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It wasn't impulse nor restraint that drove Alex that night — the very same thing why he held himself back from hitting Oscar before, after he had emphasized the line separating him and the other. Regardless, there was something about the way that he saw Oscar stumbling out of his mother’s townhouse, disheveled and unfit for wandering about the streets of London that made him reach out and drag him to his home. He was like a lost dog, Alex recalled; a decision out of pity and sheer shock that he would allow himself to be seen in that demeanour. What had happened? he wondered — for Oscar Edenic, the man who valued the upkeeping of his family and whose posture was as conspicuous as his hair to do such a thing?

It was the street lamp’s glimmer that made Alex look in the first place, other than the distinct look of Oscar. For as long as he lived, he believed that when it came to the Edenics, it was reasonable for him to act as heartless as he did, for their pain could never amount to the torment she experienced. With Oscar, that statement particularly rang true, but time and time again, he hadn’t been as merciless as he intended to be. In a mellower state, months after Ashgrove, why was it that during his stay, he had involved himself in useless endeavours like breaking up brotherly conflict and so on when it came to him? Wasn’t it enough to be a bystander to see Oscar crumble down to his knees?

During his stay, he had merely reduced such actions to be him, playing with his food, but what of that fateful night, when Oscar cried out to him? And the morning after, where Alex let him be and, in a daze after their duet, stayed for a little while, leaning his head on Oscar’s shoulder for no discernable reason other than — perhaps the most accurate descriptor — exhaustion? Certainly, he felt tiredness — at the fact that he fought so hard only to be defeated by a man’s desperation, that after more than a decade, he had suddenly lost the very thing beckoning him forward; it was a type of exorcism, he thought, on the way back to London. But what of the hollow shell the ghost left behind once it returned to its proper place? What about him, caught in between wanting to follow her and living a bit more, out of shame that she might be unsatisfied, even if her wants were fabricated. On a more rational note, she would be more ashamed if she saw him, Alex decided, for who would want to face one’s little brother who had done unspeakable things all for naught?

So, Alex lived a little bit more, forfeited his old intent and wrote to Oscar about a compromise. Naturally, after they discussed the logistics of the new contact, Oscar asked if he could strike him. In truth, wouldn’t have minded if he did so without warning — he was only deserving of it, but nonetheless, he allowed him to. With the values Oscar held dear, it was a must that he regarded him with respect, even if he was one of the most depraved men.

And now, an unknown thing, tugging along Alex’s will like it did all those months ago, led him to Oscar, shocked at his appearance, the hand grabbing his arm and his call to pull over a nearby carriage; an action borne out of the want to take him away from what bounded him.

What had become of him? It was a statement applicable to both of them. He looked at Oscar, sitting beside him with a slightly dazed look. When Alex took the chance to break the silence to ask the glaring question, Oscar didn’t seem to hear him and in the end, Alex simply let him be. If it were a regular night, Oscar would’ve protested and forced his way out of the vehicle. But, here he was, looking out the window, the wind making the distinct scent of champagne, mixing in with his cologne, more poignant to Alex. There was no question that in Oscar’s current disposition, he was only capable of surrendering.

Alex looked away and tried not to think about his chest tightening; no satisfaction came when he saw him suffer now — it was a thing he had to accept inevitably.

The reason for why Alex felt the need to take Oscar with him didn’t come to him when he brought him back to his townhouse and gave him a room to stay. Even then, there came no word from Oscar, asking him why he was doing this and what he was planning. In truth, he was relieved he hadn’t spoken, as he wouldn’t have had a proper answer. Though, that was the ideal situation, for with the quarter of his thoughts Alex would give to him, he would certainly demand for more clarity and directness. Unfortunately for him, Alex thrived off mystery — what else would prevent him from picking up and piecing together the broken vase that made up Oscar’s views on him? He could look at the poor state the ceramic was in for as long as he wanted, but was it necessary to cut himself on its jagged pieces? There were certainly better things to do — what would a future heir care for his strained relationship with his businessman acquaintance?

Alex knew that, regardless of how long he had lived his life, led on by a delusion, reality tethered him down, always making sure to be self-sufficient and to toss out tenderness for the sake of keeping his focus on what he could do to make the most of what he had. And with everything that made up his and Oscar’s relationship, he decided that it was best to move a great distance and play a new role, giving both of them comfortability in impersonality. Knowing Oscar’s tendencies, though, Alex sensed there would be a day where he would scar his hands in an attempt to build back what they once were again, and again, and again. Oscar had already done so that night, hugging him tightly as his tears wet the crook of his nape and the morning after, playing piece after piece until he accepted his invite.

It was only a matter of time that Oscar would attempt this rebuilding for the third time — Alex saw it in his eyes whenever he ended their consultations. What he had was an evident look that spoke of disappointment and surprise that, indeed, his time with him was up. Perhaps Oscar refrained himself from asking for an extension through the measly excuse of tea-time, knowing that Alex would refuse. Oscar may believe making amends with him was a must, but to Alex, refusal meant consideration — a rare kind gesture from him, with its receiver being Oscar. It made Alex somewhat ill thinking about Oscar’s habits, for how could one live as long as he did with such things weighing him down? Tonight, though, it seemed that a portion of them had finally caught up to Oscar’s foundation. After Alex lended Oscar a room, he left, giving time to himself to sit down and ponder where he would go from here. And then, after a split moment, Alex stood up and returned, where he saw Oscar, already asleep in his regular wear.

Alex paused, though he didn’t know what, as why would he hesitate in approaching a sleeping man? But as he leaned on the door frame, there came a curious thing — a quiet realization the longer he laid his eyes on him. Before him was a man, stripped of the finery he donned on every morning — of the things that made him seem well, in spite of the truth. Perhaps it was the way Oscar looked before the night, Alex thought. While the curtains were drawn, it seemed like the moonlight’s essence found its way to the candles instead, softening his seemingly permanent furrowed brow and scowl. Before, Oscar tended to sleep with an affliction haunting his features, suggesting that even if he was unconscious, he would always remember that he was Oscar Edenic, the future baron, a pillar to Ashgrove Park and a son who must conduct himself to be the optimal example to his younger brothers. Now, sleep allowed him to simply be Oscar Edenic, a son who was painfully human.

Alex walked closer to him.

For a while, he stood there, looming over Oscar, observing his features and the subtle way his chest moved whenever he breathed.

Wasn’t it fascinating? he thought, transfixed by how even the most rigid of men could leave themselves vulnerable to the world, yet find it odd to divulge in their fears once they woke up. Oscar always had physical beauty, but it was only tonight that Alex found himself understanding the concept — a painting’s scene in the flesh. In a corner of London, he once heard a gentleman talk about a particular lady and the way he perceived her grandeur; it was the type where you’d walk past her without a glance, but if you stop and appreciate her, that was when you’d never turn back. To cut all of the poetics, she became more beautiful with every sight you’d spare her — like a daisy on a sidewalk. Perhaps it was odd of Alex to find a connection between Oscar and that comparison, but with him, who had spent a portion of his life associating the man with the concept of animosity, it was only then that a type of fog started to clear.

Indeed, Oscar was beautiful, but when did Alex’s thoughts towards him start to soften and feel tender to the touch?

Alex blinked, only then realizing that he had been reaching out to him this entire time — moving a hand closer to his face to stroke his cheek or hair or to simply feel his warmth — proof of his reality.

He put his hand back down and let out a sigh.

What did he make of Oscar?

The morning after, Alex knocked on Oscar’s door. That day, Oscar hadn’t come downstairs, making Alex order a servant to bring his food to him alongside a change of clothes. Once Alex had done so, he then spent the rest of his breakfast wondering when he would get the chance to check on him, remembering a familiar scene in Ashgrove. Thankfully, Alex didn’t have any appointments that weekend, allowing him to use the most of his time.

“It’s me,” Alex announced, after waiting a while.

“… Come in.” It was soft, but a reply nonetheless.

With those words, Alex welcomed himself into Oscar’s room, taking in the sight of him in bed, now changed and dabbing his lips with a napkin. Oscar looked up at him as he approached him.

“How are you faring, Edenic?”

“… I had a headache, but it’s subsiding now,” Oscar said and averted his gaze. Despite him eating breakfast by then, it seemed like sleep still followed him; in a way, his voice reminded Alex of how the Baron spoke now. Surely, there were times where Alex heard Oscar speak softly to his brothers, but it wasn’t tenderness or care that led his intonations. “Why did you bring me here, Wake?”

Alex blinked. “I was waiting for you to ask me that the entire night. I even asked you a question on what had happened, but you ignored me.” He pulled a chair from the side and sat down.

Oscar frowned and furrowed his brow. “I wasn’t… myself last time.” He rubbed his temples.

“It was evident, yes.” Oscar’s expression deepened, but Alex continued, “I understand. You have to be more careful, though. You’re lucky that I found you first, dear future Baron.”

Oscar sighed. “… Are you forgetting my question?”

“Yes, I was getting there. I brought you here because what else would an old acquaintance do in that situation?”

“Leave me, that’s what.”

“Perhaps you need to associate yourself with better men.”

“Men other than you.”

“Indeed — men other than me. But, look at where we are.”

For a while, there was a pause.

The bed creaked and Alex looked up to see Oscar, leaning further back into his pillow.

Alex leaned his chin on a palm. “How strange.”

“What is?”

“I thought that you’d be preparing to leave by this time around.”

Oscar turned to his side, facing away from Alex. “You already found me in an unusual state, so wouldn’t it be better to say that it’s natural?”

Alex let out a huff of amusement. “I suppose that’s correct.” Another wave of silence washed over them and Alex rang the bell to take away Oscar’s food, half-eaten. “Not feeling hungry?”

Oscar didn’t reply.

Alex tried to peer over him to see if he was truly sleeping, but felt no need to do so.

Eventually he got up and paced the room, waiting for a servant to come in. Once one did so, Alex gave him his orders and loitered about until he approached the door, deciding to take his leave alongside him as he held it open.

That was, until Oscar spoke, and in a small voice he said, “… Nothing had happened.”

Alex paused, then turned to him, regarding his blanket-covered back and splayed over blonde hair.

It took a brief moment, but Alex understood.

Once Oscar curled further up into a ball, he took that as a sign to leave, but not before bidding a good-night.

With that, Alex left.

Unlike Alex’s expectations, Oscar hadn’t left the morning after his first day — rather, Oscar spent his second day in bed, much like he did before. And similarly, Alex knocked and entered his room after his work. This time, rather than simply checking up on him, Alex had a letter to deliver — one from Edward, presumably asking about his disposition from their brief exchange. Indeed, Alex had the option to call up a servant to deliver it, but he ought to take the chance to talk to him. Once Alex took a seat beside him, Oscar looked up; despite not being ill, from the outside, one could certainly assume he was.

“Another day spent here?”

Oscar looked down at the ground and nodded. “I wonder what’s gotten into me.” He sighed and like yesterday, tiredness had seeped into his voice. “When I went to sleep last night, I assumed that I would gather my reins by then, but it seemed that I’ve caught an affliction — I don’t know what,” he said. “Though, I suppose I have a hunch for my behavior.”

“I do, too.”

Oscar gazed at him.

“In fact, I already know.”

At this, Oscar narrowed his eyes.

“Why give me such a sharp look? I’m being genuine.” Alex put his hands up. “That’s why you don’t have to explain anything to me, Edenic.”

“… I wonder about you, Wake.”

Alex regarded Oscar as he lied down and closed his eyes; his words had been taken as jest in the end.

“Have you gotten any letters from my brothers?”

“One from Edward, yes.” As Alex reached into his jacket, Oscar sat up. “It might not be what you expect, though.”

While Oscar didn’t retort his claim, Alex knew he already thought up of the letter’s content being related to managing the estate. Unfortunately for him, Edward had given him a clue from their brief conversation on what the paper held. After getting the envelope, Oscar opened it and immediately went to read. As expected, there were only a handful of moments when his face dropped, lifting a hand to rub his temples. Then, he let out a sigh and put down the letter.

“You’re the first man I’ve seen getting upset at his younger brother showing concern for him.”

“It’s because Eddy shouldn’t have to feel such a thing.” Oscar shook his head. “I’m supposed to…” But, before he could finish his sentence, he trailed off, a look of realization dawning on him. Alex only crossed his arms.

“I know what you were about to say, Edenic,” Alex said. “Perish the thought.”

“Well, what else should I think?” Oscar scowled and Alex gave him a look of feigned offense.

“Is hostility truly necessary at this stage? I’m simply reiterating what your brother told you,” Alex continued. “Either way, take a good look at yourself — practically bedridden for two days. Would you say that you’re fit for your standards now?”

For a moment, Oscar looked at the ground.

Then, he sank back into his pillow and folded Edward’s letter back to its original state. Alex blinked, having thought of him standing up and getting himself dressed, but instead, here he was, shaking his head as Alex watched him with a certain type of curiosity.

“I wonder if you’d stay here until the year ends.”

“Are you kicking me out after you’ve told me to rest?”

“No, of course not,” Alex smiled. “But, the question still stands true.”

“Please make yourself more understandable.”

“You’ll surely return to your estate after this, no? With your current state though, I can’t help but ponder on when you'll recover.”

“I’d do so any day.”

“And then? Would you go back to your past routine?"

Oscar turned to his side. If he truly wanted to pry Alex off, he could’ve faked a snore, but he wasn’t the type to involve himself in such embarrassing actions willingly — unnecessary ones, too.

So, Alex continued, and set a hypothetical before him. “I’m trying to ask you what you want to do from now on."

Another beat of silence passed.

Today, though, Alex peered over and stopped once he saw that Oscar was, indeed, asleep.

He tapped his cheek and Oscar stirred.

A voice in him told him to further pester him — a want stemming out of his penchant for mockery. With everything considered beforehand, though, he felt as if it was needed to be kinder to him, especially in his current state.

He leaned back into his chair. “A question for another day, wasn’t it?” he mused to himself. He regarded Oscar’s blanketed figure, now looking smaller with the fabric covering him — he had exhausted himself, Alex thought.

And so, he said another good-night. Rather than leaving the room, though, he decided to rest on the sofa.

According to the clock, Alex had been asleep for an hour when he awoke, but even then, Oscar remained in the same disposition he was in when their conversation ended. If it weren’t for the brief words they exchanged throughout Oscar’s coma-like sleep (that Alex wasn’t too sure he remembered), then Alex would’ve assumed that death was on its way, regardless of his steely health. Even if it could be a vice to blame for his ailments, like drink, thus subsiding long ago, Alex made sure that his servants never brought him any, out of suspicion that it might worsen him. While brandy was regularly administered for colds, Alex checked Oscar’s temperature himself and with the liquid’s warming effect, it would certainly bring about disaster if he consumed such a thing.

When he and Oscar talked today, the sun was on its decline, but now, the curtains were drawn and the room’s candles were lit, bringing about a warmth to wherever the light touched; a quarter past six, Alex noted. After stretching and getting the sleep off his eyes, he got up, approached Oscar’s bedside and tapped his shoulder.

“… Wake?” Oscar stirred.

“Edenic. Do you remember what I told you before you fell asleep earlier?”

“We spoke?”

Alex nodded, summarised their exchange and repeated his question. Oscar furrowed his brow at this, but Alex continued on. “Have you decided, then? On what you were planning to do after you recover.”

For a while, Oscar stayed silent.

Then, he said, “… I don’t know. Travel, maybe.”

“Travel?” Alex repeated, somewhat bewildered. If he ignored Oscar’s slight pause, then his reply preluded no hesitation whatsoever. However, as Oscar phrased it — with his current disposition, what was once considered queer regarding his behavior became regular business.

Oscar nodded. “That’s correct.”

“Where do you want to go, then?” If Alex had played the role of his financial adviser and old acquaintance spectacularly for as long as he did, then it was only logical that he continued doing so as the concerned host, caring for his sick guest. Therefore, he didn’t ask Oscar for his reasons, as in spite of his somewhat delirious state, he remained a man who lived with his obligations dictating his every move: a good brother, the future heir, the son who aspired to defy what nurture had shown him. Even if questions gnawed at him in various forms, he knew how to bide his time — to observe the scene and act as such to what was set before him. So, Alex listened to Oscar list off his desires, speaking as if he were by himself.

“… Somewhere warmer. And has less fog.”

Alex laughed.

“Britain will forever reign my heart, mind.”

“Oh, I know. Continue.”

“Even so, it would be nice if I could see clear skies.” Oscar gazed up at the ceiling with a wistful look Alex saw whenever he talked about their earlier days — an expression only formed by remembrance. “Perhaps that’s all I want.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“How humble. But, it’s natural knowing you’ve only ever known one place — quite a dreary one, at that.” Oscar huffed, but before he could re-affirm his national pride, Alex continued, “It’s a good set of criteria.”

“A broad one, though.” Oscar yawned, then closed his eyes. “Are you that desperate for entertainment, Wake?” his voice softened.

“Everyone has a part in them that’s at least drawn to adrenaline,” Alex said. “You gave me something quite useful today, Edenic.” He looked at the kindling fireplace, pausing for a moment to wait for Oscar’s reply. When he turned to him again, though, he was breathing soundly, his expression reminiscent of the peace sleep could only give him. In the back of Alex’s mind, he wondered if Oscar remembered their exchanges and if he could recall a more brazen question he asked — something that hinted towards the truth that Alex, himself, wasn’t aware of.

To think that one day, he would be buying two tickets to Spain and hauling Oscar Edenic, out of all people, into another carriage in a span of a week was something he would never consider. In a more direct manner — what he did was a series of actions he was only capable of if he was like this — if he hadn’t refused Oscar more directly, so on and so forth. There was a response he liked to parry people back with whenever they asked whether he was in the right mind, and that was the simple reversal and a quick twist of words. However, it was only until recently that Alex began to doubt himself. And to think that, indeed, Oscar Edenic was the one at fault again was astounding. But, here he was, handing the thorn by his side sandwiches, offering walks to the deck to somewhat ease his complexion and to stay by his side and exchanging small talk to entertain themselves.

Even then, would it be accurate to refer to him as a thorn? Alex thought of this as he watched Oscar struggle to write a letter, trying to recompose himself after the steamer’s sudden swerve. There was a look of dismay, a slight furrow in his brow and a hushed frustration; Oscar lifted his hand in order to continue writing and beneath his palm, lay a smudge stain. In a way, that whispered exclamation was proof of his good tidings, though that standard wasn’t as strict, knowing what had occurred only a handful of weeks ago. Alex fiddled with the corner of a thoroughly read romance novel that kept him at bay for the beginning of their trip, only to lose its luster as the days went by. On the surface, him engaging with something so far removed from his ideals (albeit through the mere action of reading), may sound odd, but to Alex, it was reasonable. In a way, reading on what sorts of ideals people cling onto — regardless of how far removed they were from reality — amused him; sentimentalities, arduous stories of confessions, rejections, re-confessions and a peaceful resolution in spite of all the ruckus.

He peered at Oscar, who was now letting the ink dry from the way he began tidying up his writing materials. When he looked up, Alex resumed ‘reading,’ or in other words, watching him through his peripheral, even if his method was inefficient in letting him see him with clarity. Perhaps he had gone to all of those lengths for Oscar with the same reasons for why he read as many romance novels as he did; the man certainly had the main components of one, anyhow — and it was that he was who stuck with love regardless of its detriment. Alex suppressed a huff of amusement — an honourable man. Unfortunately for him, Oscar noticed his foolishness and raised his head to face him.

“What’s so amusing, Wake?”

“No, it’s nothing you should concern yourself with.” Alex waved him off and Oscar frowned.

“If you put it like that, I can’t help but be wary instead.”

“How cruel.” Alex feigned offence. “Are you at least stabilising yourself with the waves?”

“… Somewhat. Though, I still get ill from time to time.” Oscar rubbed his temples as he looked over his work.

“It happens to the best of us.”

Oscar looked at him, frowning. “Even so, you’re an experienced traveler.”

“Quite, but we all have our firsts, Edenic.”

The ship lurched and Oscar staggered to anchor himself, trying to prevent his work from falling. In response to this sudden movement, Alex only put a hand on the wall. When the steamer stabilised, it took a moment for Oscar to regather his reins. The two met gazes and Alex paused to observe Oscar’s complexion.

“… But, I must admit I didn’t feel your level of sickness during my first trip abroad.”

Oscar sighed as he straightened his back.

Alex continued, pondering to himself. “I suppose your disposition is understandable, knowing that you’ve never known the world until now…”

“The rest of it, you mean.”

“Oh, but who knows.” Alex smiled. “You never fought back when I hauled you here, did you not?”

“It’s hard to think when one’s recovering, Wake,” Oscar said. “Moreover, we’ve reached the harbour when I came to, so it was no use; you’ve already spent quite a hefty amount on me, too.” He paused, then looked down at the floor. “… I wonder what you’re planning.”

“Me? Planning? For what?”

Oscar only gave him a look, as if he were suggesting for him to drop the act.

Alex put his hands up. “I plan for you to go to Spain, Edenic. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Oscar opened his mouth, before closing it. Perhaps he realised it would be fruitless to ask him for his reasons — they had played this game countless times, after all.

In the end, Oscar sighed and looked away. “… If that’s so.”

Alex smiled. “I’m glad you believe me.”

For a brief moment, Oscar turned to him, paused, before averting his gaze once more. In the back of Alex’s mind, he knew where that glance came from.

When they reached the dock, Alex saw the way Oscar brightened once the scent of sea salt brushed against his cheek, led on and swept away by the afternoon wind. And to think that a moment before this, he had seen him utterly drained — though, knowing the circumstances, it was only reasonable. Alex, too, felt a sense of awe that, even he felt his fatigue go away, whether it was because of the environment or (and may the Queen help him if it was) Oscar’s reaction. It hadn’t been the first time Alex boarded a ship to Spain or set foot in the dock he stood on — the sight he saw now should very well have no effect on him, but here he was. Perhaps it was the fact that he wasn’t here for business and was only here for leisure.

Leisure. Alex stopped to consider the word.

Was that it?

He supposed that supervising (read, stepping into his space) Oscar in his forced vacation was consequently relaxing. After this, they would have to retire to a beachfront hotel, as per his suggestion — a great way for Oscar to do his de-frosting away from Britain’s climate. He had only been in the hotel he chose a handful of times, but from what he recalled, it had quite a view along with a generous amount of sunlight in its premium rooms — one of the reasons he decided on it. Moreover, knowing that the beach and other establishments were walking distance added to its efficiency — it would only be for a while, but it would be enough for him to have an experience. Then, they would have to move to another hotel in order to see more of what Spain offered; a spectacular sampling strategy, Alex mused.

As expected, the first part of their itinerary proceeded smoothly, with Oscar taking a moment to gaze at the room with a dazed stupor after he stepped foot into it. At this reaction, Alex took the opportunity to joke a little, but Oscar remained sincere and unaffected by his comment. After a while, he began to look at the interior more closely, presumably moved by a certain curiosity regardless of his tiredness, to touch and turn over any object he could reach. Alex watched him as he felt the curtains’ material, grazed his fingers at the display flowers and the bed’s canopy, with the look of someone far removed from the luxury the decór screamed of. In reality, the type of comfort he and Oscar shared only followed them abroad, but here was Oscar, awestruck.

Had the lack of fog affected him that intensely? Alex regarded the room once more and thought to himself that Oscar’s reaction was warranted; every corner was golden, dyed by the sinking sun, fragmenting itself from the window, to the floor and to every surface it could encompass, so long as the curtains weren’t drawn.

Day by day, Alex saw Oscar’s complexion improve tenfold.

They slowly developed a routine for themselves now that everything was in set and a bit less hectic: share meals, go for a walk, either swim or socialise, and say good-night once they’ve tired themselves out. At first, Alex assumed that Oscar would be more inclined to doing activities on his own, but they’ve often shared their moments regularly and during these, they’ve talked about inconsequential things, without Alex harbouring any other intent. It’s easier like this, isn’t it? Alex thought to himself, one day after dinner.

What they’re doing is pretending that history never existed and fooling themselves that they’re nothing more than acquaintances; an odd sense of comfort certainly arose from their predicament, but Alex wondered how long Oscar would last, trying to convince himself into thinking that he was satisfied. Alex knew that pretending had always been one of his skills, and he, too, knew that Oscar was capable of lying, but even so, his attempts come off as obvious. But, as long as Oscar kept to himself, perhaps this semblance of peace between them (where no mediator was present, mind) was possible. The mere idea of sentimentalities was ridiculous to Alex, but he was here, feeling the ghost of nostalgia soften his edges when it came to him. If he were left alone with the fact for too long to ponder about, he feared that he might imitate Oscar’s foolishness.

But, he was the one who made their current situation possible, did he not?

Alex covered his face.

Choosing a place close to the shoreline was the first error.

He let out a sigh, the words of an upperclassman echoing through his mind.

Leisure only lasted for as long as it did when Oscar fell ill — this time, it wasn’t a simple case of him being bed-ridden.

Having been moved to the hotel’s annexe, it was natural that this event caused a shift in their routine. With everything that was laid before him, it was easy for Alex to simply go about his days leisurely without Oscar. Then again, he couldn’t find it in him to do so — it would be as if he were playing music whilst the host of an estate he was residing in was recovering from an ailment of some sort. Regardless of his and Oscar’s previous animosity with each other, the bitterness had ebbed out and all that was left of their relationship was a crude stage-act in and of itself: an odd mixture of imitating comfort alongside awkwardness at what they should do with the untangled thread of everything else.

So, on the same day Alex learnt of Oscar’s state, he told him he would send a telegram to his family. Predictably, Oscar told him it was unnecessary, but Alex insisted, arguing that it would be ridiculous to expect an ill man to be out and about — even if he held the same amount of responsibility as him.

“Are you trying to test God’s fate?” Alex said, adding to his argument.

At this, Oscar yielded.

In the beginning, Alex intended for that interaction to be the end of him sharing space with Oscar until he had recovered. Instead of passing the time as one would do on vacation, though, he had planned for the rest of his days quietly.

Then again, in one way or another, he ended up spending his time doing something more foolish.

One afternoon, not so long after Oscar’s diagnosis and subsequent moving, Alex decided to bring him his medicine and food. After which, he stayed, wiped off his sweat, and stayed some more, and some more, until the sun had set and Oscar slept and Alex hadn’t, too burdened with fear. It was just for one day, he thought to himself — that was, until the day where he found himself staying by him, caring for him and all of the other words relating to ridiculousness caused by whatever thing that caused the warm squeeze around his heart. His actions were an after-effect of being around Oscar, perhaps, as when on earth did he decide it would be wise to be his bedside nurse, when there was someone who was more appropriate than him to take up the job?

But, here he was, promising to the man that he would make sure he would return to his brothers safely, that it would be ridiculous for him to let him die like that, all without any hidden malice or mockery at his state. To talk about Oscar Edenic with good will in front of his brothers in the past was to spite him — to do so in front of him and in earnest was to confess to him. A part of Alex feared he might be making it worse for him — promising him to bring him the impossible, but when did he ever start to see Oscar as this fragile thing — of something too delicate to be hurt and be undeserving to be shattered? Had it started when Oscar became ill and his fragility had reason or did it begin that night, where kerosene illuminated him or did it do so long ago, in a quiet moment of some such where Alex awoke and realised he had been running on empty? But, what he did know was that the man before him was too conscious of his own pain, and it would be wrong for him to leave; it had been a mirror of a handful of weeks ago, only this time, sleep came in small dosages.

“What’re you doing with yourself, Wake?” Oscar rasped out, as Alex wiped off his sweat one day.

Alex paused and regarded him. “Taking care of you. Surely you can see quite well, no? You seem to be fond of wondering about me lately, Edenic, so I wonder about you, too.”

Oscar frowned. “… Am I truly an outstanding charity case for you to invade my quarantine?”

Alex smiled. If Oscar had a sense of bite, then that meant he was still all right. “Are you asking for me to leave?”

“I’m far too aware of your relentless nature and regardless of my words, you’d still stay.” Oscar sighed. “Even so, surely you know what might await you if you continue this…” He gestured, so Alex completed his thought for him.

“Foolishness? Brazenness? I’m quite familiar with involving myself into predicaments because of those emotions, so don’t fret, Edenic.”

In response to this, Oscar let out another sigh.

If this continued, perhaps Alex would commit another crime upon him, albeit unintentionally, so he changed the subject. “How about you try and rest?”

Oscar shook his head. “Ridiculous.”

“Why, I’m being reasonable, even for your criteria!”

“What I mean to say is that it’s ridiculous for you to suggest that, when you’re the one causing my unrest.”

“I am?”

“Yes, you and your chattering.”

“Then, I’ll stay put.”

Silence.

Oscar slowly tucked himself in and closed his eyes.

Alex got the book he was reading from the bedside table and turned to where he was, but kept his gaze on Oscar.

Another beat of silence.

Alex watched Oscar toss and turn; Oscar covered an ear with his pillow, then did the same when he flipped around.

Then, Oscar sat up.

“What’s wrong?”

“… No, it’s nothing.”

Alex let out a huff of amusement. “Do you suppose a bed-time story would help?” He lifted up his book and Oscar frowned at it, possibly at its title.

Oscar rubbed his temples. “… You know we’ve both outgrown such activities…” he said. “Moreover, I’m not sure if… a book of that genre would console me.”

“If that’s the case, then perhaps I shall abandon the traditional type,” Alex said. “Perhaps the ones that make up an anecdote, a thought or a dream.” He softened his tone the more he spoke and eventually, Oscar yielded, lying back down.

“… You plan to talk until you’ve tired me, is that correct?”

“Precisely. Do you have any dreams to speak of lately?” Alex rested his chin on his palm, gazing at Oscar, his hair uncombed.

“These days, no.”

“It's understandable,” Alex said and gazed out the window — a midsummer’s afternoon blue. “I’ve been writing to Edward, as I’ve told you before.”

“… I thank you for that.”

“Yes, countless times.” Alex smiled. “I suppose you feel relieved.”

“I do, truly, but I can’t help but feel ashamed of myself.”

Alex turned to him and Oscar met his gaze. “Whatever for?”

“For all of my life, I’ve only ever wanted one thing for my brothers,” Oscar said. “And yet, somehow, I let doubt get in the way with Eddy.” He rubbed his temples.

“Surely, you don’t expect to be a saint all the time?”

“No, but I’ve wanted them to at least understand my actions — that at the end of the day, I love and trust them wholly. But, what have I done with him?” Oscar shook his head. “… I could’ve been better.”

“Statements like that could lead to your demise, Edenic,” Alex said. “Either way, you two are getting along these days, no? So, what’s the use for regret?”

Oscar turned to the wall. “… The next time you write to him, tell him that I’m sorry for everything.”

“‘For everything?’ You speak as if that would be all the faults you committed against him. At the very least, you could spare a bit of time when you return.” Here he was again, talking as if the predicament Oscar was in could be another story he could tell to people — like the time Alex found him, drunk and bathed by light, or perhaps their impulsive trip to Spain and all the firsts he experienced there. To whom he might share these anecdotes, though, Alex wasn’t sure. It could be possible that Oscar didn't talk about him to other people — verbally or through his letters, but Alex didn’t mind; Oscar would have the memory with him after everything settled.

Oscar opened his mouth, but his words remained unspoken. “I suppose,” was what he told Alex instead.

“You’re a fool, Wake,” Oscar said, once he recovered and Alex fell ill in turn.

If Alex had a bit of energy to spare, he would’ve parried his words back with humour and relish in the title: Yes, and we’re both too aware of that, Edenic, was what he wanted to say, but all that he could muster was a sigh in the face of his shivers and the ache in his bones. And then, here came the natural thing following a statement like that from Oscar — all of the words resulting to say a singular sentiment: You shouldn't have done such a thing. Humour wasn't what Alex intended in the beginning when he thought of a response here. For once, he worked up enough of a fight in him to shake his head and say that he shouldn't think so — that regardless of his current state, he held no regrets.

Perhaps Oscar realised his words weren't frilled like they usually were when he forced the hoarse syllables out of him; was it the fact that Alex could barely muster his usual brand of sarcasm if it was like this or something in the way he said it — like a confessional of some-sort? For why Alex felt as such, it was quite simple, really — he saw how Oscar grasped his earnestness through his pause, the furrow in his brow and subsequent the look of yielding with a sigh following after.

“If that’s how it is,” said Oscar before pulling a seat from the side — the very same one that Alex stayed for hours at a time, day after day, tending to him. Alex gave him a look, asked what he was doing and in response, Oscar got a towel from the bedside drawer, put a hand on his shoulder and laid him down. It was a simple response, really — albeit a wordless one, but straight-forward anyhow: he was going to return the favor and be foolish like him, too.

The way Oscar cared for Alex for weeks on end differed from how Alex did to him in how he spoke of the situation — in fact, he rarely spoke of it or at all, opting to waste time at his bedside, penning a letter or some silent activity of some such. It was expected, of course, for why would two people with such contrasting personalities deal with what was at hand similarly? The medicine bringing and all of the objective tasks never changed, but somehow, Oscar’s behavior made it seem like Alex was on his way to his deathbed — which was true, in a way, but the fact that Oscar survived the same ailment was also true. Therefore, it wouldn’t hurt to at least give him some hope like he did to him, no? A sample for normality after surviving death.

There were times that Alex commented on this to Oscar in all different approaches and preludes only to arrive at the same conclusion, and in response to all of these, Oscar only tells him that a task like that would be impossible for him. And, naturally, Alex would say that having hope wasn’t difficult for men like him. Then, Oscar would sigh, shake his head or do nothing at all, saying that what was set before him was different.

“I’m a bad liar, Wake.”

“Yes, I know.”

Thus, continued the silence.

Alex wondered about him, for what else was there to do? Perhaps Oscar did the same thing whenever he wasn’t occupied — it would be impossible to not think about one’s patient, after all. Either way, an aspect of him must at least be on his mind, like the way Alex never responded to him asking how he got the scar on his shoulder or the first or countless times he saw the rest of his suffering’s proof flush on his skin. Who could blame him? Alex thought, gazing at Oscar’s side profile as he watched the sun go down and colour the room with its warmth. By this time in his life, he no longer had to hide his scars, but even so, it was easier if he didn’t have to explain himself — safer, really; it was an unshakable habit, he supposed.

In the end, Oscar never tried to ask about his scars again — another wordless understanding.

Even so, he never stopped regarding him with that gaze — an indescribable thing, save for the emotions Alex saw hints of in his features: a sense of regret in his frown, a hint of a wince, as if he shared all his past burdens, and a look of longing in his gaze, though Alex didn’t know what for. At some point, Alex began to expect for Oscar to burst into tears and embrace him after he finished giving him medicine or wiping his sweat, but he never did, through some form of miraculous restraint. Perhaps the idea was too far-fetched if he still held his ground. If he had a semblance of stability, he would start a conversation of some kind, with its true intent hidden by allusions; a ridiculous tenderness and a coward’s way of piercing the skin.

Then again, Alex found himself wanting that sort of ridiculousness, in the haze of an enslaught of shivers, aching his very being for God knew how long, but long enough for him to think that he would die before Oscar. On the first instance of this realisation, he wanted a hint of Oscar’s skinship through the simple touch of a hand, so that he could at least feel him when he was alive and hope that this memory would eclipse the one where he held it as his skin turned cold. Then, he wished for him to cease his cowardice and to speak of what his eyes held time and time again. Regardless of how late that conversation may be, Alex didn’t care — he would die, anyhow and it would be cruel for him to leave Oscar with regrets.

Therefore, in the moments following this (as pain tended to blur time into one, unrecognizable thing), Alex tugged on Oscar’s sleeve, held his palm, wordless, aching and supposing that he had around two days, give or take. He had done so without facing him or searching for his reaction, but Oscar remained, not letting go for as long as he could, save for the briefest of moments. Perhaps Alex could say that he stayed there forever, with his muddled sense of time, but who knew? For the instances where the aches worsened, it was the slight warmth and softness of Oscar’s hand that Alex focused on. At times, it was the ticklish sense of his thumb, tracing his inner palm — on others, it was simply the still sense that he was, indeed, there.

The sun sank and the moon rose for Alex’s first day, then on his second, but then on the third, he found himself, stunned at the twist of fate. And then, as if the days he spent practicing on how he should meet eyes with death were in jest, the shivers stopped, all the while the weight on his shoulders went ahead and slipped away.

Before Alex could regather his reins and take a moment for Oscar’s warmth to seep in once more, an inevitable thing, be it as it may, went on, and on, tangling, then untangling itself, until he had almost forgotten that he felt like a dead man breathing.

Honesty was what Alex gave to Oscar, not so long after the shock had surpassed, all the while the sun pulled itself down into the earth; it was easy to forget that the room was white in these moments. Naturally (almost predictably so), Oscar clicked his tongue and told him off — to not speak of such things. But, what else could Alex do, but speak the truth out of the hope that perhaps through doing so, he could at least shave off a portion of its burden by speaking it to the world? That it was another story he lived to tell. It was only reasonable that, with Alex’s condition improving, Oscar’s time-wasters dwindled. Typically, Oscar continued the silence after bringing him his medicine, if neither of them had the energy for conversation, though today, perhaps earnestness had loosened both of their tongues.

So, Alex continued confessing, to encapsulate the odd tug at his mind and the spillage that followed — that at a certain point of continual pain, he reckoned he had two days.

And then, Oscar had set a hypothetical before him.

Alex blinked — if he had two days to live, what would he do? He rapped his fingers on his book. Then, the answer came easily, in the practical sort of fashion, so he promptly replied, but Oscar wasn’t satisfied.

“Isn’t there anyone you want to see?”

Alex shirked around this; there would be a lot of people who would want to see him to curse him, he supposed. But then, Oscar continued, relentlessly pursuing the romance of it all, telling him the clear difference between them — that in the face of something that seemed to escape before one’s grasp, Oscar couldn’t sit still; it was unignorable and with how malleable he was with emotion, in spite of the reality that bounded him, something worth pursuing to get back the sense of peace before it. So, Oscar talked, and talked and Alex wondered how he ever convinced himself to let him take another look at his fragility and to trust him with his beating heart, encased with all of the meaning he spoke. Out of all the people in the world, Oscar would go and seek him out if he were on the brink of death because of what was left unspoken — even if he held his family dear to his heart, this was what made Alex worth going to.

Alex was right, in the end — from their brief stay, he learnt a lot and much like what knowledge did to men, he could never go back to where he once was. With Oscar’s words, he anticipated for him to continue monologuing on nostalgic times, but he left the phrases hanging by themselves, sitting down and placing a hand over Alex’s, all while his sentiment, with all of its hints, weighed itself upon the air. And Alex, in turn, sat with them as he relearnt the sense of Oscar’s warmth to be another known, familiar thing. And naturally — predictably, Oscar continued gazing at him with that expression — a confusing myriad of saying everything whilst speaking of no such thing at all. Time and time again, Alex mused to himself how fitting topaz was as a comparison to Oscar’s eyes, for of course only gemstones and their surfaces could only capture the subtlest shifts beneath light, darkness and everything in-between that his gaze spoke of.

Oscar was smart with his response, Alex mused, as he held his words, looking into the vibrancy before him. There were many separations that drew the line between both of them, but at times like these, it tended to blur, like the void softening before the gold’s touch, fuzzing where it ended and where the other began, for who else would know how to speak in allusions and understand them as soon as he spoke of it as instantly as the other? The thought of another reality moved them to Spain, and now, it would do the same, only this time, Alex wondered where its mere idea would move them instead; this was Oscar’s way of making amends, of saying that he didn’t care how broken of a man he is because of God-forbid-the-word.

At times like these, Alex would find another way to escape this interrogation, but how could he if Oscar looked at him like that, waiting on hope with bated breath? What was set before him became an issue on how he ought to speak on this, giving the right hints with the appropriate words — how would one frill a boundary? Silently, he cupped Oscar’s hand back and opened his mouth, but his intentions failed him, leaving him to trail off before anything substantial was said. He tried again, but the same effect happened and Alex wondered how Oscar got by, presumably holding his breath for as long as he did. He turned to the window, where just before the sky cast itself into darkness, the sun made sure its presence was known with its infective, radiant glow.

Before his eyes, lied his response, broken and fragmented, but it was better that way, for Alex knew what men like him do to men like Oscar. And how else would he say it to him if the other decided to speak in signs? It would hurt, but it would be necessary this time around — Alex made sure of this. As he gazed at the daylight’s momentary blinding hour, he wondered if Oscar would piece together his meaning. But, he supposed he would, anyhow — much like how Alex did so to him. It was amusing that regardless of their history, there remained fragments of understanding — a type of proof that they both never unlearned the other’s patterns.

So, he opened his mouth and answered him, the heat of the light shining on his face.