He could feel the pit in his stomach growing larger by the second.
With Philip’s hands on his, Trevor wasn’t able to wipe away the frustrated tears that welled up behind his eyelids.
Before Philip could ask anything else, Trevor began, “I just…. How did you know?”
Philip sighed. “I’ve had a few panic attacks before. Still get them sometimes...especially when I’m going through withdrawal.” He hesitated. “Was this your first one?”
Trevor knew it was just a question, but he still felt too open. Too vulnerable. He looked off to the side and pulled his hands away from Philip’s before answering. “Yeah. I don’t know what happened. My body just reacted, and there was nothing I could do. I thought...I thought I was dying.”
Trevor had never felt this small before. He was mired in the middle of the ocean that was his emotions. He felt everything too strongly; it all washed over him—drowning him, suffocating him. Death had never scared him before, and even now, as he thought about it, he knew that wasn’t what had frightened him most about the panic attack. But the thought of losing that moment with Philip, of losing any future moments with Philip….
“Do they just come out of nowhere like that?” Trevor’s mouth was bitter, as if he could taste the residue the panic had left behind.
Philip’s face hardened, and he finally looked away. “They can, but I don’t think yours did. It started when I….” He trailed off, opening his hands slightly before clasping them together in a presenting gesture.
Trevor thought back. They’d been kissing, and everything had been fine until…. “Oh.” Philip’s hand trailed from Trevor’s stomach to his crotch. Just like that, Trevor had been thrown into high gear.
No, not Trevor. Trevor’s body.
Naturally, Trevor’s body had been one of the more difficult things to get accustomed to in the 21st. He was ecstatic at first; the new body allowed him to move without restraint, faster and freer than ever before. But there were some odd drawbacks—the persistent dread that sat in his stomach, the aching muscles and tension headaches, the sharpness in his chest whenever someone touched him. Exercise and meditation had allowed him to reign over his body, so he’d never given it much thought. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized how they were all connected.
“I think...your body remembers what happened to it,” Philip reasoned, his voice tinged with an unfamiliar gentleness. “What happened to the host.”
Your body remembers. Air rushed from Trevor’s mouth in a dry chuckle.
He was figuring it all out now, connecting the dots through his memories. “No, I think you’re right. The only time I’ve ever felt anything even close to this was in Perry’s office, just as we were about to expose him for the monster he is. I didn’t really notice it until I’d left. I stepped out of that room and I—I could breathe again.”
Philip nodded. He’d heard the encounter; he knew how sick Trevor's old football coach was.
Trevor clenched his hands into fists, shaking his head. “I could’ve killed him for what he did to Kyle, to all those boys. And I wanted to. But the second he stood up—with him towering over me like that—the body started shaking.” He looked down at the body’s hands. At his hands. “Like it was afraid.”
Philip reached for Trevor to comfort him, but Trevor immediately drew away. Damnit. He’d grown skilled at suppressing that reflex, but his host had learned to protect himself well—especially in moments of high stress. The body refused to be touched. Trevor clenched his jaw and quickly admitted, “It’s just a reflex. It’s not me. But I’m managing it.”
Philip’s brow creased despite Trevor’s attempt to brush it off. “What else are you managing?”
Silence. But it was different this time. It was the awful kind of silence, brimming with unspoken sentiments, swallowing Trevor whole.
Sure, Trevor could remember all the times he’d avoided Rene’s hands, even if they yearned for the most platonic of touches, because they turned his stomach. All the times he’d had to go for a run in the middle of the night to assuage the aches and pains that stiffened his body because of the tension his muscles held. All the times he’d woken up in a cold sweat and stole away to Ops so he wouldn’t have to sleep, or all the times he felt the need to keep his head on a swivel—especially when he was at school. But he couldn’t bring himself to utter any of it. Not in front of Philip. He simply stared at the floor, working his jaw and willing himself not to cry.
He knew once he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop.
Philip finally managed to catch Trevor’s gaze, suddenly realizing how misty his eyes were. “At least tell Marcy so she can help you,” he insisted. “She’ll know what to do.”
Trevor just nodded his head. If anyone could help him figure this out, it would be Marcy. Maybe then he and Philip could be intimate without him having another panic attack.
God. Trevor fought back a desperate need to apologize. He knew that he didn’t do anything wrong, that it wasn’t his fault his body reacted this way, but that didn’t reassure him the way he knew it should.
Somehow, Philip understood. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. Together.”
Trevor smiled weakly. He was quiet for several moments before he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper, “Do you think you could lay here with me for a little while?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Philip sprang from his semi-crouched position and approached the other side of the bed. “Of course. No touching for now?”
“For now,” Trever affirmed, a wave of relief crashing over him. “Thank you.”
The two laid back on the mattress, facing each other, and it was intimate in its own way: both of them breathing in each other’s warm air, their eyes locked in shared understanding, as they traded memories from their time in the 21st. Philip admittedly did most of the remembering and Trevor most of the listening, but that was okay. And when Trevor slowly began to doze off, that was okay too.
Philip finished a quick story about purchasing Poppy from the pet store with Ray and smiled at Trevor’s nearly asleep face. “Goodnight, Trevor.”
Yet somehow, it felt like a Good Morning—as warm as sunshine, as promising as a new day.
“Goodnight, Philip," Trevor murmured, feeling, despite everything that had happened that night, safer than he had in a long time.
And then they were quiet.