If You Miss It

15. in waves

warning: mentions of physical pain.

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

IN WAVES

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It was half past two in the morning when Dmitri got a call.

Not bothering to check the caller ID, a mistake he always made, he pressed his phone to his ear, mumbling out a weak, "Hello?"

There was no response.

The person who was calling him at two in the fucking morning had called him, just to not give him a fucking response.

Jesus fucking Christ. If this is anyone other than Eden, I'm going to be so mad. "Hello?" he repeated, rubbing his eyes and breathing out slowly, the silence of the night sending a whole fucking chill down his spine.

"Dmitri," the person finally croaked in response, voice hoarse and thick, all at the same time. Oh fuck. "Can you come to my room?"

Feet already slipping into his shoes, he decided to ask, "Tariq?" just to be sure of who he was talking to, even though he already knew. "What's up?"

A sharp hiss later, Tariq breathed out shakily, his breaths sounding like pure static into the speaker. "I can't fucking move, my muscles are literally cramping so bad," he whispered, the loudness of his words reverberating in Dmitri's ears.

Fuck. "Okay," Dmitri assured, grabbing his reading glasses from the round table next to the bed and placing them in his pocket. "Can I get you anything? Before I come to your room?"

Tariq groaned into the phone, the crack in his voice sending a sharp spike of pain through Dmitri's heart. "No, no, just— just you," he managed to say, or whisper, more like.

It was rare for Tariq to call him when he was in pain. He had only done it once before, and that was years ago, when his entire back had been spasming from soccer practice and he couldn't take even a single step without some part of his body cramping up.

"Uh—" I should get him something. "Any pills? There's a pharmacy like— five minutes away, I think. I can get you something if you—"

"Muscle relaxants," Tariq interrupted, sounding so weak, and so tired that Dmitri just forgot every little thing that he hated about Tariq, threw it out of the window. "My electrolytes are completely out of whack, didn't drink any water today, and I was sweating out my fever, and I didn't take my vitamins today because I fell asleep as soon as I got back to my room, and it's just—"

Before he could go any further and actually end up crying, if the constant cracks in his voice were anything to go by, Dmitri cut him off with a soft, "Okay. Muscle relaxants, anything else?" as he tied the laces of his shoes, already ten times more awake.

A brief two seconds of silence passed by, after which a small sniff was heard. No. Please, no. "I just... I really need you. That's all," he mumbled, sniffing again. "Please come by soon. Door's not locked."

Then, he cut the call.

Taking a small breath, Dmitri nodded to himself, closing his eyes for a second and letting all the remaining exhaustion leave his body, because he couldn't allow himself to be tired when Tariq was in pain, to the point where he was trying not to cry.

He pocketed his car keys, room keys and his wallet, making his way out of the room and running down the stairs, all the way to the lobby, until he stepped out, the cool, two a.m. breeze of LA hitting him, causing his t-shirt to blow back, clinging to his body, only going back to its normal fit once he got into his car and began to drive.