Page 172 of The Menagerie
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Just… tell me next time, yeah? If this happens again.”
“I will,” Rowan promises.
He remembers the promise he made to himself all those months ago: That if his disease ever compromised their arrangement, he’d tell Mal about it. And he did. Even if not as quickly as he would have liked, he did still manage to keep his word. Rowan takes his own promises very seriously, having grown up without a lot of that in his life—words meaning things.
“Can I…,” Mal starts, trailing off as if he’d bitten his lip.
“What?”
“Can I see you? Today? If you’re up for it.”
Rowan takes a shaky, surprised breath. “Maybe not today. I’m kinda… kinda gross. Haven’t really showered or anything in a few days,” he admits. Though by now it’s been at least a week. “Tomorrow, though?”
“Yeah, that’d be good.” There’s no judgment in Mal’s voice, for which Rowan is eternally grateful. “I’ll text you.”
“Okay,” Rowan replies, unable to wipe the smile off his face.
“See you, Red.”
“Bye, Mal.”
WHEN TOMORROWcomes, Rowan wakes with a sense of peace that he hasn’t felt in weeks. A calm that he feels in his body as much as in his mind. Equilibrium restored. A large part of that, he thinks, is due to finally telling Mal about his depression. It feels like a ten-ton weight lifted off his chest, leaving him so light that he may float off into space.
He downs his newly adjusted pills with a glass of water from his nightstand that he doesn’t remember putting there. He’d called his doctor right after he called Mal yesterday—which really shows where his priorities lie—and she’d only been slightly worried. It wasn’t that bad of an episode, all things considered. He’s had much, much worse in the past—to the point where he’d been close to actually trying to off himself—and the fact that he was stillkind ofon top of his meds when the depression really started to set in had helped. It can never be completely avoided, something it had taken him a long, long time to come to terms with after he was diagnosed, but it can at least be mitigated.
The warm shower water feels glorious on his skin. As he lathers his body wash and scrubs himself clean, he rinses away the sweat and the grime and the shame of being bedridden for a week.
It’s always the first step to feeling better after a depressive bout. The first step to feelinghumanagain. A nice long shower.
The second step is human interaction.
Mal.
It’ll be good to see him again. Rowan’s actually looking forward to it, the first thing hehaslooked forward to in a couple of weeks. Sometimes it seems like Mal’s the one thing he never gets tired of, even when his body is screaming at him that he’s exhausted. It’s a good feeling. Even if there are nervous butterflies jittering in his stomach, he’s missed being excited about things. Excited aboutlife.
THEY AGREEto meet at Sheila’s diner, a comfort after the past week and change that he didn’t know he needed.
As soon as he walks inside the diner, he finds Mal sitting at their usual booth. When he hears the doorbell jingle at Rowan’s entrance, Mal looks up and immediately stands, then speed walks over to Rowan.
Before Rowan can even get his bearings, Mal’s wrapping him in a warm, tight hug.
“Hey,” Mal breathes into his neck. “You okay?”
“I’m okay.”
“Kinda look drained.”
Rowan laughs. “Well, we can’t all look perfect all the time, Mal,” he says, cupping Mal’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilting his beautiful face up for closer inspection.
Perfect as always.
Mal smirks but shrugs away from the touch with a shiver that Rowan barely notices. “Fuck you, man.”
“Hey, that was a compliment.” Rowan drops his hand, the contact of his palm on Mal’s stubbly chin and the residual feeling of his arms around him warming him to his core.
They pull apart completely, as if realizing at the same time how close they’d been standing even after the hug had run its course. Rowan thinks he sees the faintest hint of a flush on the back of Mal’s neck as he turns and waves him over to the counter.
