DAY TWO

 

 

I WAS staring at the ceiling trying to sleep. I knew on some level that my body was tired. But my brain wouldn’t shut up. The alcohol made me buzzed but not sleepy. I blamed Jamie.

I hated hotel rooms. The sterile whites, creams, and grays, the compatibility and practicality. I yearned for the clutter and personality of a real home. Where people truly lived. My apartment in Dubai was just like a hotel room. A corporate setup with a gym, a pool, and a posh reception area, a place to exist in between flights. Roommates were coming and going, people from all over the world who I never befriended.

When you live abroad and only spend your time with other foreigners, you first develop this kind of kinship. The fact that you are all living a long way away from your respective home countries makes you bond. And then you realize that the experience of being a foreigner might be the only thing you have in common. You see how superficial those friendships are; you only whine together about the food, bureaucracy, the constant heat, sandstorms, and the quirks of local culture. I started to despise meeting new people. “Oh, you’re from Slovakia? That’s so cool! I once met a guy who was Czech.” Shall we buy matching bracelets now? Who gives a shit?

I didn’t feel like that with Jamie, not for a second. He didn’t bother to pretend and saw through all of my pretension. That scared me and intrigued me, and in the end, it made me feel hollow. There was a connection there, a real one. I fucking felt it, and he did too. Well, to be honest, I probably ruined it first by making it about sex. It was about sex, a lot. But on the other hand, it wasn’t. And it didn’t matter anyway because he snatched it away, damn him. I rolled on the bed angrily, making it squeak.

It was past one o’clock at night, and it was still drizzling outside. I focused on the fact that compared to Dubai’s extreme heat and occasional sandstorms, Swiss winter weather was a pleasant novelty. The airport was going to be a mess tomorrow, though. A delay was unavoidable, but hopefully I’d get to Bratislava in the evening. I’d curl on Kristina’s couch, and she’d get drunk with me.

 

 

I HEARD a soft knock on the door and jumped up from the bed. Because, although disbelieving, I knew who that was.

I tore the door open, and there he stood. Jamie clutched the purple hat in one hand, his exhausted eyes staring up at me, his lips parted, his expression terrified but determined at the same time.

I wasn’t prepared. I mean, I stood there in my boxers taken aback, positively shocked that he came. So I said: “Jamie?” And then I realized I was actually in my boxers. I took a step back, scrambling for a way out of the situation. That was when he smacked into me. I guess he tried to hold on to my head, but he almost tore off my ear as he dragged my face down and smashed his lovely mouth on the corner of mine.

Holy shit. He was so determined yet clumsy and guileless. My hands lifted automatically, and I was holding his face, stroking his jaw with my thumbs, looking my fill. Beautiful. One of us shut the door, and Jamie was caged with his back to it, his eyes wide and chest heaving. He came. He wanted me.

I kissed him properly then, slowly, as you are supposed to when you kiss someone for the first time. He tasted of toothpaste and rum and Coke. Toothpaste—he’d prepared. He’d been to his room and decided to come to me. His lips were dry and velvety, his mouth lukewarm. His complete surrender filled me with an overwhelming sense of relief. He held my wrists as I cupped his elfin face, and I felt him tremble.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” I whispered against his lips, and he smiled sweetly at me. I wasn’t nearly drunk enough and remembered everything he said to me earlier. “You won’t hate me for this tomorrow, will you?” I asked.

He nudged my nose with his. “No.”

 

 

WE KISSED for a long time, learning each other’s taste and movements. Jamie squirmed in my hold, tiny tremors going through his body. I tasted his jaw, neck, and collarbones, dipping my tongue into the hollow at the base of his throat, hearing him suck in a breath when I did that. He had lovely collarbones, defined and glowing in the dim light. I tugged his T-shirt off, and he sighed when our naked chests touched. He was lean and slim and just perfect. His skin was pale and almost hairless. Tiny dark birthmarks dotted his body here and there.

He was letting me have all the control, and I loved that. At the same time, I wanted him to remember me. I had my right hand inside of his jeans teasing his erection, and I held his face with my left. I leaned my forehead against his to force him to listen to me without having to look me in the eyes.

“Jamie, what do you want?” I whispered as gently as I could, but my accent was heavier than ever, the t and d hard, echoing sounds in the hollow emptiness of the hotel room.

Jamie shook his head a tiny bit, a jerky, unsure movement. Disagreeing? Wanting me to shut the hell up? Trying to clear his brain? I brushed his lips with mine.

“You have to tell me. You changed your mind and came here. Wishing things, imagining things. I want to do what you imagined us doing.”

“Please,” he whispered bucking his hips against my hand. I stroked him lightly, holding his body immobile against the door. He huffed in frustration.

“Tell me. What did you imagine? What do you want me to do?” I kissed him again, deep and short. “Anything.”

Jamie squeezed his eyes shut and answered in one breath. “I held your face when you sucked me.”

He was so genuine it made me want to kneel at his feet and beg him to like me so I could consider myself human again. I leaned even closer, my mouth at his temple.

“Tell me more.” Fuck, I sounded off. The old Slovak accent lay over my words like oil paint—a thick layer of clashing colors, betraying my nerves and anticipation.

“You looked up at me.” He was breathing heavily, trying to push into my hand that was barely moving along his cock.

“More.” I rewarded him by a firm stroke up and down his length, and then I bent down to kiss and nuzzle his shoulder.

He whimpered—a barely-there sound, and then the rest of his words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush: “I came into your mouth and around your fingers. You were above me, and I was still hard. I watched you when you pushed your cock inside me.”

That. He was precious, open and brave—so rare it made me feel protective of him. And possessive. Out of my mind with desire, I wanted to swallow him whole, to bite him until I drew blood, and then lick the wounds clean, lick him all over. I wanted to do everything he wanted and more. He gave me his trust. As little as I deserved it, I wanted to make him ecstatic. I wanted him to explode from pleasure. I would gladly become his slave for as long as he’d let me.

I was certifiably insane.

I moved in a hurry then, my head spinning, muscles pulsing. I took him in my arms and dragged him to the bed, never letting go of his mouth, swallowing all the needy little sounds he made. I stripped him bare in a matter of seconds, left him lying there for a moment, and went to look for my bathroom kit. Those unromantic practical interruptions. He watched me, focused and impatient. I dumped the supplies on the bed next to him and shrugged off my boxers. Jamie bit his lip.

There is something peculiar about the sensation of another person’s skin against your own. When we lay there, Jamie and me— touching from heads to toes, thrusting our hips together, clutching at arms and shoulders, hooking our feet around each other—there was arousal of course. A whole lot of that. But I felt so much more—how it calmed and grounded me to touch the planes of his torso and the lean muscles of his thighs with mine. I kissed my way down his body, tasting him everywhere, committing him to my memory, realizing with some indignation that he was going to fill my imaginary spunk bank for many months. Hell, maybe years. So eager, so responsive, his whole body vibrated under my touch.

When I finally took his slender cock in my mouth and looked up, he was watching just as he promised. Our eyes met, and he moaned loudly, his gaze fixed on my face, his hand on my cheek, his thumb tracing the corner of my stretched lips. I was free-falling, hoping like hell that when I landed and splashed my brain on the ground, it would be quick and painless.

I did exactly what he told me he imagined, even if it took quite a bit of high-level multitasking. So when he began slowly losing it, moaning and begging with abandon, I was sheathed and ready. My fingers were twisting inside of his body, I swallowed around his perfect cock, and he arched off the bed. I heard him hiss please several times before he clutched my head between both his hands and came, thrusting into my mouth uncontrollably. I took it as well as I could; my eyes watered when I almost choked. But I didn’t mind because he wasn’t selfish. He was just able to let go. I made him let go entirely.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

I scrambled up his body and shushed him with a kiss. “No, nothing like that. No apologizing,” I mumbled against his lips while I hooked his legs around me. He was still trembling with aftershocks, and I sank inside him, watching his face.

His eyes glazed over, half closed, his mouth parted, there was a deep blush on his cheeks, and the way he licked his lips looked positively obscene. I held still for a while, letting him adjust, maybe even enjoying the quiet hush that seemed to cover us as we lay there, joined. Looking into his eyes, I felt a stab of fear that left a burning sensation in my chest for a second. Before I could ask myself why, Jamie interrupted my train of thoughts.

“C’mon,” he said with a sigh and squeezed my asscheek with his hand. So I pushed deeper, and Jamie threw his head back, giving out a low guttural sound. It was the single most erotic thing I’d ever witnessed.

I had no worries about hurting him, not anymore. He was sprawled under me looking like the epitome of deep satisfaction, first boneless, staring up at me with those half-lidded glassy eyes, mouthing broken words of appreciation and recklessness, then holding on to my neck, dragging me down forcefully to kiss him again. I briefly thought of all the mythical sex-crazed creatures—vampires and the incubus—and the underlying sense of dread never left me. Because even though the metaphor was bordering on hallucinatory, the danger felt very real to me. He would suck my blood and poison me, eat me alive. Jamie would ruin me; I knew that from the moment he kissed me for the first time. Scared and frantic with joy at the same time, I gazed at him, lost in him, as he consumed me entirely.

I tried to hold back for as long as I could, going slow and faster and slow again, adjusting our position and waiting for the right reaction from him, watching his eyes close from sensory overload before he forced them open again so he could see me. See us. I was sure I had never exercised that much control over my body in my life before. But Jamie was wicked when he let go. He met my movements with determination, no doubt trying to make me lose it. And because he truly was a demon, far too soon I did lose it.

I started talking. I don’t know what I said. I honestly can’t recall a single word besides Jamie. I think I said his name a lot. I’m pretty sure the rest was in Slovak. Jamie snuck one hand between our bodies, and his grip on my arm became painful when, to my amazement, he came again, stroking himself just a couple of times, shouting and prolonging my orgasm until it hurt. I wanted to stay inside him for as long as he’d let me, unmoving, just feeling the heat of his body.

He was so beautiful, glowing in the yellow light of the bedside lamp. Holding myself above him with one arm, I lifted my right hand and touched the few glistening splashes of come on his stomach. Some of it was caught in the barely-there happy trail below his navel. I begged silently for the memory never to fade. I wanted to save the picture of Jamie lying under me, soft, limp, and open, his arm bent at an awkward angle against the headboard, small tufts of hair visible in his armpit. There was a birthmark on his throat just under his jawline, and his swollen mouth was parted with ragged breath.

I was kissing him again. More like eating at him, pressing my tongue into his mouth almost violently. I was ravenous and terrified because it struck me that this was it. The single most erotic moment of my life. Best sex ever. It was all I would get, and it was over.

He kissed me back, trying to keep up, but he seemed to be half-asleep. I was an asshole again. I made myself slow down, nuzzling his sweaty face, brushing my lips against his cheek.

“Amazing. You are amazing,” I mumbled against his temple.

“Stay, don’t move,” he said.

Oh God. I pressed my hips closer to him to keep my half-hard cock inside him.

Jamie sighed. “Feels so good,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” I managed, broken.

His eyes were closed and his features slack. I pressed my lips against his eyebrow and just breathed. We lay like that for a few minutes while his grip on my neck loosened ever so slowly. I had to take care of him and let him sleep.

I held the condom in place and stood carefully, mourning the lost connection immediately. I brought a warm wet towel, wiped Jamie’s stomach, his soft cock, ass, and thighs. He rolled on his side, almost asleep already. I cleaned up in the bathroom and went back to bed, refusing to put any clothes on. I wanted to feel him.

I hugged Jamie close, and he tucked his head into the hollow beneath my shoulder and hummed in contentment. He must have been exhausted. He felt heavy and warm in my arms. He nuzzled my chest for a moment, and in just a minute, I felt his breathing even out. I kept my fingers in his hair, afraid to move because then he might turn away from me.

When I was sure he was deeply asleep, I stretched my left arm toward the nightstand and fumbled for my phone. Jamie’s flight was leaving an hour before mine. I had no clue where his phone was. For all I knew, he left it in his room. I set the alarm for eight in the morning so that he could pack and eat some breakfast before he had to go.

In barely six hours, the alarm would go off. I put the phone back on the nightstand, trying not to jostle the precious cargo on my chest. Jamie stirred and snuffled before settling even closer, tightening his arm over my stomach.

The last thing I saw before I fell asleep was an ugly hat lying on the floor by the door.

 

 

I WAS already awake when the alarm started playing Simon and Garfunkel. Jamie lay pressed to my side as close as he could get. Maybe he was cold during the night. But he felt warm and cozy against my skin now.

I painted lazy circles on his arm and shoulder, refusing to think about leaving. I knew we had to. I just refused to acknowledge how I felt about it. My senses were full of him, his scent, the texture of his skin, the softest sound of his breath. I needed to suppress my arousal. I doubted he would appreciate me jumping him when he was supposed to be packing and checking out of the hotel.

I turned off the alarm, but he didn’t seem to wake up.

“Jamie, we have to get up.”

He mumbled something into the pillow.

I know it’s a cliché. Everybody looks cute when they’re asleep. But Jamie…. I threaded my fingers through his hair and kissed his forehead, inhaling deeply. There was no point in playing it cool. He was leaving in a few hours. Jamie was leaving. Everything felt surreal. Last night, him being here, him leaving so soon. And the most unfathomable thing was me, feeling like this, failing at this for the first time.

“Dobré ráno, láska.” Good morning, love, I cooed in Slovak just because I could.

He opened his eyes. They were drowsy and red-rimmed with deep dark circles underneath. He looked very pale, still so tired.

“Ondro?”

“Perfect pronunciation.” I smiled. “Come on, it’s eight. We should eat something and check out.”

He blinked several times, trying to decipher the odd reality. I was scared of how he would react. How drunk was he yesterday? Would he regret it? I might. Much later though and probably for different reasons.

He sat up slowly while I was trying to gauge his mood. He ran a shaky hand through his hair.

“I feel like shit.”

“How much did you drink after I left?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re a lightweight.”

He smiled wearily. And then he caught my hand in his, looked at it briefly, and kissed my palm. My eyes drifted closed with relief.

“Thanks for the alarm. I’d have overslept.”

I squeezed his hand. “Go pack and we can meet in the lobby. Do you want to have breakfast with me and maybe share a taxi to the airport?”

“That’d be great. I need coffee. Jesus, what was in those drinks?”

He looked half-dead. I sat up as well and kissed his neck. Leaning back, he rested his head on my shoulder.

Shit.

It was going to hurt. I could feel it coming. Like a stirring in those depths of my brain that haven’t been touched in years. Why the fuck now? Just because it was impossible? Weirdly, a part of me was trying to sabotage the rest. Conflicted was not a correct enough word to describe it. I felt utterly overthrown. My life had decided to demote me. I was a helpless observer while everything I was supposed to have under control just rushed ahead into the unknown chaos dragging my banged up body behind. I held Jamie closer.

“How can I be this hungover when I wasn’t even properly drunk? That’s unfair,” he complained, his eyes closed, and his nose was skimming my jaw.

I didn’t answer. My throat closed up, and I couldn’t speak. He didn’t treat me like a hookup. He behaved and moved as if he trusted me, as if he knew me. Our bodies interacted as if we’d been lovers for years. I couldn’t make myself draw the line either. I kissed his forehead instead.

I could pretend that we were just going to pack our things, take a taxi to the airport together, and get on a plane somewhere, whine about the food and airplane coffee together. We would come home tired, into a small, cluttered apartment that had blurry contours in my imagination. An actual home. We would heat some frozen pizza and cuddle on a sofa watching old episodes of Red Dwarf until he would fall asleep in my arms again.

He scrambled to the edge of the bed and stood, swaying a little. I reached out to steady him.

“Fuck, it’s cold in here,” he complained.

He had goose bumps on his arms. I couldn’t watch him get dressed without feeling embarrassingly desolate. So I turned away, fumbling with my boxer briefs and shirt.

I dressed and packed the few random items I didn’t put in the bag yesterday. I caught my reflection in the narrow mirror on the other side of the door and started. I watched the stranger in the mirror, still bent over my suitcase. He was looking back at me with fearful eyes and parted lips. He looked like someone I used to know. I frowned at the thought and immediately recognized myself again. There, that frown, that was me.

I double-checked my tickets and the location of my passport routinely and went to join Jamie in the bathroom.

The door was open, and Jamie stood there, looking very poorly. He held on to the sink, his head bent like he was going to be sick.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“I don’t know. I probably only need caffeine.”

I stroked his shoulders and arms up and down. He turned and leaned into me, and I hugged him tight. We stood like that for a minute until he took a step back, and I dropped my arms.

“I’ll meet you downstairs in fifteen, okay?” he said, not looking at me.

“Yes.”

He nodded, staring at his feet, and with a deep sigh he turned away. I had to close my eyes. I was so close to crying it was ridiculous. How the hell did I get here?

The door to the small room closed with a soft click.

I peed, shaved, brushed my teeth, and splashed a lot of cold water on my face. When that didn’t help, I took a cold shower.

I looked at the man in the mirror again, the man I used to know. I’ll be fine. I always am.

 

 

BREAKFAST WAS torture. The room buzzed with businesspeople and families, turning our silent corner into a plaguing contrast. Jamie was trying and epically failing to keep a decent conversation going. I didn’t know if it was because he still felt ill or because he found the situation awkward. I felt empty.

He ate very little but clung to his coffee mug like it was his lifeline. He looked out the window, and I couldn’t help but watch his profile, letting the desolation flood me. In the cold morning light, his skin was almost completely white. He’d tied his hair into a little bun again. The whisper-soft strands that curled around his ears made my fingers tingle with the need to touch him. His mouth was tense with sharp brackets around the corners as if he were in pain. I imagined pulling him over onto my lap, tucking his head under my chin, and comforting him until I’d feel his smile against my throat.

So I dug my nails into my palm painfully, drank my coffee, and said nothing.

 

 

AN HOUR later, we sat in the back seat of a taxi. The trip had taken barely fifteen minutes yesterday, and now on our way back, for the first time in my life, I wished for a traffic jam. Pathetic.

Jamie almost fell asleep against my shoulder. He looked as if he needed someone to take care of him, and I wished like hell it could be me. And that was what made something in my head click. Like a safety switch. My brain couldn’t take the emotional overload, so it turned the critical circuit off.

In the end, I was pleasantly numb when we dragged our bags toward the check-in area. Jamie’s flight was due in a little over one hour, so I went with him, helped him with his bags, and followed where the security line ended.

We stood in the middle of the busy terminal staring anywhere but at each other.

“I should check in too, and you should hurry to your gate,” I said matter-of-factly.

He didn’t answer, just made a weird sound in his throat that made me look at him properly for the first time since we’d left the hotel. He was almost gray in his face.

Jamie nodded jerkily, his eyes half-closed. I scrambled for something reasonable to say to him, half looking for excuses to get his phone number or, at least, an email address. Shit, I didn’t even know his last name. At the same time, I wanted to turn away and run, never to see him again, wishing I could forget him as soon as possible. I dug deep to reach my dwindled reservoir of basic humanity so I could just hug him goodbye.

Jamie swayed from side to side infinitesimally, his eyes squeezed shut, and he spread his arms as if he were readying to jump. That… was weird. I realized almost too late that he was just trying to keep himself on his feet.

I caught him, and he slumped in my arms like a rag doll. What the…?

“Ondro, I don’t think I’m hungover,” he mumbled into my shoulder so weakly, I barely heard him.

“Jamie? Jamie!”

He was passing out on me. Eyes closed, body limp, mouth slack, ghostlike paleness, seriously passing out. Shit, shit, shit!

I exclaimed something again. I think I shouted “kurva” quite loud. Not a polite thing to scream at an airport in the middle of Europe—half of the nations east of Berlin use the same vile expletive. But it’s not like my filter was on at that moment.

I went down on my knees on the faded gray tile, cradling Jamie like a child. For a confusing second his shaking interfered with mine. Helpless. Oh fuck, I was helpless. The sounds around me melted into a high-pitched ringing. I felt hot. It was like stepping out of my apartment building in Dubai, going from twenty-five to forty degrees Celsius in a second, getting punched in the face by the heat, trying not to faint.

Please, calm down, please, be able to do something. Do something!

My training kicked in at the same second as the adrenaline flood made my whole body pulse with energy.

“Jamie, do you have any allergies? Diabetes? Does your chest hurt? Did you take some medicine? Talk to me! What is it?” My questions came too fast. I was fucking it up.

“Nothing. No allergies. No pills.” He seemed to be trying to open his eyes, but his eyelids only fluttered. I went through the motions: his pulse, his eyes, his temperature. He was burning up. When did that happen?

“Mmm… head hurts really bad. Feel weak….” He talked slowly and slurred his words.

Where the fuck was my phone? How would I reach it? I’d need to let go of him. I couldn’t let go of him.

“Jamie, your stomach? Are you going to throw up?”

“No. Just cold.”

I shrugged off my coat and cuddled him to my body, covering him. I looked around from our spot on the floor. People stared, but no one seemed to understand that we needed help. Then I saw a uniformed guy coming toward me. He was tall and slim with a big head; he looked like a stick figure. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

“Hi! I think we need an ambulance. He’s passing out. He has a high fever and pulse, and I don’t think he can walk. He’s breathing fine. A strong headache. No drugs, no chronic diseases. The fever seemed to come freakishly fast,” I rattled, hoping the guy understood.

He nodded, his eyes wide open when he dug out a phone and started talking in rapid-fire Swiss German. It hit me then that he looked a lot like Stephen Merchant. His big bony hand shook, and it calmed me as if his tension were draining my nerves.

“Was he sick?” the guy asked me with a thick accent, still holding his phone to his ear.

“No, just tired. Then he suddenly fell. I can’t find anything else, only high fever.” I checked Jamie’s forehead again. Oh shit. “Really high. He says he feels cold and weak and has a bad headache.”

The man looked at me confused, his mouth opening and closing a few times. Okay, time to change the strategy.

I switched to German. “Extrem hohes Fieber, intensive Kopfschmerzen, er ist sehr schwach, als ob er total zusammenklappen wird.”

The Stephen Merchant-doppelgänger smiled wobbly at me and nodded vigorously. He talked on the phone again and then showed me a thumbs-up. “They will come.”

I turned my attention back to Jamie.

He held on to my forearm weakly, his head slumped in the crook of my shoulder. He shivered periodically. He seemed to be fighting to stay awake.

“You’re going to be fine. The ambulance is coming.”

He looked half-asleep until he suddenly started breathing faster, and his eyes bulged, staring up at me for a second, raw with fear.

“Ambulance? That bad?” he choked out.

“Shhh, baby. Easy. It’s just a fever.” A panic attack on top of whatever this was would be a nightmare. “Slow down, Jamie, breathe with me. Just like that. Easy.”

He exhaled long and closed his eyes.

“It’s fine. You’re fine.” What an inadequate thing to say. Luckily, Jamie was probably too exhausted to panic properly.

“You speak German,” he mumbled accusingly. I had to bend my head and put my ear closer to his pale lips; he spoke so softly.

“With disgust and only when forced,” I said, trying lamely to lighten up the situation.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

I hugged him tighter. “I don’t know, honey. You seem to have a fever.”

“I feel like shit.”

Despite everything, I chuckled. “Yeah. You’ve said that.”

He burrowed into my hold, still shivering. “Your flight….”

“I don’t care. I’m not leaving you alone in a foreign hospital. Forget the flights.”

“They won’t let you come with me.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

He nodded, hiding his face in my chest.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He was scared. Of course he was.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Tell them you’re my boyfriend.”

“What?”

“They’ll make you leave.” He was irrational, but I understood.

In the middle of the dark fear I felt for him, there was a giddy spark. He wanted me to stay, to protect him and take care of him. Me. I felt grateful for the weakness that made him dependent on me. I imagined that had been my most selfish moment so far.

“They won’t. I won’t leave you.”

 

 

THEY LET me ride in the ambulance with him, and they promised to keep me informed. Because I didn’t tell them that he was my boyfriend. I told them he was my partner. You have to know which word to use where, and the otherwise rather conservative Switzerland has had a law allowing registered partnerships for quite some time.

I stood in the emergency waiting room of the Universitätsspital Basel, returning the polite smiles of the passing nurses in their white short-sleeved scrubs. They took Jamie inside to x-ray his chest and run some tests. They had no clue how long it would take. They suspected he had pneumonia. In my book, that meant a lot of coughing. But I guessed they knew better.

I stared at Jamie’s phone. He asked me to call Ginny, but he didn’t say who Ginny was or what to tell her. I tried to come up with some story but decided against it. I had to make the call soon, and I had to tell the truth.

He had her on speed dial. She picked up on the second ring.

“Jamie! Where the fuck are you?” Very Scottish. Lovely.

“Hi, Ginny. Jamie asked me to call you.” I tried to subdue my accent. It didn’t sound trustworthy, I knew.

“What? Who are you?”

“My name is Ondro. I met Jamie in Basel yesterday.” I looked around; nobody was close enough to hear. “We shared a taxi to the airport this morning, and he wasn’t feeling well. I accompanied him to the hospital, and he asked me to stay. He might have pneumonia. I’m waiting for more information.”

Silence. To the Scottish girl, I probably sounded like a Russian mobster slash abductor.

“Ginny?” I prodded gently.

“Can I talk to him?” her voice shook a little.

“He’s not here with me. I’m in the waiting room. They’ll let me in as soon as they get him settled in a bed. I can try to make him call you. He’s going to be fine. He was just exhausted.” No need to tell her all the drama.

“How do you know him? He just gave you his phone?” You could bottle the suspicion dripping from her voice. A protective friend. Awesome.

“He didn’t just give it to me. He told me to call Ginny because she’d worry.”

“He’s going to be fine?” She must have been terrified judging by the trembling of her voice.

“Yes. They’ll just give him some antibiotics, and then we’ll find him another flight home. Okay?”

“What’s your name again?”

“Ondro Smrek.”

Silence. Wait for it.

“What?”

“Ondro Smrek.”

“Is this some kind of a joke?”

I loved her already. I laughed. “Just call me Andrew.”

“How come you’re there with Jamie?”

“You’re the one who gave him the hat?”

Another beat of silence and then: “Oh.”

“I’d prefer he told you himself whatever he wants to tell you, okay? I’m just supposed to update you on his health and ETA.”

“Fine. If he can’t call me tonight, you will, okay?” I heard a toddler shrieking joyfully in the background. Was Ginny a mom?

“Of course.”

“He wanted you to stay with him?”

“Yes. He was scared. He felt terrible and didn’t know what was wrong.”

“So you’re staying, right?” She managed to sound both hopeful and suspicious at the same time.

“I’m not leaving until he tells me to.”

She hummed in acknowledgment.

“Bye, Ginny. I’ll call you, okay?”

She sighed heavily. “Thanks, Andrew.”

I had one more call to make.

“There’s a delay, isn’t there?” Kristina asked.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. Another headache looming. “No, I missed the plane. I really hope you haven’t left the city yet. I’m not coming today.”

“I was just on my way to the garage. You missed the plane? You?” She didn’t believe me. I’ve been flying several times weekly for eight years. I’ve never missed anything in my life. I knew exactly how many minutes it took me to pack my bag. I developed a seven-step system to fold my clothes, and have a built-in alarm clock in my brain. I’m one of those people who wakes up five minutes before the actual alarm is supposed to go off.

“You got high last night,” Kristina concluded logically.

“No,” I chuckled. “I met someone. A guy, an American.”

“You dumped me for a piece of ass?”

“Kristi, let me finish, please. We went together to the airport in the morning, and he got sick. I’m at the hospital in Basel.”

I could hear Kristina breathing. “Is he going to be all right?”

God, I hope so. “Yes. They say it’s a mild case of pneumonia. Antibiotics for a few days and he’s going to be fine.”

She sighed. “I was looking forward to hugging you, you know.”

“I know. But Jamie… I couldn’t leave him here alone.”

“Jamie? And you met yesterday.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve fucked him, haven’t you?”

“We spent the night together,” I amended.

“Slut,” she said.

I laughed. It sounded empty. “He’s a nice guy. You’d like him. I just want to make sure he’s okay, and then I’ll book another flight. I’ll call you.”

“Ondro, did something happen?”

“Yes, I’ve just told you.”

“No, that’s not…. Whatever. I just thought you sounded off. Just, be careful, okay?”

“Always. And I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll take you out on the grand slalom.” That’s what we used to do—hit as many restaurants and bars and clubs as possible, one drink in each place. Last time we did that was two years ago in Berlin.

“In Bratislava?” she scoffed.

“No, I was thinking maybe Budapest?”

“Now you’re talking.”

“Great. I have to go. I’ll keep you posted.”

She made an exaggerated smooch noise and hung up.

 

 

JAMIE WAS asleep on the narrow hospital bed, looking even paler and more exhausted than before. I was straining to understand what the doctor was saying. A German accent is bad enough, and hers mingled with French. I was astounded by some of the abysmal sounds coming from that lovely mouth. I would have just asked her to speak German with me, but Swiss German bewildered me even more. So Swiss English had to do.

“We call it walking pneumonia,” she said. “A collapse is not very common, but his fever got high very fast. He was dehydrated. Alcohol was bad idea.” She looked at me sternly but smiled a little as well.

“He felt fine yesterday,” I said sheepishly.

“He said he was very tired many days. He thought it was stress and a common cold.”

Oh, Jamie.

“He has antibiotics to take. He must take all package,” she continued, torturing the English language further. “Until the last pill, understand? Or it can come back. Lots of fluids. No smoking.”

“I understand. He’s promised me he’ll stop. So maybe this will help him to do it.” Was I laying it on too thick?

“You take care of him. He will be extremely tired. He has to drink water and juice. He has to eat. Not much. Healthy food. Fruit and soup.” She said soap, but I guessed she meant soup. “He must sleep. Where did you travel?”

“Edinburgh,” I answered automatically. It was true in Jamie’s case anyway.

“You better stay in Basel so he can rest. Airports are no good.” That we could agree on.

“How long?”

“Until he feels better. The antibiotics help in two or three days. But he will cough a lot. If he coughs, he will be tired. Do not travel if he coughs too much.”

She was very blonde, very small, and very young. Thank goodness, she seemed to be one of those who thought that a gay couple was as cute as a spring basket of puppies. She smiled at me and squeezed my upper arm. It took some effort since she was maybe one meter and fifty tall, and her hand was the size of a five-year-old’s.

“Don’t worry. Your man is fine.”

“Thank you. Can I let him sleep? We’ll leave as soon as he wakes up.”

“Of course, the room is yours until the evening. Tell the nurse on duty when you leave. You want number to call taxi?”

“Thank you, I have an app for that.”

“Apps for everything. That is good.” She smiled, nodded to herself, and said goodbye.

I sat down on the bed next to my sleeping boy and took his clammy hand in mine. The adrenaline had worn off, and I was tired. I should call Ginny again. But that could wait. I would just sit here for a few minutes and then I’d call her.

 

 

JAMIE SLEPT until half past seven in the evening.

A quick googling session found me an aparthotel close to the Rhine River in the city center. The holiday season hadn’t started yet this early in December, so I was lucky to get a studio for five nights. It had a small living room area and a reasonably equipped kitchen. I could sleep on the sofa. The receptionist assured me there was one in the studio. I had the bags sent to the hotel. Mine was still at the airport. Jamie’s would take a while since he managed to check it in before he collapsed. I called Ginny again and texted Kristina. Ginny seemed less suspicious but wanted Jamie to call her when he woke up regardless of the hour. Kristina answered simply: “Take your time :)”

I ate a sandwich in the cafeteria while I read some stuff online about atypical pneumonia. I went to buy some basic groceries in a store close to the hospital, so Jamie would have something suitable to eat.

I was almost falling asleep myself, sitting in the hard chair next to Jamie’s bed, when he stirred.

“Ondro?” He looked like he had to work hard to keep his eyes open.

“Hi, Jamie. How are you feeling?”

He smiled at me exhaustedly, and I felt my mouth curve as well. “Fucking terrible.”

“You have walking pneumonia. Did they tell you?”

“Yeah. Didn’t even know there was such a thing.”

“Good news is you’ll be fine in just a few days.”

“I know. I’m sorry I panicked.”

“Nothing to feel sorry about. Now we have to get out of here, though. It’s late.”

“I don’t have to stay?”

“Nope. Unless you’d rather….”

“God, no! No hospitals. Where am I going?”

“I found us another hotel. There’s a studio with a kitchen and a bathtub and everything. I thought you’d need more privacy. I had our bags delivered and bought some food. I know you’re not hungry, but you have to eat. I put the pills into your carry-on. You have to take the next one in two hours.” I was rambling. Stop, Ondro, deep breath. “I’ll call a taxi, and we’ll go, okay? The sooner we get you out of here, the better. You need a real bed.”

He stared at me, confused. “You did all that?”

“What? I haven’t done anything. Just made a few phone calls. Speaking of phone calls, Ginny’s awesome. She says hi, and you have to call her. She’s worried I’ve kidnapped you or something.”

“Your flight?”

Please, don’t send me away.

“I thought I’d stay to help you if you want me to.” I hesitated. “I have a few more days.” I had as many days as he wanted.

“I don’t know what to say.”

I shrugged. Before I could say anything, Jamie continued slowly and sleepily. “You’ve already missed your flight because of me. I was stupid at the airport. I’m sorry.” He closed his eyes on an exhale.

“No, that’s understandable. Anybody—”

Jamie’s eyes flew open again as if he just woke up properly, and he interrupted me. “I want to pay for everything. And you can leave. You don’t have to stay because of me. I’ll manage.”

“You can’t be alone. At least not until the fever goes away. And I don’t mind staying.” I hung my head. Here comes the truth. “Ginny said she could take a few days off, come here tomorrow to take care of you, and then fly back with you whenever you’re ready. I told her she didn’t have to.”

“You shouldn’t have to stay.”

“Even if I wanted to?”

“Why?”

Why indeed. I couldn’t tell him the truth. What was the truth anyway? I shrugged again. “I have the time, and I’m already here. I’m not exactly opposed to your company. Ginny has small kids, right?”

He nodded and smiled. “Rachel’s barely two.”

I forced on. “That sounds unnecessarily complicated. I’m glad to stay.”

Jamie looked at me for a long time and said nothing. His expression was inscrutable.

“Do you want to call Ginny?” I asked him.

He nodded. I handed him his phone and waited. He didn’t even sit up to make the call. I wondered how hard it would be to get him into a taxi. He could probably walk, but barely. He was medicated, and he would have a fever again once the meds wore off.

“Ginny, hi.” Pause. “I’m fine. Nothing heavy. I’ll be home in five days, tops.”

I tried to gesture at him that I’d wait outside, but he shook his head and reached for my hand to keep me from leaving.

“No, Ondro is here.” Another pause. “Definitely. He’s helped a lot. … I am not talking about that with you,” he said with mock indignation, his weak voice making him sound softer. “Yes, he is.” Jamie lifted his eyes and smiled at me again. The adorable, shy smile of his. “He said that? Okay. … Yes. Fine.”

What?

“Cool. That’d be great. Thanks. Don’t worry. … Yeah. Me too. Bye.”

I stared at him, saying nothing, waiting.

“So shall we?” he asked on an exhale.

I nodded. I handed him his hoodie, and he sat up, moving slowly. His carry-on was on the floor next to my chair. I took it with my left hand and waited while Jamie slid into his Converse and his faded parka.

“You’ll be okay walking to the taxi?”

“Yeah, I’m just tired.”

That was an understatement—he moved zombielike. I hugged him around his waist, and he leaned into me like a drunk. I couldn’t help myself; I pressed a quick kiss into his hair when we reached the elevator. He didn’t protest.

It was stupid of me. But if you could have your most foolish dream fulfilled only for a few days, would you fight it, or would you make the most of it?

 

 

I CHECKED us in while Jamie almost fell asleep slumped in an armchair in the hotel lobby. I led him to the studio with my arm around his shoulders. We didn’t say anything.

The small apartment had a walk-through kitchen. The living room area was done in creams with deep red and chocolate-brown accents. It was cozy.

Once in the room, Jamie just looked around, his face blank. He noticed the bags, the king-size bed, and the small sofa, but didn’t comment on it in any way. He shrugged out of his parka and shoes, got briefly tangled in his hoodie, and collapsed on the bed. I forced him to take off his jeans and found him a pair of my sweats. They looked enormous on him, but he’d be warm. He drank a glass of water with his meds and curled into a fetal position under the covers. I wanted to shout questions at him. Do you want me here? Is Ginny coming to take you away from me? Will you kick me out tomorrow?

“Are you cold?” I asked instead.

He shook his head, not opening his eyes. So I dragged my fingers through his sweaty hair and brushed my lips against his forehead, counting on his helplessness.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, his pale face perfectly smooth in his half-asleep state.

 

 

I SHOWERED quickly, trying to think and process, but it was of no use. I felt completely out of control.

Kicking and squirming on the sofa, I tried to entertain myself while Jamie slept. I read the news on my phone, feeling only more desolate, and I even tried googling some jobs but gave up in like three minutes. Fatigue and restlessness played tug-of-war inside my body.

After one hour, I saw Jamie stand up from the rumpled bed. He smiled my way drowsily and went straight to the bathroom. When he emerged a few minutes later, he stood at the foot of the bed looking like he’d keel over any second. His eyes were red, and his eyelids seemed swollen.

“Jamie, you don’t have to do anything. Just tell me what you need.”

“I…. It’s cold.”

“Do you want your hoodie?”

“No.” He squinted at his sock-clad feet—they were bright orange—and at me again. He looked adorably helpless. I wanted to beat my chest with my fists and shout in bewildered victory. He needed me.

I put my phone down on the coffee table and reached him in three strides. I took his hand and brought him with me onto the bed. He curled into my embrace immediately, hiding his head under my chin and folding his hands next to my frightened heart.

He shivered a little, and his forehead was burning again while his hands were cold. I counted in my head how many hours I should wait before giving him the next dose of ibuprofen.

He slept restlessly, alternately clutching onto me and turning away, sweating and radiating heat like a furnace. I did my best to accommodate him, forced him to drink whenever he woke up, and I gave him the ibuprofen to keep the fever down. Again, we didn’t talk.

Around five in the morning, after he’d sweated through his T-shirt, I helped him change into dry clothes. He seemed to rest calmer. So I hugged him from behind, his smaller body fitting into mine perfectly. I was careful not to put any pressure on his chest and allowed myself some sleep with my nose in his hair.