I nod, though behind my mask, my mouth has set into a line. I’m not sure whether it relieves or concerns me that someone else picked up that something is amiss with Julian. The anxiety doesn’t abate as I step onto the elevator, go up to the twenty-fourth floor—only heightens when I find his apartment, 2401, and knock.
“Julian?” I call out after a moment.
There’s no answer. I stand there, feeling uncertain and a bit foolish. There’s a nonzero chance that Julian has just been intentionally ignoring me and hoping that I’ll get the point. That I’ll burst into his apartment and find him not in it, somewhere across the city at another board of trustees meeting, or worse, tangled up in another woman’s embrace. And then there are further questions: What if he’s too out of it to answer the door? Should I have just asked his doorman to accompany me for a wellness check? Should I have called emergency services instead of imposing myself—no, he would be pissed if I did that, honestly he might be pissed that I’m here at all—
Just when I’m about to turn tail and head back down twenty-four floors to ask for help, I hear him.
“Hello?” Julian says, in a voice that sounds like he’s using all his energy to project.
“Julian,” I call back. “It’s Sean. I’m coming in.”
He doesn’t respond, and I figure that’s as close to permission as I will get.
Hesitantly, I tap in the code, wait for the lock to click open, and turn the doorknob.
Julian’s place is different in the daytime. Even with the blinds drawn, it’s flooded in light, and the colors that seemed so rich at night are muted and warm now. It’s not as spotless as it had been previously; errant mugs are on every surface, and I nearly step onto what I realize is likely one half of a fleece pajama set as I walk inside.From the entryway, I can make out dishes in the sink and a knocked over box of Wheat Thins on the kitchen island.
And in the center of the living room, sprawled out on a couch under a mound of blankets, is the owner.
“Who?” he calls out weakly.
I hang my jacket on the coat rack, unwind my scarf, slip off my boots.
“Sean,” I repeat awkwardly. Even from the door, I can tell that Julian is in a bad way. His face is slick with sweat, and his gaze when he looks at me is distant and unfocused. Dark circles hang under his eyes; I wonder when he last had a good night’s rest. “Sorry for breaking and entering. Leila gave me the code, and—”
Julian groans, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Why would shedothat?” he grumbles, and even though I know it is an appropriate reaction, I grimace.
“You’re clearly very sick, and I am a doctor,” I say, approaching him slowly. “She wanted to check up on you herself but had…some obligations. So she asked me to come instead.”
But Julian is already shaking his head.
“No.No,” he mutters. “No, you don’t understand. I don’t…” He searches for the words. “You can’t see me like this.”
The awareness that it is vanity that keeps Julian from wanting me here and not lack of interest eases my nerves somewhat. I close the distance between us.
“I assure you that you’re still devastatingly handsome, even like this,” I say. “I assume this is why you haven’t texted me? Called me back?” I don’t wait for him to answer. “Say ah.”
Julian’s hand reaches from behind the blanket, so quick that I’m caught off guard, grasps my wrist, and grips tight. I look up, stunned,as he sits up. The blankets fall off his shoulders and pool at his waist, and I swallow against a throat that is suddenly parched.
I am going to hell. Because I should not be objectifying him right now. But it’s hard not to. I’ve never seen his naked body in broad daylight, and it is exquisite, all rolling shoulders and glistening pectorals and abs that shift in and out of view as he breathes in big, heaving gusts. It’s a body crafted by a female gaze, both functional and aesthetically arresting.
He’s not well, I remind myself.And neither are you.
“Julian,” I say slowly, rolling the syllables on my tongue as I drag my gaze reluctantly back to his eyes. “Please let go.”
In response, he tugs me closer. I stumble into the space between his knees, catching myself on the back of his couch, and his knees tighten, trapping my hips between them. Heat comes off his body in oppressive waves, and I’m reminded of the creature from this afternoon’s dream, his fire iron glow.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmurs, as if he’s speaking to himself. “I can’t…I can’t be around you right now. It’s dangerous.”
“Well, good thing I’m sick too,” I say. “Not really sure which of us is patient zero, but I think it’s too late to worry about spreading it to each other.”
Julian’s laugh is hoarse with disuse, and when he presses his forehead to mine, he’s hot to the point of discomfort.
“You’re so difficult,” he says. Then, “Is that really what you think I mean?”
The gravel in his voice is enticing, but I feel an edge of fear too, a rush of adrenaline that makes my body tense to flee.