Chapter 257: I was never that

Myles stayed silent for a moment before brushing Blake’s hair back from his forehead.

"You changed abruptly, the day you confessed to me."

Blake lowered his head, biting his lip.

Well, that wasn’t untrue at all, of course.

But Myles hadn’t known the real Blake.

He couldn’t have known for certain what he had been like before they met, what sort of person he’d been, or how he’d behaved around other people. So how could he possibly tell that Blake had changed?

Blake’s fingers curled against his own knees.

’What are you suspecting?’

The question surfaced so abruptly that it almost escaped his mouth. He swallowed it down, but the words remained, pressing against the back of his teeth.

Myles was looking at him with that infuriatingly patient expression of his. There was no accusation in his eyes, no obvious distrust. Somehow, that made everything worse.

"Does that really matter?"

He didn’t even know what he found so wrong in that question.

The only reason he couldn’t tell Myles was because of the system. So what pressed him into this sudden reaction?

"It wouldn’t change anything between us."

"Then what’s the problem?"

"There isn’t one."

"Then why are you asking me about it?"

The words came out a bit harsher than Blake intended, which made Myles pause.

Blake immediately regretted it. No, that wasn’t right. He regretted the way he’d said it, but some stubborn part of him didn’t regret the question itself.

Why should he? Myles had brought this up out of nowhere, while holding him close enough to feel every uneven beat of his heart, and now he was acting as though this were an ordinary conversation.

As though Blake could answer without thinking about every word.

"Blake," Myles said softly.

"What?"

"Look at me."

Blake did, and he wished he hadn’t.

Myles’s expression had changed. The warmth had disappeared, leaving something more serious behind. His thumb brushed Blake’s cheek, and Blake had the sudden, irrational urge to catch his hand and shove it away.

He wanted to be held, but he also wanted to be left alone.

He wanted Myles to stop looking at him as though he could see something Blake himself couldn’t see.

The conflicting impulses left him frozen.

"I’m not accusing you of anything."

"...I will tell you one day, but don’t look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like there’s something wrong..."

Blake’s stomach tightened.

For one terrible second, he couldn’t tell whether Myles was asking a genuine question or testing him. He searched his face for some clue, some small betrayal of what he was thinking, but Myles gave him nothing.

"I just had to change like this."

The last word broke around the edges.

Blake looked away. His hands had begun to tremble, and he pressed them together, hiding them between his knees. He could feel his pulse in his fingertips. His thoughts were coming too quickly, each one interrupting the last.

His eyes darted toward the drawer before he could stop himself.

Myles noticed.

"Blake."

"It’s nothing."

A small crease appeared between Myles’s eyebrows. "I was going to ask if you were all right."

"I am fine."

Myles took his hand.

"You are shaking."

Blake’s breath caught. He stared at Myles, his chest rising and falling too quickly, and for an instant, anger flared so brightly that it almost eclipsed the panic.

He was angry at Myles for asking questions and angry at himself for reacting like this.

’Have I ever been this irrational? It’s not like me. I’ll have to tell him anyway, but even then, I don’t think I can even tell him that much.’

Most of all, he was angry that some part of him still wanted Myles to understand without being told.

He slowly loosened his arms around Blake’s waist.

"I pushed too far."

Blake’s expression immediately crumbled.

"I’m sorry... you didn’t—"

"You don’t have to explain yourself just because I asked."

"But you—"

"And you don’t have to convince me that you’re fine when you aren’t."

Blake’s mouth snapped shut.

Myles looked down at their hands. He didn’t reach for Blake again, though Blake could feel the warmth of him beside his own body.

"I noticed a change," Myles continued. "That’s all. You seemed different before you confessed to me. It’s just something I’ve noticed in your behavior."

Blake went still, and felt like be couldn’t breathe properly.

He couldn’t finish any thought.

A memory surfaced, uninvited: standing in front of a mirror, staring at a face that was his and somehow unfamiliar.

The peculiar disorientation of waking with the sense that something had happened without him. A sentence in his own handwriting that he never wrote. The uncomfortable realization that the people around him knew someone else, and not him.

He’d learned to laugh those moments off, because he had other things to look at. He had to survive.

Blaming exhaustion and overwork was easy, after all.

Blake squeezed his eyes shut. His nails dug into his palms, and he forced himself to release them before the pressure became unbearable.

"I’m not saying there’s something wrong with you," Myles said after a moment. "I’m trying to understand what you’re going through."

"I’m sorry, but you can’t."

"But you understood me."

"Of course I did... but we lived different lives. You wouldn’t be able to see it like I do."

The words came out almost viciously.

Myles absorbed them without flinching.

"No," he agreed. "I wouldn’t be able to see everything like you."

Blake opened his eyes.

"But I’d like to try," Myles added. "If you’ll let me."

Something inside Blake twisted painfully.

He wanted to tell him.

But he couldn’t of course... and even if could, he didn’t know how to do it properly.

Blake swallowed.

"I don’t know what you want me to say, I’m sorry... for now I can’t."

"Then don’t say anything yet."

"I know, but it’s not easy..."

"I know it isn’t."

"Then why—"

"Because I’m worried about you."

That stopped him.

Myles’s voice had grown quieter. He looked tense, suddenly, and Blake knew that his questions hadn’t come from idle curiosity. He’d been watching him, noticing things he had hoped no one would notice, and trying to make sense of them.

Perhaps he’d been worried for longer than Blake had realized.

The thought made Blake’s anger falter, leaving the panic exposed beneath it.

"I don’t want you to be afraid of it," Myles said. "And I don’t want you to think you have to keep everything to yourself because you’re afraid of what I’ll do with it."

Blake stared at him, eyes watering slightly.

"What if you don’t like the answer?"

"Then I’ll deal with that when I hear it."

"What if you think I’m lying? It’s not that easy.."

"Then I’ll ask you about it."

"What if you don’t believe me?"

Myles was quiet for a moment.

"Then I suppose we’ll have to work out why."

Blake let out a strained, disbelieving laugh. "You’re not reassuring me with those answers..."

"Those are mere scenarios you have in mind. I’d believe you." Myles reached for Blake’s hand, stopping just short of touching it. "Whatever you tell me, you don’t have to tell me all at once. You don’t have to make it sound reasonable, either. And if you don’t understand something yourself, you can tell me that."

Blake looked at the offered hand.

"I’m not going anywhere just because you don’t have an explanation. Because you didn’t do that with me."

Blake hated the small, frightened voice inside him that wondered how long Myles would keep that promise if he ever learned the truth.

Myles’s gaze flickered over his face.

"Can I hold you?"

Blake nodded before he could reconsider.

Myles drew him closer, careful this time, leaving Blake enough room to pull away if he wanted. Blake leaned into him almost immediately, burying his face against Myles’s shoulder.

For a few seconds, he concentrated on nothing but the steady warmth of another person.

Then his eyes opened.

The drawer sat across the room, its handle catching the light.

He could still see it even with his face turned away.

He knew there was nothing in there.

So why couldn’t he stop thinking about it?

"Blake?" Myles murmured.

"Hmm?"

"Do you want some water?"

Blake shook his head, then hesitated.

His throat felt painfully dry.

"Actually, yes."

Myles eased him upright and helped him settle onto the bed. He brushed Blake’s hair away from his eyes once more before standing.

"I’ll get water for you."

"Okay."

Myles left the room.

The door had barely clicked shut before Blake’s attention snapped toward the drawer.

He stared at it.

There was no reason to check. He knew there was nothing inside. He’d already checked earlier, and he’d known even before that. Nothing worth looking was there. Myles would never find anything because there was nothing for him to find.

Then why was Blake still sitting there, his heart hammering, as though the letter might somehow appear the moment he looked away?

He got up.

Crossing the room, he pulled open the drawer. And it was empty.

Of course it was empty.

Blake stared at the bare interior for a moment longer than necessary before shutting it again.

His hand remained on the handle.

’He can’t see it.’

The thought was so immediate and absolute that it made his stomach turn.

He was worried about Myles seeing anything the previous Blake wrote before dying.

He drew his hand away as though the drawer had burned him.

What was wrong with him?

He backed away, forcing himself to take a slow breath. His thoughts were still racing, but the panic had begun to blur into something else: an exhausted, simmering anger at the way his own mind could turn an empty drawer into a threat.

He didn’t even know what he was afraid of anymore.

The door opened.

Blake spun around.

Myles returned with a glass of water, pausing when he saw Blake standing beside the bed.

Their eyes met.

For one suspended second, Blake was certain Myles would ask what he’d been doing.

Instead, Myles walked over and held out the glass.

"Here."

Blake took it too quickly.

"Thanks."

He sat down and drank, keeping his gaze fixed on the glass. The water was cool against his throat. He took another sip, then another, buying himself time to put his thoughts in order.

The silence became unbearable.

"Before I confessed to you," Blake began, "I wasn’t like this at all."

He took another drink.

"You’re right about that, Myles."

Myles turned toward him, but didn’t interrupt.

Blake lowered the glass into his lap and looked up at the ceiling.

"I was definitely..." He searched for a word that wouldn’t reveal too much. "Living a different life. Not like I am living now."