Acheron lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. He wasn't sure how long he'd been awake. An hour, perhaps two. It was difficult to tell when all he had to measure the passing time was the shifting light above his head. The streetlamp outside cast a pale, rectangular glow through the gaps in his curtains, its shape slowly creeping across the ceiling as the night wore on.
He watched it move. Sleep, apparently, had decided it wanted nothing to do with him tonight.
Acheron shifted beneath his heavy blankets, trying to find a comfortable position. His pillow was warm, his sheets were tangled around his legs, and his mind refused to settle. Every time he closed his eyes, he became painfully aware of how awake he still was.
Eventually, he gave up trying.
Buzz.
His phone vibrated on the bedside table.
Acheron turned his head towards it, blinking at the screen before rolling onto his side and switching off the alarm. He had been waiting for it long enough that the sound barely startled him. With a weary sigh, he pushed his blankets aside and sat up.
His limbs protested immediately. His shoulders ached, his back felt stiff, and his legs tingled as he stretched them out. He rolled his shoulders, flexed his fingers, and remained sitting on the edge of the bed until his body began to feel like it belonged to him again. Then he dragged himself towards the bathroom to get ready for the morning.
By the time Acheron stepped into the living room, the apartment was already awake. Ivo sat curled up on the couch with a bowl of cereal in one hand, his laptop balanced on the coffee table as some show played quietly on the screen. He looked comfortable enough, dressed casually with his attention fixed on the laptop.
At least, until he noticed Acheron.
"Morning."
"Morning." Acheron glanced towards the windows, then back at his brother. "You're up early."
"Well, today's check-up day." Ivo paused his show and placed his bowl on the coffee table. His attention shifted entirely to Acheron.
"I know you said you'd be fine going alone, but I wanted to be up in case you changed your mind." There was something almost too eager about the way Ivo looked at him.
Acheron felt his stomach twist.
"Thank you," he said softly. "But I'll be okay."
Guilt began to gnaw at Acheron's nerves. Ivo had been there through so much of his recovery. He had seen Acheron at his worst, had worried over him, stayed beside him, and tried to make their little apartment feel safe. The last thing Acheron wanted was to make his brother feel as though he wasn't needed.
But telling Ivo that Eamon would be accompanying him to the hospital would invite questions.
So many questions.
Why Eamon? How long had they been talking? What exactly was happening between them? Did Acheron trust him? Was he sure?
To tell the truth, Acheron didn't know how to answer most of them. He wasn't entirely sure what he and Eamon were becoming. For now, he wanted to hold on to that small, uncertain thing without having to explain it to anyone else.
"Okay." Ivo's expression faltered before he managed a strained smile. He didn't argue, and that made Acheron feel worse.
"Would you like some cereal?" Ivo asked, pointing towards the open box on the kitchen counter. "There's still plenty left."
Acheron glanced at the box. "It's okay. I'll get something outside."
The guilt settled more heavily in his stomach. He could have eaten with Ivo. He could have sat beside him for a few minutes, watched whatever ridiculous show had captured his attention, and let his brother fuss over him a little.
Instead, all he could think about was leaving.
"Okay," Ivo said again. His gaze dropped briefly to the bowl on the table. He gave a small nod, but the gesture lacked its usual liveliness.
"Let me at least walk you out."
He set his cereal aside and stood before Acheron could object. Acheron followed him towards the front door, his thoughts growing increasingly uncomfortable with every step.
At the door, Acheron stopped.
Before he could think himself out of it, he turned and wrapped his arms around his brother. Ivo went completely still. For one brief second, he seemed too surprised to respond. Then his arms began to lift, but Acheron had already pulled away.
The hug had lasted barely a moment. Acheron looked up at him, offering a small, apologetic smile.
"Thank you for getting up early."
Ivo studied him for a moment. Whatever he saw in Acheron's face made him sigh softly.
"Call me if you need me." The words were gentle, but the tone was not. It was the sort of instruction that left absolutely no room for negotiation.
Acheron nodded solemnly. "I will. Promise."
"Good." Ivo reached out and briefly squeezed his shoulder before letting him go.
Acheron stepped into the corridor, carrying the warmth of the hug with him. He made his way down to the parking lot, where the taxi he'd arranged was already waiting. As he climbed inside, he glanced back towards the apartment building.
He hoped Ivo would understand. For now, he could only hope his brother knew that keeping something to himself wasn't the same as shutting him out.
Acheron had arranged to meet Eamon at a small café near the hospital.
Eamon had originally offered to collect him from the apartment, but Acheron had declined. He didn't want Ivo recognising Eamon's car or asking why a lawyer he'd only recently grown close to was taking him to a hospital appointment.
That conversation could wait. Everything could wait until Acheron had a better idea of what was happening himself. For now, he only needed to get through this appointment.
Within twenty minutes, thanks to the light traffic, Acheron arrived at the café.
It was much smaller than he'd expected. The kind of place someone might walk past without noticing, tucked between a pharmacy and a little bookshop. Warm light spilt through its front windows, illuminating a handful of wooden tables and mismatched chairs. The smell of freshly ground coffee drifted out whenever someone opened the door.
Fortunately, its size made finding Eamon easy.
He sat at a window table, his laptop open in front of him and an espresso resting beside his hand. At that very moment, he looked up from his screen and spotted Acheron through the glass.
His expression brightened almost instantly.
Eamon closed his laptop, stood, and made his way to the entrance. By the time Acheron reached the door, Eamon was already opening it for him.
"Morning," Eamon greeted, smiling warmly.
"Morning." Acheron stepped inside, greeted by the pleasant warmth of the café.
He hadn't realised how chilly it was outside until he felt the difference. Eamon led him towards the window table, where a small menu had been placed beside his espresso.
"The waitress will be over to take your order soon," Eamon explained, pulling out a chair for him. "I wasn't sure whether you'd want something to eat before we go."
"Thank you, Eamon." Acheron sat down, carefully smoothing the front of his sweater before accepting the spare menu Eamon handed him.
"I'm not sure I'm hungry yet, but I'll have a look."
"Take your time."
Eamon returned to his own seat and packed away his laptop, slipping it into the bag resting beside him. Once he had cleared his side of the table, he turned his attention to Acheron.
"How did you sleep?"
Acheron lowered the menu just enough to look at him.
"I don't think I slept a wink." He tried to suppress a yawn, but it escaped anyway. He quickly covered his mouth with both hands, his eyes watering slightly.
"Were you awake all night?"
"More or less."
Eamon studied him for a moment, his expression growing gentler. "Nervous?"
Acheron looked down at the menu.
"That, and..." He hesitated, rubbing his thumb along the edge of the paper. "Scared."
The admission came out reluctantly, as though saying it aloud made the feeling more real. Eamon didn't immediately rush to reassure him. He simply waited, giving Acheron the space to decide whether he wanted to say more.
"I know the appointment is supposed to help," Acheron continued quietly. "And I know I should at least hear what the doctor has to say. But I keep thinking about what might happen if all the previous surgery didn't work. Or if it even made things worse." His fingers tightened around the menu.
"What if I went through all of it and nothing changes?"
Eamon rested his forearms on the table, leaning forward slightly.
"Then we'll deal with that possibility if it happens."
"We?" Acheron glanced up.
"If you want me there, yes."
The answer was simple and without a hint of hesitation.
Eamon continued, his voice calm and measured. "Achie, you don't have to make every decision today. You're going to see the surgeon, ask your questions, and find out what your options are. That's all you need to do right now."
"But what if they recommend surgery again ?"
"Then you can ask them why they recommend it. What they expect it to achieve. What the risks are, what the recovery would look like, and what alternatives you have." Eamon paused. "You can ask as many questions as you need. You can ask them to explain something again if you don't understand it. And you can take time to think about what they tell you."
Acheron listened, his grip on the menu gradually loosening.
"You make it sound so easy."
"It's not easy." Eamon's expression softened. "I don't want you to think I'm saying that it is. It's your body, and the decision could affect your life in ways that are difficult to predict. Of course you're frightened."
He let the comment settle a bit before continuing.
"But being frightened doesn't mean you're not ready to face it, and it doesn't mean you have to agree to anything just because a doctor recommends it."
Acheron stared at him.
"You can say no," Eamon reminded him gently. "You can ask for more time. You can even leave the appointment with more questions than answers. The point is to understand what you're being offered before deciding whether it's right for you."
"What if I can't decide?"
"Then you don't decide today."
Acheron's eyelashes fluttered in surprise.
Eamon gave him a small smile. "There. One problem solved."
A surprised laugh escaped Acheron before he could stop it. "That isn't solving anything."
"It's solving the problem of you trying to make every possible decision before breakfast."
"I don't do that." Acheron ducked his head, a faint blush warming his cheeks.
"Of course not."
"You're making fun of me."
"Only a little."
Acheron tried to look offended, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him.
Eamon's smile lingered for another moment before his expression grew serious again.
"And if the doctor tells you something you don't understand, we'll ask them to explain it. If you need a moment, we'll take a moment. You don't have to pretend you're fine for my sake."
Something in Acheron's chest loosened. He had spent so much of the morning trying to prepare himself for the appointment that he hadn't considered the possibility of simply being afraid while he was there.
He didn't have to arrive brave.
He didn't have to know what he wanted before he heard the options.
He only had to show up.
"Okay," he murmured.
"Okay?"
Acheron nodded, a little more firmly this time.
"Okay."
"Good." Eamon leaned back in his chair. "Now, I believe we were discussing breakfast."
Acheron glanced down at the menu again, though the thought of food still did little to tempt him.
"I'm not sure I'm hungry."
"You don't have to order a full meal," Eamon assured him. "Something small might be a good idea, especially if you've barely slept."
"Okay," Acheron replied, letting out a soft, almost sheepish laugh.
"Okay." Eamon's smile warmed.
Acheron found himself relaxing beneath Eamon's gentle tone. The tension hadn't vanished completely, but it had stopped pressing so tightly against his ribs. He had known for a while that he felt comfortable around Eamon.
At first, he had assumed it was because Eamon was his lawyer. Eamon had listened to him when he'd struggled to explain what happened, had treated him with patience when he couldn't find the right words, and had never made him feel foolish for being afraid.
Trusting him had seemed natural.
But the more time they spent together, the harder it became to explain that comfort away as nothing more than professional trust.
They spoke about things that had nothing to do with the case. Eamon remembered the little details Acheron mentioned in passing. He listened to his rambling explanations about art, asked questions about his projects, and somehow managed to make even ordinary silences feel comfortable.
Lately, they had been spending time together simply because they wanted to. No particular reason beyond the simple fact that one of them had thought of the other. Acheron had begun to look forward to those moments more than he was willing to admit.
That realisation had frightened him at first.
Perhaps this was another reason he hadn't told his family how often he and Eamon saw each other. It was easier to keep the details to himself than to face the questions that might follow.
Especially when he wasn't sure he had the answers.
What exactly was Eamon to him?
A friend?
Something more?
Acheron wasn't ready to give the feeling a name. He wasn't even certain he could explain it properly to himself. But watching Eamon sit across from him, patiently waiting while he debated the merits of two different breakfast options, he found that the uncertainty didn't feel quite so frightening.
A soft smile touched his lips.
What?" Eamon asked.
Acheron startled slightly.
"Nothing."
"That looked suspiciously like something."
"I'm allowed to smile."
"You are. I simply wanted to know what I was being smiled at for."
Acheron's cheeks warmed.
"Maybe I'm smiling at the menu."
"The menu?"
"It's a very good menu."
Eamon glanced down at his own copy.
"I'm pleased to hear it. I'll have to congratulate the waitress."
"Don't you dare."
Eamon chuckled.
Acheron hid his smile behind the menu, grateful that it gave him somewhere to hide his face.