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Barely had Rieux finished preparing for bed when Tarrou appeared in the front door. He was surrounded by the cold air typical for the season, along with the traces of ash smell from the chimneys that let the presence of the reigning chilly month be known.
"Good Evening, doctor." His features evolved into a calm smile.
Rieux welcomed him back, and instead of retiring to his room, which had been his primary goal, he asked Tarrou for details of his rendezvous with Cottard, which turned out to take place in the opera earlier that night.
"The actors were talented, but even while they were acting, it was noticeable how miserable they'd been throughout these months," Tarrou stated. Unpleased, but without unnecessary dramatism.
"They must still be performing Orpheus and Eurydice then," Rieux assumed, as he had a brief recollection of somebody bringing it up once, a while ago. Or maybe not to him, but he'd overheard anyway from one of their friends. He wasn't sure. "A beautiful tale, but tragic."
(He probably wouldn't remember enough to say that, had it not been for the fact that his wife happened to be a librarian, often talking about everything stored within paper pages she'd come across. Otherwise, he would have had another reason to regret not having been able to join the two of his friends.)
Tarrou confirmed such was the case, then proceeded to comment upon how the music had been good and how the scenography had paled in comparison while still being good, even bringing up Cottard's intrigued gaze when he'd heard the sung laments, and how still the entire theatre had gone when the man impersonating Orpheus had fallen, not long before the dramatic resolution of the play. All that while taking off his outerwear, the process became enough of an excuse for Rieux to remain at the doorstep and listen.
"It's a shame. He was a good actor." The man pondered solemnly, lingering in the foyer even after he'd shed his coat and scarf. "It truly waits for no one."
It didn't. They both knew as much, the plague having been the taste of everyday for dreadfully long months now. And that fact, even kept in the back of Rieux's mind, felt dangerously close. The air got thicker somehow. They both nodded, the silence prolonged by their eyes on each other. That was, until Tarrou chose the moment to pass Rieux and go inside the house, keeping the unspoken thoughts, if there were any, to himself.
"I'd hate to keep you from retiring to bed," Tarrou offered; the sincerity of his tone made it clear it wasn't merely a change of topic. "I'll do my best not to wander around the house too much."
The protest was at the tip of Rieux's tongue, but as if he sensed he was going to argue, Tarrou turned to him, his solid hands placed on his shoulders in a gesture of reassurance; however, Rieux found that the cathartic feeling was determined more by the resemblance of a smile rather than the touch, as it tended to be when it came to this particular man in front of him being. The amount of care Tarrou had been showing him was something he was having trouble becoming used to, even since it had been going on for a while.
"Rest," was the most apt advice, and the only one his friend gave him before withdrawing as if to bid him goodbye. "Goodnight, doctor."
Rieux was a second too late in reacting to make the look inside the comforting shade of grey accidental.
"Goodnight, Tarrou." He didn't know if the smile he was trying to give in return ended up apparent, but he stopped considering it right after he closed the bedroom door behind him.
Never had he been hasty in terminating whatever business he'd have during the day, even more so during the times that'd shaken the city this year, when he was aware that the time spent sleeping was laughably disproportionate to the number of minutes he'd waste with his consciousness stubbornly retained. So, for an undefined while, he was trying to scribble some additional notes for today's entry, pretending to be immune to fatigue he'd learnt to ignore.
When he found himself under the warmth of bedsheets, he was hopeless against the train of thought he'd maintained suppressed for most of the time he dedicated to his work, or rather, however little of it he was capable of in his predicament. It was unclear how long he allowed his mind to wander until he finalised recollection of the day with an imagined vision of the play unfolding before the opera hall he'd been told about, and Tarrou insisting on his going to sleep.
It wasn't the first time; the likelihood of it being the last one was low, too. The thought of someone caring for him like so was oddly foreign to Rieux, who'd taken it upon himself to look out for everyone around. Yet he held onto it, without ever voicing this decision.
The last thought before falling asleep that he could recall in the morning was of how maybe he didn't have to, and maybe he had to simply let himself be slowly led out of the realm of darkness cast by the shadow of the disease tormenting the city, towards the light and the life it brought.
That thought stuck with him for a while, until it was forgotten among many others.
The hand he'd been aching to hold continued to feel warm now when he no longer had reason not to do it. Rieux wished he could absorb this warmth and cherish it within himself so that it wouldn't dissipate into the quiet air and be forgotten. But it was far from possible when each minute the skin held more and more coldness behind it, similarly to how the sight carried more of his tears with it.
He'd heard his mother walk in and out a couple of times, but he remained still, and the answers he gave were absent-minded. Not that she was asking a lot of questions, either. She, much like him, was just there.
That agonising silence remained a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of Oran's streets past dusk. Due to the difference, the walls appeared thicker, as if separating them from the city yearning to be heard, free of the plague that had gathered in this small room instead, staging it as a vessel of the underworld similar to the darkness that had weighed on Rieux before.
With the regrets of helplessness, he felt like he could also die, though while living.
As he kept his gaze fixed on Tarrou's spent body to compare it to the image saved in his memories, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe it wasn't him who was meant to be guided out of the underworld.
Maybe he shouldn't have looked over his shoulder, such as that night at the beach when they kept their eyes off the plague, even if it was for but a mere moment.
Rieux's tears had dried, and by midnight, all he felt was emptiness, eager to be mistaken for serenity. The night was calm. He didn't know if Tarrou found peace, but he was certain that he himself wouldn't, not with a certain thought breaking through. Perhaps it was that had he known he was the one to be dragging his beloved person back to the brightness, he'd still turn back to chase everything that was temporary.
He wondered if Tarrou would do so too, had he been meant to be Orpheus.