If You Miss It

7. one to ten

CHAPTER SEVEN

ONE TO TEN

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"Okay, are we together or not?"

Dmitri froze for a second, Tariq's question catching him off-guard, before realising what he meant by it. "I mean— I didn't want to give my parents the satisfaction of hearing that we broke up, so I didn't tell them when we did," he explained, finally seeing the massive flaw in his plan of asking— well, letting— Tariq come with him to see his parents. We're so fucked. "I haven't really spoken to them since I went to college."

Clearing his throat with a weak cough, Tariq nodded, hand that wasn't clutching his phone reaching up to rub his throat. Sore throat? "Makes sense, they're fucking bastards," he pointed out, as if Dmitri wasn't aware of just how bad they were, how bad they could be.

We're never physical. How can you say such things about us when we've never hit you?

Lost in his own spiral of self-pity, Dmitri stared at the road ahead of him, bathed in the warm artificial glow of the street lamps, a dim orange covering the streets.

San Diego was so pretty at night.

However, soon, he was pulled out of his thoughts by another bout of coughs from Tariq's direction, this time louder than the previous bout, more violent.

"Everything good?" Dmitri decided to ask, his eyes briefly flitting to glance at Tariq, whose own eyes were watering slightly as he proceeded to hack his lungs out. Jesus. "Need a cough drop?"

Tariq just shook his head, continuing to cough into his arm, like the stubborn motherfucker that he was.

So, Dmitri said, "Don't be fucking ridiculous," before repeating, "Do you need a cough drop?"

Nodding hesitantly, Tariq groaned, his voice a throaty whisper when he said, "Fuck my shitty immune system. I fucking hate it here."

I know.

Reaching into the glove compartment of his car, Dmitri rummaged around it with one hand, his other hand staying on the steering wheel. Finally, his fingers managed to settle on a lozenge, deep under his backup medication, old earphones and some of Eden and Trinh's makeup.

"You still carry cough drops with you?" Tariq questioned, hesitantly accepting the lozenge from his hand and popping it into his mouth.

"Habit," Dmitri muttered.

Tariq laughed. He actually fucking laughed, his fingers playing around with the hem of his t-shirt's collar, pulling the plain navy fabric away from his neck and saying, "So, do you still keep spare boxes of my vitamins, too?"

Sometimes, Tariq could be the most obnoxious person to handle. Or maybe that was all the time.

Fingers tightening around the steering wheel, Dmitri glanced at Tariq through the corner of his eye, and shrugged. "Habits are breakable."

Humming, Tariq rested his elbow on the side of the car, his head resting in the palm of his hand with his eyes fixated outside the window, probably watching the cars speed by. "Whatever you say, Dmitri."

Stop saying my name like that.

Nothing was said by either of them for a minute, because Dmitri was trying his best, his very best not to say anything to Tariq, not to ask him any questions that could lead to an argument.

Exactly six minutes of pure silence minus the low rumble of the radio later, Tariq lifted his head from his hand and turned slightly to his left to look at Dmitri, before saying, "Your parents are gonna have a heart attack when they see us."