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Rao wakes with the sun in his face. Had they left the bedroom curtains open? No, only slightly. A ray of light is striking Rao in the eye but the rest of the room is in shadows. Adam is on his left, face down and snoring lightly. Rao dozes, certain Adam will wake any moment. Adam's the early riser.
Adam keeps snoring. Rao adjusts himself on the bed and Adam shuffles a leg with no other signs of consciousness. Rao looks around for distractions. There’s a book on the far side of the nightstand, an old Michael Crichton paperback Rao can’t imagine Adam buying but could picture him pretending to read in an airport. Maybe it was in this apartment when he moved in. What is the story with this dingy apartment? Rao can’t be bothered to truth-test the history of the place. He’ll live with the mystery for now.
Eventually, Rao’s patience and bladder demand he move. He finds the bathroom. He hadn't given it much notice last night. The white walls are lined with floral trim. A formica countertop sits atop a pressboard cupboard. There's a plain plastic shower curtain hanging inside the tub. Rao takes a piss and splashes water on his face, balking at the crusty blue hand towel hung next to the sink.
He could put on yesterday’s clothes. There’s a laundry basket in the corner of Adam’s room and when Rao inspects it, the rumpled contents smell clean. He grabs a few things and looks back at Adam, still sleeping.
In the living room, Rao opens the curtains and he’s not sure which way this place looks more depressing, dim or in full daylight. It’s jarring, realizing how damaged Adam had become in a matter of weeks. Of course they were close, there was no disputing that. And Rao had realized, so belatedly, that Adam had loved him. That Adam has real feelings at all is still a mindfuck, like accepting that an armadillo has skin. Rao always associated Adam’s impassivity with his severe discipline, the way the only mess he could make was with a leaking pen. But this place is unhygienic.
He looks over the small kitchen. There’s no kettle — there wouldn’t be, Yanks. There’s a pod-style coffee maker. There are a couple of Mountain Dark Roast pods and a dozen of something with a neon gingerbread man. Rao guesses Adam buys a variety pack but doesn’t like the holiday flavor. That, at least, is a small sign that Adam’s not gone completely walking-dead.
Breakfast. Rao explores the kitchen cupboards, which offer little besides protein bars and a mostly full box of Trisciuts. Rao considers what Adam is like grocery shopping. A list-maker. He would have specifically wanted Trisciuts. Or maybe not, maybe that’s different now too. Maybe Adam was feeling despondent next to an end cap that proffered crackers and he grabbed them to get the hell out of the store.
Rao looks in the fridge. There are eggs, as Adam had mentioned, half a loaf of wheat bread, and greens in the vegetable drawer that are decaying into sludge. It’s been a month since Rao disappeared and he’s glad it didn’t take him any longer to get here or Adam might have been consumed by Audrey II. Rao goes back for a protein bar and chokes it down with regret.
Under the kitchen sink, Rao finds a box of trash bags, which elicits a waive of relief. He starts collecting the rubbish around the kitchen and living room thematically: pizza boxes together, then ramen cups, then smaller things to top up the bags. Rao hesitates to approach the empties and risk waking Adam with the sound of clinking glass, but they are a profoundly saddening sight and surely responsible for part of the bachelor-pad stench in the place. There’s a cardboard box in a corner that Rao repurposes as a bin, delicately setting down one bottle at a time, nearly silent. Adam must need rest badly. The surfaces Rao uncovers need to be scrubbed, badly.
Still, after this cursory pass things are looking better. The natural light, less clutter, less filth. There are still dishes, but not too many — Adam apparently doesn’t own more than a few, so while his cupboards are empty, the sink isn’t full. The floors will require everything above them be cleaned first. Rao’s not going to leave the apartment to take the trash bags out, since he’s pretty sure that would invite Adam to wake up and if yesterday was anything to go on, Adam’s going to need a lot of continuity from Rao for a while. If nothing else, Rao’s momentary absence would cause Adam unnecessary suffering. This is a good time to take a break, Rao decides. He peeks in on Adam, still asleep, so he looks around the apartment for anything to read that’s not 1990s American sci-fi. He finds a book of Paul Monette essays next to Adam’s menorah, its spine scarred near the midpoint.
Rao pulls on a sweatshirt he found on the back of the couch. It’s not clean, but it smells pleasantly of Adam. He resigns himself to the coffeemaker and chooses the neon pod, hoping artificial flavorings will overwhelm the taste of bad coffee. He takes a book into the bedroom. Silently, he removes the laundry basket from the chair and settles in, more interested in watching Adam than in reading anything. He’s oddly content to focus on the rise and fall of Adam’s chest.
*
Adam wakes alone and unclothed. His sheets are tossed. He reaches to the other side of the bed. Rao. Rao was here. But there’s no one. He’s struck hard with pain, like he’s been kicked in the ribs, a memory of Rao sucked away. He imagined it? Dreamed it. But why is he naked? And why — he can smell Rao. Is he still dreaming? Or losing his mind.
“Morning, Love,” Rao calls, softly, from the corner of the room. He’s got a coffee cup in his hand. He’s wearing one of Adam’s shirts and staring at Adam. Adam sits up slowly, a gasp not of relief so much as an urgent inhalation to regain composure. If this is real, he’s not going to go all sad-sac rom-com lover’s reunion. One night doesn’t make them lovers.
Rao moves to the bed and sits on the edge. “You’ve been out for fourteen hours,” he announces, softly.
Adam evicts the sleep from his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. “Shit.” He’s terse, he knows. “I thought you’d gone, for a second. Or you were never here. I dreamed, or something.”
In the movies they’d kiss, exchange intimacies, make love. It’s not the movies. Adam’s still Adam, and for all he’s let Rao in in the last 22 hours, and the months before that, he’s not getting tender now.
“But you are here?” He asks, genuinely unsure and extending a hand, poking Rao’s bicep. Rao flashes a grin and Adam feels steadier. “You’re not going to go away if I go piss and shower?”
“Wow, Love.” Rao is inches from teasing him, Adam can tell. He's self-conscious when he notices Rao's restraint. “It’s going to take you a while to believe I show up in mirrors and all, is it?” Adam tosses a pillow at him. The distance is short but it makes his point.
When Adam returns from the bathroom he’s clean shaven, wearing a polo shirt that’s too loose but an upgrade from yesterday’s stained tee. He notices Rao cleaned up the kitchen and the living room. Rao is washing dishes.
“You’re cleaning?” Adam is surprised, again wondering if this is all imagined. He is entirely aware how deplorable he’d made his space, but in all the time they worked together, he’d never seen Rao tidy more than his own luggage.
*
There’s so much piss to be taken in this moment. Adam, the neat freak who packs and unpacks blind, his existence flawlessly orderly even in the midst of unworldly chaos. Adam, who scarcely gets dirty when he draws blood. Were the tables turned, Rao’s sure Adam would retort with an edge. But Rao’s spent the morning arms-deep in artifacts of Adam’s deterioration, an encore to last night’s grueling reunion and that smile that felt like a knife. So he weighs how else to respond.
“’Twas a bit of a tall order, Love. Figured I’d get started.” He goes with that, speaking gently but not so soft as to make Adam feel coddled. He doesn’t say that the evidence of Adam falling apart was excruciating to witness. That he needs to physically wash it away, despite the fact that it betrayed the most unambiguously true thing about Adam that Rao has ever seen.
Adam walks closer to Rao, to the coffeemaker. Rao shuts off the tap, blots his hands on his trousers and reaches out. He runs a finger along Adam’s stubble-free chin. “Nice to see your face.”
And that does it. The touch, just like yesterday. They’re not used to it. For all they’ve been through, until last night, their skin-to-skin contact was rare, mostly brief, and utilitarian. Things are different now, and neither one of them has a plan. Rao meant to make a quick, flirty gesture, but he lingers, letting his fingers rest along the back of Adam’s jaw, gentle but steady. Adam takes half a step closer. Rao doesn’t remove his hand.
“Are you still sure, about this?” Adam asks, tenderly. His brown eyes meet Rao’s with a childlike, disbelieving hope.
Rao raises both eyebrows. Mildly frustrated, he nearly says something dismissive. Adam’s insecurity is shocking. But it comes from somewhere factual and Rao played a role in creating it— not alone, but he’s not innocent. So instead, Rao dips his head and kisses Adam gently, not with the wanton excitement of yesterday but carefully enough to be sure the kiss lands as genuine, desirous, and affectionate.
“Yes, love,” he whispers when he catches his breath. “You have no idea what I went though to find you.”
Adam looks at him, expressionless. It’s a familiar stare but Rao’s gotten used to seeing glimmers of more and he feels disappointed. Adam looks away and Rao thinks he sees the afterimage of a smile. Then Adam turns his body to bump a shoulder against Rao, who takes the cue and wraps an arm around him.