He thinks, The symptoms have to be there for a duration, though, before it can be diagnosed. He sounded real excited about it, like he couldn’t imagine he’d get to see such a thing. He said these delusions and hallucinations had to manifest for at least a month. Continuous, if possible. Says there will probably be disorganized speech. Grossly disorganized behavior, whatever that means.
Sean rubs his fingers over the Band-Aid, the lightest of touches. Mike’s arm breaks out in goose bumps on this fine evening. “But he thinks you’re fine.”
“Yeah,” Mike says. “He thinks I’m going to be just fine.”
He thinks, He seemed real keen on this too. Didn’t think of much else. Said I’d have to watch close, to keep an eye on these symptoms. Said we’re living in a real progressive time, that there’s such things as insulin shock therapy or some newfangled drug called chlorpromazine that was supposed to be all the rage. Said he could probably get me right on that if I needed to be. Just think. We’ll both be taking drugs. Yours is to clear your head. Mine’s to hold my head together. Isn’t that grand?
“Where were you all day?”
“Just took a day to myself,” Mike says, and they haven’t moved, they’re standing so close together, Sean’s hand still on his arm, and he’s warm. He’s vital. He’s here. If there’s one thing Mike’s sure of, it’s that Sean is here and Sean is real, and what they have between them is here and real. There’s no doubt in his mind about that. All the rest might be insanity, or it might be ghosts, or it might be nothing at all. But Sean?
Sean is real.
He knows that with everything he has.
“That’s it,” Sean says. “A day to yourself.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah,” Sean says, and maybe it’s a little mean this time. Maybe there’s a little curl to his lip, the smallest sneer. “You made me worry all goddamn day. And you’re fine.” He looks away, jaw tensed. He doesn’t take a step back, and Mike figures that counts for something.
“Hey,” Mike says.
Sean shakes his head.
“Hey.” He puts his hand underneath Sean’s chin, tilting his head back up until Sean’s looking at him. “I’m fine. Okay?”
He almost says I promise, but he’s able to stop himself before that happens. He’s lying already. He doesn’t want to say anything that will make the fallout worse.
Sean’s face softens. There’s still worry creasing the skin around his eyes, but it’s lessening. Mike rubs a thumb over Sean’s bottom lip, and he flushes just a little bit. “You better be,” Sean says. “I don’t know if you know this, but I kind of need you around.”
He thinks, Oh no. Oh, goddamn you. I see things. I see things that aren’t there. I don’t know what’s happening. I tried to leave and it brought me in a circle. Like there’s nothing else out there. Like we’re trapped on an island. I can remember bits and pieces. There was a man, fo sho, and a queen named Nadine. Cigars and text messaging, and a knife going through glass. I hear them murmuring. Did you know that? A murmuration is the cloud of starlings, rolling as one, but it’s also the action of murmuring. Did you know that? The fucking birds. I love you so much I can barely stand it. You are the best part of me, and I can’t stand the thought of losing you. Of losing this.
“Do you?” he says, cocking an eyebrow. “That’s good to hear.” He should be in pictures; his acting is top notch.
Sean rolls his eyes and huffs out a breath. “Don’t do that to me again.” He means it. Mike can see that. He was scared.
He doesn’t say anything. Instead he pulls Sean into a hug, wrapping his arms around Sean, holding him tight. Sean’s arms come up and around his waist, and Mike doesn’t think anyone has ever fit against him like Sean does. It’s like they were made to be like this, like they were two pieces finally made whole the moment Mike stepped into that diner for the first time. Mike has regrets. He really does. He’s a thirty-six-year-old man. He has to have them. And yeah, maybe he can’t think of any of them right now, but he knows they have to be there.
Sean isn’t one of them. Sean will never be one of them.
So he holds on, as tight as he can. For as long as he’s able.
He thinks, It’s like this, okay? Doc says that I shouldn’t worry about it. Says that it’s mostly a wait-and-see kind of thing right now. Says that it could be nothing. Says this could all just be a product of my tired mind. Thing is, I could see that even he didn’t believe that. He was like some kid in a candy store. He was salivating at the thought that there could be something wrong with me. He’s a doctor, so of course he wants me to be sick. Of course he does, because that means he gets to poke and prod, and if you think about it, if you really think about it, do we get sick here? Do we get ill? You get migraines, but can you think of anyone else that can say the same? Or maybe I just don’t see it. Maybe I just don’t notice it. Maybe none of it’s real. You are, though. I know you are.
Sean pulls away eventually. Mike lets him go, even though it’s the last thing he wants to do. There’s a part of him, a small part, that wants to drag Sean down the road and out of Amorea just to show him what happens. Just to show him that it’s all circular. But he’s afraid. He’s afraid that Sean will see through it, that Sean will look at him and say, “My god. You’re sick, Mike. You’re sick and you’re insane. What’s wrong with you? Why are you like this? What happened to you to make you this way?”
He can’t have that. Not now. He can’t. He needs to keep this for as long as he can.
Sean says, “You need to stop by the drugstore?”
Mike says, “For what?”
Sean squints. “You said Doc wanted you to get the sleep pills.”
Mike laughs. He thinks it sounds normal. “Already picked them up. After the appointment.”
Sean says, “All right. Walk me home, big guy? I think we should take the long way today. I’m feeling the need for some fresh air.”