📖✍️🐟⁉️

The other day at work, Jan struggled with the printer for a good fifteen minutes before he punched the wretched machine. It responded, sputtering, insides clattering and crunching as it churned out forms and documents while Jan ruminated on his anger, wondering how amusing Matthew would find all of this, except—Matthew wouldn't be listening, or laughing, or saying anything at all.

Matthew had disappeared.

Gone.

Vanished without a trace, no signs of foul play, like he had been going about his day until a higher being, for their amusement, decided to spirit him away, but neglected to rewrite everyone's memories to accommodate for his absence.

He tried to rationalize it, tried to tell himself that maybe Matthew just needed time off again. After all, it wasn't strange for him to disappear and then reappear later with an apology for the inconvenience, but Matthew always provided a reason when it came to things like this and—why do you think so lowly of him? It's not just you. Nobody had any prior notice either, so stop overthinking things and just be patient!

Jan would reprimand himself whenever he became anxious—beat his paranoia into stasis—until he believed that the best thing he could do was wait for Matthew to come back on his own terms, but the weeks were stacking and the ambiguity had gnawed a hole into his sense of normalcy, a hole that had become too big to ignore.

–

His people would sleep very well if they knew that their hard-earned taxpayer dollars went towards very important things, like funding their fatherland's pseudo-vacation in Canada.

He told himself that he would only stay for a week, but the morning of his departure, he made the decision to turn back and miss his flight, and it was okay…because for Matthew, Jan could be anything, even an impatient, reckless fool.

It's been a month since he started living in Matthew's house, and Jan kept himself busy in the long, spacious hours.

He read Matthew's books—some he enjoyed, others were boring or not to his tastes, and a few needed to be returned to the library—challenged himself to see how far the dwindling ingredients in the fridge and pantry could last before he had to buy groceries, and the rest of the time he was cleaning, herding trash into black garbage bags, washing and scrubbing bits of food from old dirty dishes, crushing cockroaches under his heel; there was no end to it, no matter where he looked something needed to be cleaned.

Matthew was by no means a filthy person, far from it, but he was prone to brief periods of deep depression, during which he would neglect himself and his surroundings.

Jan never witnessed it personally as Matthew wasn't proud of this particular habit of his, and he always made an effort to clean up after himself whenever he hosted guests.

The worst he'd seen of it before this was when he caught Matthew in the middle of moving bags and bags of garbage out of the house a few years ago—or was it a decade?

He's not so sure these days.

—

Jan poked and prodded around the garden not expecting much.

In Matthew's absence, the weeds had overgrown and choked out all of the flowers, but hope survived in a dollop of red amidst a sea of green, there—in a slight gap between the bricks of the flowerbed, was a tulip.

Matthew? Jan brushes his knuckles against the petals as if they were skin, and gently, he extends a connection towards the faint presence dwelling in the deepest root. Matthew, are you there? Matthew is, but he doesn’t want to talk right now, in fact—he won’t be talking for a while, and he hopes that will be okay with Jan.

It’s alright. Jan can wait for as long as Matthew needs.

And so, for a while it was just the two of them, cooped up inside of their own little world; saying nothing, doing nothing, nothing at all. While the world outside continued on, merrily, without them.

—

Perhaps it is selfish of him to think this—after all, even if his current predicament made things difficult, Matthew was okay, and he was here with Jan—but he missed when the two of them were free to do anything and nothing together.

He ended up purchasing a pot on the wider side and transferring Matthew into it, and everywhere he went Matthew went, around the house and sometimes out in public; an eccentric middle-aged man and his tulip in a pot that was much too big for it it.

There are things that Jan would very much tell Matthew about, and he wanted to wait for him to come back to the land of the living, but the words simmering under his tongue bubbled up, warm and sweet like syrup, until they spilled over.

"Matthew, why is it so hard to get by without a car? Someone hit me the other day when I was crossing the street; didn't you say that pedestrians had the right of way? Anyway, it was alright, my bruises disappeared almost immediately and the driver—I think he was around your age in human years, maybe a little younger—he felt very remorseful to the point of hysterics so I had to stay with him until he calmed down."

"Matthew, why is the public transit here so unreliable and inconsistent? Today, I had to wait half an hour past the expected arrival time today, and I had to wait another fifteen minutes on the way back, that's fourty-five minutes of my time that I could have spent doing something else. How do you live like this, no—how do you let your urban planners get away with mutilating your cities?"

"Matthew, I was attacked by a goose, again. I don't know what I even did, you never have any problems with them, and I don't even want them love me like they do you, I just want them tolerate me—also they shit everywhere, and I have to play skipping every time I go out, do you not have people who take care of that?"

"Matthew, I think I've talked more these past few days than the past two centuries combined, but how can I—how can anyone remain silent in the presence of someone they love?"

"Matthew, I—"

Hello?

"Matthew!" Jan trips over himself, scraping his tender palms on the gravel. He crawls the rest of the way over to where the pot was resting on the stairs leading up to the porch. "Matthew, are you alright?"

Matthew is okay. The slight curve of his stem straightens, leaves and petals trembling before he slumps over again. How long has he been out for?

"It's the 16th of May. A little over three months."

Oh…he thought—Matthew just wanted to take a nap. He didn't mean to sleep for so long and cause everyone to worry.

"Do you want to come out?"

No. The response is immediate, panicked. No, not yet.

"Okay."

I’m sorry.

"What for?"

Matthew does not answer.

—

"I wanted to exist in a way where I could be a part of your life without being intrusive. I thought that you would prefer it this way, if we were two beautiful things admiring each other from afar, but I know that's not what I wanted at all. I never wanted this. It was just my brain being stupid, and thinking stupid things. I really messed up didn't I? I should apologize to everyone when I'm back to normal. I'm so sorry Jan. I'm really really sorry for all the trouble I caused."

"Matthew…for someone so kind, you're really hard on yourself. I—when we first met, I'd given up on myself; I thought that I was doomed to spend the rest of my existence alone and miserable, married someone I'll never love. I tried so so hard to deny myself and push you away, but you were relentless, you never gave up on helping me, so I won't give up on you either, Matthew. I promise. I'll wait as long as you need, and if you decide you want to be a tulip forever that's okay—I don't care what you are and I don't want an apology I just—I want to be by your side."

—

The sound of the garden door sliding open rouses Jan from the depths of his dreamless sleep. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark, until he can make out the dark silhouette of someone standing in the doorway, blotting out the porch-light.

"Matthew?"

A sob is all it takes for Jan to forget about his exhaustion and rise from his place in the armchair to take Matthew's trembling hand and guide him to the bathroom.

He gropes along the wall in the dark for the light switch before helping Matthew into the tub, turns the water to warm, rolls up his sleeves, squeezes shampoo into his hand, and begins massaging it into Matthew's hair.

They're quiet for a very long time, the only sound being Matthew's sniffling, until—

"Hey, Jan?"

"Hm?"

"Can you tell me a story?"

"A story?"

"Yeah, a story. It can be real or made up, honestly—you can tell me anything you want. Sorry, I sound so childish right now—"

"Matthew," he cuts him off, softly, "it's alright. I don't mind at all, and let me think…hm…a story." He has many of those, but this is the one he wants to tell.

"I once took an introductory astronomy class at one of my universities five years ago, I think—it could’ve been longer, my memory isn’t as good as it used to be, but it was nearing the end of the semester and the lecture was on the possible ways that the universe could end."

Matthew hums, leans his head on the edge of the tub and closes his eyes.

"There were three outcomes that the professor went over, but I can only remember one properly." "Why just the one?"

"Because the other two involved a complete end to everything as we know it, and this one didn't. I can't recall the details exactly, but a certain point, the universe will reach a point where it is unable to expand any further, and it will contract back into itself to be reborn again. I don't know—well, I do—I thought it was beautiful."

"I agree, it's rather poetic." Matthew says. "The universe being reborn, over and over again, but it's just a theory…do you believe that it’s true? That the universe is in cycle of making and unmaking itself?"

"Yes, I think so. Every time. But no universe will ever be an exact copy of the ones before it, there's too much variation."

Matthew is silent, before he speaks again.

"If there is a next time. What would you want to be?"

"Hmm…honestly, everything else is preferable to whatever we currently are, I wouldn't mind being a fruit fly, because at least it means I won't live for a thousand years, but if I had to choose…I would be a human, because if I knew that my death was certain and soon I would've been a lot more bold and selfish."

"And what if nothing changes at all."

"If it means that no matter what, at the end of everything, we get to be with each other again. I wouldn't mind at all."

"Yeah." There—that smile, he doesn't have to miss it anymore. "Me neither."

—

after the threesome, you watch, arms wrapped around yourself, as he pulls the other in for a quick kiss by the doorway and releases him into the lukewarm summer night.

after the threesome, he offers to take you home, even though it is so very late and he will have to report to his job in a few hours.

no. i’ll be fine on my own. that—is what you should’ve said; before you bunched up your phone wallet and keys all in one hand and clumsily groped your way home in the dark. alone.

but you keep your mouth shut.

you hang your head, follow him out the door to where he keeps his bike, and sit when he tells you to sit, like a dog.

the city lights flicker in and out under the encroaching glow of dawn.

in a passerby’s world, there’s a chance you are his lover.

he talks, and you listen, cheek pressed up against his back, because for every word there are a million—billion more thoughts, writhing around inside your skull, and you are afraid, so very afraid…that if your lips so much as part, you will rupture, and all of your naked desires will bleed out onto him.

when you ask to be let off a few minutes from your place, he obliges without question.

you never get the chance to bid him a proper goodnight, because when his arm slides behind your waist, the way he did with him, and kisses you, the way he did with him, all the words you ever wanted to say become restless, so you shut up and kiss him back.

with a quivering voice, he bids you goodnight, promising to meet again soon, hopefully sometime before the month ends.

and then, he’s gone.

yesterday a few hours ago, as the senile night crawled towards the end of its life, you were a flash of white shivering under the warmth of his icy blue gaze, now…

—