#screamiing

(Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7)

He sleeps in his childhood bedroom. There’s still scraps of paper pinned up here and there, remnants of hockey posters he tore off the walls in a fit of rage after he got hurt. But there’s also a stuffed bear in a shoebox under the bed that used to be his favorite when he was little, and pictures of family and friends he hasn’t seen in years on the bureau.

His mother is channeling a lot of her feelings into cooking all of his favorite foods over the course of his stay. It’s like being 16 or 17 again— sitting on the couch with his father, feet up on the coffee table until his mother comes in to scold them for it. It’s warm, and familiar, and it’s good. The smell of dinner cooking, the clatter of dishes. His father complaining about politics when the news comes on, before he changes the channel to the outlandish soaps they both pretend they don’t love. Zhenya didn’t get his sentimental streak from his mother, that’s for sure.

Denis comes to visit, wary-eyed as a cat. They take a walk around the neighborhood after the massive dinner his mother had plied them with. They pause at the playground they used to visit together after primary school. They don’t speak much, but it’s not as strained as Zhenya thought it would be. They talk about childhood memories, the woman Denis is seeing, his job.

“I always felt..” Denis says, before trailing off. Zhenya waits. “Like it was my fault, somehow. All of it. If I’d been a better older brother…”

Zhenya heads that off immediately. “Yes, absolutely all your fault, you’re the worst.” Denis swears at him, but he’s smiling. They shove and tussle for a moment before Denis wraps an arm around Zhenya’s shoulders and they head home.

It’s 3 in the afternoon when his phone blips with a text. Sasha’s been alternating between being helpful in sorting out Zhenya’s affairs and being excessively annoying, so Zhenya doesn’t pay it any mind at first. A few minutes later he gets two more, and he finally idly scoops up his phone, only to rocket to his feet as soon as he sees who the texts are from.

Sid)))): You aren’t Zachary.

And then, ten minutes later :

Sid)))): I shouldn’t have texted you

Sid)))): i’m really sorry

  “What on earth’s the matter?” His mother says. “Zhenya. Talk to me. Zhenya. What’s wrong?”

“It’s Sid,” Zhenya fumbles with his phone like he’s never used it before. “It’s the middle of the night there, what is he doing—”

“Oh good,” his mother says. “One of you is getting his head out of his ass. Sidney’s obviously the less thick-headed of the two of you. I like him already. Fix this and marry him, Zhenya. I want grandchildren before I’m too old to enjoy them.”

Zhenya gapes at her as his he listens to the phone ring, but forgets she’s even in the room when Sid picks up.

“Hello?”

“Sid,” Zhenya says, and then can’t speak, for a moment.

“Oh–Geno, fuck, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have texted you, it’s just, I’m coming off of a double shift and I’m so tired I might as well be drunk and—” his voice sounds thick, like he’s trying not to cry and Zhenya needs to hold him so badly that his heart feels like it’s going to split open.

“No, Sid, no, always, you can call me. Always. Sid, you ok? What’s wrong?”

“It was just…late, and I was thinking too much. About how I’d lumped you together with my shitty ex and I, fuck. I just texted you.”

“Sid,” Zhenya says again, the one word heavy with all of his longing and his worry. “I told you, is fine. But, why are you working so hard? Need to rest, take care of self.”

Sid laughs, quiet and sad. “You were always good at making me do that. I’m sorry, for how things went.”

Zhenya’s shaking his head, even though Sid can’t see him. “Don’t have to be sorry, Sid. Know you father first. Need to make right decision for Avery.”

Sid doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then—

“That’s just it. I realized something after you left. You made me happy, you know. I never said, and I should have, but you made me so happy. And i was a better father when I was happy.”

Zhenya closes his eyes for a moment, stunned. His eyes are damp. But there’s one part of what Sid said Zhenya desperately needs to question.

“Not happy now, Sid?” he says, tenderness bleeding through the words.

There’s a long silence.

  “No.”

  And another.

  “I miss you so much I can’t breathe sometimes.”

  Zhenya sits down heavily. His English is gone, and so it comes out in Russian: “Fuck, baby. Sidnyusha, you know I’d be there in a heartbeat if you wanted me to be—oh, sweetheart—”

“G, I can’t understand you.”

Zhenya takes in a deep breath. “Sorry, sorry. Too much feeling. Love you, Sid. Love you.”

“Yeah.” Sid’s voice is rough and broken-sounding. “Me too.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, just listening to the static on the line and the sound of the other person breathing.

“G.”

“Yes, Sid?”

“Where are you?” Sid asks, and Zhenya’s heart leaps with hope.

“Russia. Go to visit mama, papa. Family.”

“G, that’s so great!” Sid’s voice lifts and Zhenya can hear the smile. He’d told Sid about being estranged from his family.

“Am here, but can…can come see you, if you want?” Zhenya waits with bated breath for Sid’s answer. But it isn’t what he’s expecting.

“Avery’s in the hospital again. He took a turn for the worse a couple days ago. The doctors want to go ahead with surgery. It’s major, and if it goes right, it could fix everything, almost. But it’s so dangerous, G. I’m so fucking scared. That’s my baby, G. That’s my son.” There’s no mistake, Sid’s crying.

Zhenya clutches unconsciously at his heart with his free hand. He needs to be there, he needs to be able to hold Sid.

“I’m come, Sid. I’m come right now, if you want. Just say.”

“Yeah.” It’s a whisper. “Yes, Geno. Please.”

“Okay. I’m get next flight. Go home, go sleep. Three in the morning, Sid. I’m be there soon.”

“Okay. See you soon, G.” The obvious relief in Sid’s voice is achingly sweet to Zhenya.