Together Apart

Chapter Three: August

I've been awake since 11, but I'm perfectly happy to lie in bed with Liam, not feeling bad for once. I know he's still a little mad, but if he let me touch him it means the worst is past. I don't want to move, but I know Liam has an interview in the city at 3, so I roll over slowly, pulling my face away from his, and poke him in the nose. He opens his eyes slowly and glares at me, before scrunching up his face in disgust. "Your breath smells terrible," he groans, his voice still gravelly, and with that, sits up and crawls over me to get out of bed. My hand flies to my mouth self-consciously, but before I can come up with a response, he's already in the bathroom, with the door closed. My heart flutters anxiously, the way it always does when Liam is out of my sight, and I have to assure myself that he's right there, not ten feet away from me, behind the bathroom door. I lie there for a few more seconds before getting out of bed myself, absentmindedly rubbing the spot at the nape of my neck where the pain is always the worst. I pick out a pair of track pants, but I pause. After a second, I decide to wear something nice instead. It's not my interview, but I'm going to be there anyway, so I should at least look somewhat presentable. I choose a pair of jeans and a sweater; not exactly business casual, but enough to not look too out of place in a Manhattan office building. I hear the bathroom door open, and Liam steps out, freshly showered and wrapped in a towel. I figure I should say something, but I have a tendency to say too much, so I duck into the bathroom myself before the silence gets the better of me. As I stand in the shower, letting the hot water run down across my shoulders, my mind drifts, and I lose track of time. I'm still standing there, singing quietly to myself, when Liam pounds on the door and yells "hurry up." I swear sharply under my breath, and hurriedly dry myself and get dressed, before brushing my teeth aggressively. I go to spit, but then I remember Liam's comment from earlier, and brush a little bit longer. As I run the water, I study my face in the mirror, and as an afterthought, comb my hair out of my face with my fingers.

I step out of the bathroom in a rush, but I stop when I see Liam. He's wearing a cornflower blue button-up under a navy blazer; the color brings out his eyes. I smile at him, trying as always to diffuse the tension.

-"You look nice."

-"Shut up."

-"No, I'm serious. I like that shirt on you."

-Liam's good at hiding his emotions, but after this long I know him better than most, and so I notice his barely perceptible blush. "Uh...thanks."

I can tell he's a little nervous, so I take his hand, hoping to calm his heart-rate. "Don't worry, you got this," I tell him. But I am worried. Last month, I interviewed with the environmental policy firm of my dreams, and just last week, I was offered an internship there for the summer. The think tank that Liam is interviewing at today is one floor above the firm's office. He needs to get this internship, or else I'll have to turn mine down. Yet another opportunity ruined by our stupid curse. So much of our lives have had to be shifted to accommodate our unique predicament. We split breaks between my hometown in Upstate New York, and his near Seattle. I went with him last winter to his brother's wedding; he was at my sister's graduation. For someone I've shared so much of my life with these last two years though, I know surprisingly little about him.

We leave our dorm in silence, just like always, and Liam puts in earbuds as soon as we get outside. So he's still a little mad then. As we walk up the hill to the D train, I lag a step or two behind Liam, trying to give him some space. He always walks with determination, doing his best to avoid eye contact with the passing crowds. I, on the other hand, keep my eyes up, drinking the chaotic ocean of light and sound that is Fordham Road on a Sunday afternoon. Distracted as always, I stumble on a crack in the sidewalk, throwing a hand out to catch myself on Liam's shoulder. He looks back at me and snorts a laugh, his mouth cracking a half smile as he rolls his eyes at my clumsiness. My cheeks flush red, and I drop my eyes to the sidewalk, determined not to fall again. But at least he smiled; if my embarrassment is what it takes to appease him, I'll trip a hundred more times.

It's not that I feel bad; I like to push Liam's buttons, and I don't particularly care if his feelings get hurt. We're long past the point of holding back on each other. But it makes my life harder if he's mad at me, so I try to avoid any long lasting grudges. I don't have energy to waste on managing my relationship with Liam--I spend all the free time I have trying to find a way to break this curse, so that we can finally have our freedom back. But lately, I've been slacking on that front. I'm starting to wonder if I really want to be free, if I could even exist without my other half. He's become so much of a given in my life, I'm really not sure where I would be if I wasn't with him. I sleep best in his arms--but I'm sure that's just because that's the only time my headache goes away. I'm not, like, gay.

The subway ride downtown is uneventful. Liam and I sit next to each other, arms touching casually in the way we've become accustomed to doing in public. Sometimes, on the days when the pain is worse, we hold hands openly, putting our own sanity ahead of our personal images. Besides, it's New York, and two boys holding hands doesn't turn any heads. But clearly Liam is still holding out, so I will just have to settle for touching elbows. I realize that in my rush out the door, I must've forgotten to grab my headphones, so without thinking I reach over and grab one of Liam's, sticking it in my own ear. He starts to protest, but then he just sighs and accepts it. Exasperation is Liam's usual feeling toward me, so I take this as his forgiveness. He's listening to Hozier, which is maybe stereotypical for a son of Irish immigrants, but I can't complain. "Movement" plays softly in my left ear, and I try to block out the ambient subway noise and focus only on the harmonies and the point of contact at my elbow. The dull ache subsides; feeling bold, I decide to test the limits of his goodwill by laying my head on his shoulder. He doesn't pull away, which means I've won. Feeling good about myself, I close my eyes and let my mind wander.