Emma liked this park, so when the two of them met up, this park was usually where.

It wasn’t the biggest in the city, but it was sprawling enough to feel open, with wide stretches of green and towering oaks that provided just the right amount of shade. It was tucked away from the busy main streets, connected to the popular dog park that always bustled with excited pets and their owners. The park was practical, too—just a few blocks from her apartment, close enough to the neighbourhood convenience store, and a quick left past the dog park brought you to a cosy line of shops. All in all, it was convenient.

Marley figured that’s what she liked about it—the proximity to everything, the ease with which she could slip in and out, like the park was a natural extension of her everyday routine. Maybe it was the peacefulness too, the way the hum of distant traffic faded behind the sound of rustling leaves and the occasional bark of a dog. She always seemed more relaxed here, more herself.

Or at least, Marley assumed that was why she liked it.

He’d never actually asked.

The bench they were sitting on had clearly seen better days. The wood was worn, the edges splintered, and it still carried a faint dampness from the rain the night before. Every time one of them moved, it creaked in protest—a groaning, wooden sound that wasn’t exactly pleasant but felt fitting for the park’s slightly overgrown charm. Marley winced a little every time the bench let out a squeak, so once he had awkwardly folded his legs beneath him, trying to sit in a makeshift cross-legged position, he forced himself to remain still. If he didn’t move, maybe the bench would finally stop complaining.

Emma, on the other hand, didn’t seem bothered by it at all. She shifted again, twisting her body to face him more fully, her denim jeans already dotted with grass stains and darkened patches where the wood had soaked through.

She tilted her head at him.

The bench creaked again as she leaned back, her arm brushing against the backrest, eyes still fixed on him as if waiting for him to say something. But the sound didn’t seem to break the moment for her. Marley, on the other hand, couldn't help but notice it, the slight awkwardness that settled in the silence. He’d tried so hard to make himself comfortable, only to feel slightly more tense with every shift of the old wood beneath them.

He sat quietly, his gaze drifting to the path ahead of them, where the occasional jogger or couple with a stroller passed by. He was used to these silences with Emma, liked them–even, the way they could just exist together without the need to fill every moment with conversation. But today, something felt different. He couldn’t quite place it at first—not until he glanced sideways and caught Emma watching him, her eyes focused, as if she were studying him rather than simply sitting beside him.

Her gaze wasn’t judgmental, but it was intense enough that it made him shift a little in his seat, the bench creaking in protest once again. He raised a brow and squinted at her with suspicion.

Before he could say anything about it though, a large, spotted dog came trotting by, its leash pulled taut by an older man hurrying to keep up. The dog's fur was a swirl of patches, black and brown mixed in a way that almost looked like someone had splashed paint over it. Emma’s attention snapped to the dog, her lips curling into an easy smile.

“Look at that pattern,” she said, smiling widely and pointing like she hadn’t just been trying to dissect him with her mind. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

Marley let out a soft laugh, grateful for the distraction. “Yeah,” He tilted his head, watching the dog’s mismatched coat ripple as it padded down the path. “Do you ever notice how dogs with coats like that always seem to stand out more? A black dog almost mowed me over the other night because it just blended in.”

“Yeah,” Emma nodded. “They’re harder to ignore, even if they’re not trying to be.” She looked straight at him when she said it, he didn't quite know what it meant.

The dog bounded out of sight along with its owner, and Marley shifted his gaze back to the park. He could still feel Emma’s attention lingering on him. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable—Emma had a way of looking at him that felt more like concern than scrutiny. Or at least, that’s how he chose to read it.

“How are you feeling lately?” she asked, her tone casual but edged with that familiar knowingness. Emma always asked like she already had half the answer. And she probably did, considering how long they’d known each other.

Marley pursed his lips and let himself actually think about it. How was he doing? At that moment, he felt sore and achy, with an almost charley-horse-like pain twisting around his wrists. “Strained,” he admitted eventually, rubbing at his knuckles and wrists absentmindedly.

He tried to keep his voice light, as if speaking too loudly might cause all the fall leaves to drop from the trees like dead weight. “I guess... I think it’s been a little worse. My meds aren’t working as well, and my episodes are lasting longer than usual.”

He saw her face crumple with concern before she could even say anything, and he quickly stumbled over himself to fix it—not that he knew why he felt the need to.

“N-not that my condition’s getting worse—at least, I don’t think so. I’ve just been under a lot of stress lately. I’m sure it’s got something to do with that.”

Emma frowned, her expression tensing as her gaze sharpened on him. “What’s been stressing you out so much?” Her voice was soft, but it carried the firmness of someone who knew him too well to let him evade the question.

He struggled to answer, honesty sticking in his throat even though Emma was one of the few people he could be honest with. What was stressing him out?

Nothing, really.

Mostly himself.

Marley met her eyes and stuck his tongue out, a playful deflection he hoped would shift the mood. He didn’t want to talk about it. Not now, not ever, it seemed.

“You,” he teased, leaning back against the bench.

Emma squawked in mock offence, offering a strained smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. It was clear she was only humouring him. Her expression stayed tight, the concern still etched on her face.

He chose that moment to look away, as if silently telling her to drop it. Above them, a couple of birds fluttered through the park, their wings slicing the air in erratic patterns. It was easier to focus on them than to meet Emma’s gaze. There was something calming about their freedom, the way they swooped and soared without a care in the world.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

In a way, he envied them.

No, he didn’t want to talk about the pain, or how his body had started to feel like a ticking time bomb—constantly counting down the seconds before something worse happened. Would it help if he opened up about it? Maybe. But did he want to face that pain head-on? Not really.

The ache was always there, a dull throb beneath his skin, waiting for the next opportunity to flare up. He shifted slightly, nudging his shoulder against hers. She sighed, and he could practically hear her thoughts, the concern behind her silence.

Emma broke through the quiet, her tone light and conversational, but intentional. “Hey, the girls and I are having a girls' night this weekend. You should come with us. Just like old times.” She nudged him back, trying to catch his eye. “It’ll just be me, Khai, Rhia, and Xi at Rhia’s house—so, no one new or scary.”

He blinked, levelling a look at her. “I’m not a baby,” he muttered in response to the comment about people being ‘scary,’ then added with a slight frown, “I’m not a girl, either. I don’t want to intrude on your night.”

Emma rolled her eyes but grinned, undeterred by his resistance. “So? You came with us all the time in high school. It’ll be fun, and you need a break.”

Marley hesitated, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the heaviness on his shoulders. Emma was always like this—dragging him along to things he wouldn’t have chosen himself but secretly enjoyed once he was there. He sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know…”

“Come on,” she pressed gently, nudging him again. “Take some time off and relax with us. You deserve it.”

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

That stupid letter still sat on his nightstand, right next to his lamp and med box, basically untouched—if one ignored the crumpling and bent corners that marked too many restless nights spent picking at it. Marley stared at it, letting the weight settle in his stomach, heavy like a stone.

He pressed his thumb against the edge of the envelope, tracing the familiar handwriting. He could already hear another voice in his head, urging him to let it go. No one understood why Marley bothered to keep those ties, especially when they had only brought him pain. Especially when they had turned him into whatever walking and talking husk he was now.

(No one ever called him that, but Marley thought about it often.)

If he wrote back, would he be angry with the results? Would Emrys? Marley knew he tended to project his own guilt onto others in moments like those.

He should just toss it. The letter.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

He stirred awake to bright, warm light streaming through his window and filtering through the curtains, casting playful patterns across his room and bedsheets. With his back pressed against the soft fabric, he let the calm wash over him, dutifully ignoring the familiar ache in his joints as he always tended to do.

In the next room, Emrys moved about noisily, and Marley couldn't help but chuckle quietly to himself, knowing his friend was trying to be quiet but failing miserably.

Soft footsteps against the wooden floor, the occasional clatter of dishes, and the comforting hum of a song playing on the radio.

The tension between them had eased, as if their argument from a couple of days ago had never happened. Emrys seemed perfectly fine pretending it had, anyway. But Marley couldn’t quite shake the knowledge that something had shifted, that Emrys had glimpsed into a part of him he hadn’t even known he was hiding, and it had changed things.

Dust motes danced lazily in the sunlight, and he watched one get swept up into the ceiling fan, twirling before disappearing from sight. He pulled the covers a little tighter around himself. Today was his scheduled day off from work—not a call-out, so he wanted to take full advantage of it.

Still, it felt like any other day, with an extra shadow clinging to him, heavier than his own.

He shifted, contemplating how he was feeling and debated whether he should even get out of bed at all. Surely, one day of rest wouldn’t hurt.

He stretched slightly.

The longer he stayed tucked away beneath the covers, the more he felt the weight of guilt settling in. He couldn't shake the nagging thought of how far behind he would fall if he lay in bed all day, letting time slip through his fingers like sand. It's not like he had work to do– but there was something he could be doing instead, gardening? Maybe?

But what was the point of rushing? He sighed, letting his head sink deeper into the pillow, wrestling with the reasons behind his reluctance to rise.

Vaguely, with his eyes trained on the rotating fans, Marley wondered Emrys reaction a couple of nights ago– The way his voice had tensed, the look in his eyes as his frustration mounted, the way he’d confronted Marley with a seemingly great heaping of guilt–

Why– why did it upset him so much? He– Marley had thought about why it upset himself but– he hadn’t actually stopped to think about why Emrys cared so much.

Emrys said himself when they were in college that he’d liked being cared for! So why would Marley taking care of everything be anything other than– what– a gift…?

He knew of Emrys feelings, knew that they were pretty stark reflection of his own, but he didn't think it would be enough to–

A soft knock echoed through the room, pulling Marley from the depths of his thoughts. He blinked up at the ceiling, momentarily disoriented, before recognizing the familiar sound of Emrys at his door.

“Hey, Marley! I’m leaving for work! See you later!” Emrys called through the door, his voice bright and casual, as if their previous argument hadn’t loomed heavy in the air just days before.

Marley took a moment to collect himself, pushing the covers down and sitting up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Bye, Emrys! Have a good day!” he managed to scrounge up, though the words felt clumsy and unpolished.

He wasn’t quite ready to face the day, not yet. The warmth of his bed still held him captive, a small refuge from the swirling thoughts and uncertainties that lay just beyond the comfort of his covers. But as he listened to Emrys’s footsteps fade away down the hallway, Marley felt a tug of longing.

With that longing, came a thought. One that brought him to lean back against the pillows and imagine a life where what they had was more than just longing, more than this bitter waiting and waiting and waiting. Emrys and him already shared their dreams, most of their fears, and almost all of the little moments that stitched their lives together.

He knew things were more complicated than that.

…Did he know that?

Would he be able to live the way he already did, carrying the weight of his illness while navigating the deeper connection they could have? Marley had seen glimpses of Emrys’s discontent—how his best friend sometimes looked at him with a blend of concern and frustration, as if he wished Marley could see himself through his eyes. How could he be anything else?

He was accustomed to his routines, the careful balancing act of managing his pain and supporting those he loved. Emrys had told him countless times that he didn’t have to shoulder everything alone; all he really needed to do was be present.

It's something he's told Marley, time, and time again. Since middle school–even.

The thought came a warmth in his hand, the clasping of Emrys around his own, and he wondered if Marley's worries ever even crossed the other man's mind.

He contemplated how long he had been trapped in his own head. He could hear his friends’ voices echoing in his mind, reminding him that his insecurities were just that—insecurities. They weren’t truths carved in stone; they were the shadows of his fears, stretching and distorting the reality of who he was.

Marley closed his eyes tight.

Maybe… Maybe it was time he got over himself.

Marley could handle it.

The next time he had a chance, he would break the tension.