As the sun sank on their sixth day in Sharoani, it began to rain, fat raindrops threatening to soak their clothes in minutes. They found an outcropping of moss-covered rock and built their fire underneath, but despite the rain, the night was pleasantly temperate. They ate, laid out their bedrolls and packed away their eating utensils, Kalai all the while going over and over in his head how to voice his troubles. A part of him wanted to stall for as long as possible, desperate to hold on to the frequency of Tauran’s joyful smiles which had increased rapidly since they’d left the marshes behind.
But another part of Kalai, the part he was ashamed of, was afraid. Afraid of pain, of suffering. Of the steady emptying of vials and the shaking of his own hands. And when help was right in front of him in the form of a beautiful boy who looked at him like he was the most important thing in the world, it’d be stupid of him not to take it. No amount of pride was worth it.
So when Tauran made to rise from the fire and prepare to sleep, Kalai stopped him with a hand on his arm, held the last vial out toward him and said, “I need you to hold on to this.”
Tauran grew very quiet, very still, then took the vial from Kalai and turned it over in his hand. Kalai didn’t look at him, but he could see Tauran studying the vial’s contents. “Okay.”
Kalai swallowed. His throat felt dry. “I’ve… I’ve been struggling, and… as I get near the end… I’m worried I won’t be able to pace myself.”
Tauran closed his hand tight around the vial. “Struggling how?” He placed his hand on Kalai’s knee and rubbed slowly.
Kalai covered Tauran’s hand with his own, refusing to feel embarrassed by how cold and clammy it was. “I haven’t been decreasing as much as I should,” he said finally. He stared at a bright red ember in the fire. “I thought I’d be off them entirely by now, but I’m still on two pills a day, and… I’m not feeling better.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Tauran’s voice was gentle, nonjudgmental, but Kalai still cringed.
Kalai met his eyes. “I wanted so badly to handle it, and I told you I could. And then I didn’t want to admit that I couldn’t. And I didn’t want you to worry, because you have so many things of your own to worry about, and then your leg got worse, and…” His voice broke and he forced himself to stop, frustrating tears blurring his vision. “I lied to you. I’m so sorry, Tau. I understand if you’re angry.”
Tauran rose, and for one heart-stopping moment, Kalai feared he’d walk away. But then Tauran’s form filled his vision as he kneeled before him and gripped Kalai’s thighs with both hands, his grip warm and strong and grounding. “Listen,” Tauran said. “I spent four years of my life convincing people I was fine, when I really, really wasn’t. I know what that feels like. And it’s okay. I’m not angry with you. I could never be angry with you. Not for this, not ever.”
Kalai blinked, mind struggling to catch up.“You’re not angry I lied to you?”
Tauran smiled a little. “I may have had a feeling you weren’t being entirely honest. You wanted to handle it on your own, I get that. I trusted you to ask for help when you needed it. And you did.” He gave Kalai’s legs a squeeze. “Just now.”
Kalai’s face burned with embarrassment. He dropped his head. “Skies, I feel like an idiot. I’m such a child.”
“Hey, now.” Tauran let go of his leg and cupped Kalai’s face instead. “It’s not like I would let you be a stubborn donkey until you collapsed. We’re different people, you and I. When I struggle with something, I need a little push, or I’m never going to move. Like in the tower ruin, when you made me go onto that balcony with you.” His cheeks dimpled. “You’re the other way around. You need time and space to figure things out by yourself. And if it doesn’t work, you’ll have someone at your back.” Tauran’s gaze was intense, full of adoration and admiration without a shred of anger or disappointment. “You just need someone who’ll let you fly, someone you can trust to be there if you fall. And you have no idea how