borrowed time

Chelsea Shang

He cast a wary glance at the hallway, where a librarian carefully carried the “CLOSED” sign to hang outside. “Are you sure we should be doing this—?” he repeated, for what felt like the thousandth time. “Shh. No one’ll know. Trust me.” “But—” “Shh.” He pressed a finger to his lips and grinned, face half-eclipsed by the shadows. His gaze, lit molten gold in the dim candlelight, flickered in undisguised excitement, even as he turned and slipped past the corner of his bookshelf, stepping into the beyond. In just a moment he was gone, and Rinet could no longer follow him with his eyes. It wasn’t that worrying. It really wasn’t supposed to be. Years of accompanying him in these ill-advised adventures meant he had long mastered the art of Aulis, of predicting what he was thinking, where he would go. It was easy to imagine him, too. His lithe figure, stalking forward in an oxymoronically clumsy elegance so unlike that of the heroes he admired, an adolescent boy overproficient in sneaking around in the exact places he shouldn’t be. But tonight there was something different. And maybe lacking object permanence wasn’t just a trait unique to infant children, because as Rinet watched him pass from light to dark to nothing, a wave of anxiety swept from his feet all the way into his head, feverish and uncomfortable. His feet walked automatically, and though his mind knew better, his body dashed forth, desperate, feet echoing across the empty. Familiar arms pulled him back. “Hey, stop,” a voice whispered urgently to him, and hands reached up to cover his mouth. He could feel his heartbeat against his back, steady, and all of the anxiety left him at once. “What are you doing? We gotta stay quiet—” “Is someone here?” someone called. “Oh, jeez,” Aulis muttered, and pulled him down to a crouch. The light came only seconds later, the telltale click of crescendoing heels alerting them to the presence of the librarian. Just as quickly as it had fled, the anxiety welcomed itself back. Worrying his lip, Rinet pressed himself further against the spines of the books, exhaling in slow, tight passes, breathing through a straw. And then she was gone, muttering under her breath i’m too tired for this shit or something, and life regranted them their license to exist. Only another second passed before the candles were breathed out of existence and the entire room went dark. Another quiet creak, another echoing thud— and finally, the library was silent. They were alone in the darkness. He was thankful immediately that they were so close together. He wasn’t too sure that he wouldn’t have panicked again. Aulis, on the other hand, seemed wholly content, and eased his right hand into his own. Come on, he said calmly, and guided him through the nothingness. His legs bumped eventually into something soft, and he was sat down onto a couch. A match flew into the fireplace and sparked slowly to life—before it died. “Hm,” came an unsatisfied noise. Another match sailed in and fizzled out. Again. Again. “... guess we’ll talk in the dark, then!” his friend said cheerfully, ignoring the fact that he’d just tried to breach possibly the biggest library safety rule ever. “A real shame to neglect all these books. But I suppose this’ll be nice in

its own way.” Fingers traveled over the back of his hand, then patted it. His touch was warm, like their first meeting. “That was fun.” “Terrifying, you mean,” Rinet said under his breath, though he allowed himself to slump against the other in a half-placated, half-exasperated daze. It felt nice. It felt right. It felt like he deserved to use Aulis as a pillow after all the unnecessary stress he’d just been put through. “Why’d we do that again? And why—” The bell began to toll rather loudly. “Why after hours?” “What?” Aulis said. “Something wrong with going after hours? It’s not like this is the first time you’ve accompanied me on dangerous things before.” He paused before a teasing smile blossomed over his face. “Unless you’re scared. ” “I—!” he started, then deflated. “I’m … I’m not scared.” Aulis hummed. “Then, you’re nervous.” “Yes?” He raised an eyebrow. “Only an irrational person would think it’s normal not to be nervous here.” “Huh. Guess I’m special, then. I’ll take it as a compliment.” “Wasn’t supposed to be one.” “Hey, you still came with me! And you haven’t left.” “I suppose,” he conceded. There was something about that that made him feel a little warm inside. Apple-cider warm on a cold day—pleasant but not overwhelming. “Still, answer my question. Why now?” “Isn’t that obvious? It’s different in the day. Too many rules!” A pause. “Besides, a guy can’t indulge in some danger from time to time? I discovered this place and wanted to introduce you to it when no one’s around to yell at us for doing foolish things.” A wisp of softness drew across his skin, cloth rustling as he waved his hands. Even though he couldn’t see him, he could imagine his energetic gesticulating. “Unfortunately, we can’t really see anything, which kind of ruins my plans. On the bright side, I don’t need a lamp to shed light on legends.” “Legends?” “Ahh, my friend, you didn’t know?” He sighed theatrically. The sound was loud this close, but in the dark, it was more soothing than anything else, to remember that they still remained with each other. “Legend says that people who spend a night here become friends for eternity. Beyond life, beyond death … beyond the concept of existence itself.” The weight against his side shifted again, making itself more comfortable. “Huh.” Beyond everything, huh. Far-fetched as it sounded, the idea did enthrall him. “That’s amazing.” “Right? If you’d read the book I lent you a week ago, Rin, you’d know exactly how amazing, too.” A gentle pressure tapped him on the nose, affectionate, light. He leaned back at that with a laugh. He was glad for the darkness now, because it helped him hide the ridiculous smile on his face a little bit more. “No, it was like a thousand pages long. I’d die,” he said instead, and felt the couch tremble before a burst of cackling laughter split the silence. It was an unrestrained sort of laugh, totally undignified and completely imageshattering. It was the exact way Aulis was when he didn’t have to maintain a facade of upper-class politeness. It was how he liked him. “It wasn’t that long. It was only a little over nine hundred pages. Took me a couple of days.” “Wha—” Rinet sat all the way up. “I didn’t think you were serious! And you finished it?” Aulis blinked. “Yeah?” “Where did you even find the time.” Rinet sighed loudly, on purpose, much to

the amusement of Aulis. “I hope you didn’t sacrifice your sleep for that.” “What can I say. I’m a night owl.” “Dumbass.” He had to feel around for a moment before he could properly flick him on the forehead. Aulis blocked him with a well-practiced motion anyway, but it was the principle of the matter. “... just to be sure, though,” he said after a while. “You’re not just pulling my leg or something about that legend?” It was an incredibly cheesy story, the kind he’d chalk up to fairy tales, but he sort of wanted it to be true. “Of course not. I brought you here because I believed in it. And I figured it’d be nice to spend some time together away from everything else.” His tone was oddly fond before it snapped back to its usual lilting flair. “Besides, I’d never lie to you, Rin.” Rinet snorted. “Now that’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.” “Well, that’s quite rude of you,” he said, leaning closer, absent of malice. They sat together for another few moments, comfortable in the silence. It was this exact kind of physical tranquility and peace that he appreciated—a moment of respite amongst a life of trying, constantly and without rest, to avoid anything that might aggravate him. And as their quiet togetherness stretched on, he found himself appreciating even the darkness. It was something about the sheer lack of things. For once, he was absent of sight, except for the faint outlines of their hands before them. Absent of touch, except for Aulis’s hair tickling his cheek. Absent of hearing, except for their breathing, together, sharing air, sharing everything. As an artist, it was common that he perceived too much, too much, too much. But it was not so anymore, and he had to admit to himself that this, right here, right now, was the closest he could get to being happy, just for himself. “Do you remember the first time we met?” Aulis said, laying to rest the thoughts, the feelings, the silence. “You were a real midget.” His voice attained that teasing tone again, in that I-shall-cause-problems-on-purpose way. “You still are, you know.” Rinet cringed despite himself. “No, I’m not. I’m the same height as you.”

“As an artist, it was common “Nah. Unlike you, I actually know how to that he perceived too much, too walk around in heeled shoes.” much, too much. But it was not so “You ...!” Aulis had won. It was the logical anymore, and he had to admit to loss and the emotional victory. Aulis’s shoulders himself that this, right here, right now, was the closest he could get to shook in laughter. “T-that aside!” Rinet cleared his throat. “The day we met,” and he smiled slightly. “Yeah, I rebeing happy, just for himself.” member.” His eyelids fell shut, and his shoulders relaxed, tempered soft by sentiment. “I was at the peak of Sforza. Painting. And you—you came up and kicked over my entire bucket of acrylics.” “Sure did.” “You could afford to sound a little sorry about it,” he chastised without anger. “Can’t spend my whole life feeling bad about the things I did. Besides,” he said, and his lips quirked upwards. “It’s the reason we met. I can’t regret something like that.” “I’m glad I met you, too.” It was weird, he thought, how he felt so much

more comfortable saying these things when he could not be perceived. But then again, he was his only real friend. Sometimes he worried he was too harsh even in jest—that he’d hurt him, or push him away. “Oh—I’m kind of curious, though.” Aulis hummed in a familiar go on sort of gesture. “Why were you there? It’s not every day that people go up that mountain. Especially with your family situation and all.” Aulis looked at Rinet then, and remembered the sleepy droop of his eyes, the wrinkle of his eyebrows barely visible yet still so familiar that he’d long memorized the look of it. The curly black of his hair remained the most striking, however, and he couldn’t help himself as he reached out to ruffle it. It was also to distract himself, in a way, from this. In the background, the clock ticked on, and moonbeams danced from window to floor, phantombright yet omnipresent. “Well,” he answered finally. “It’s not gonna surprise you that I snuck out. But there’s more to it, I admit.” He paused, then chose his next words as carefully as possible. “See, I actually saw you earlier that day.” Rinet sat up, surprised. “You did?” “Yeah.” He remembered nearly every second of that day in full. Making his bed in just the right way to look as if he were still asleep, clambering out the window, booking it for his favorite place in the world—and then being interrupted, mid-stairstep, by one of the most haphazard-looking human beings in the world. “You walked into me, and we talked! Admittedly, it was a short exchange.” He waited expectantly for a response. “Oh,” Rinet said. He snorted. “Yeah, just like that.” “Don’t pick on me.” “It wasn’t a long meeting.” He thought of the wide-eyed look the young Rinet had worn before smoothing over his expression and apologizing politely to him, so different from their almost playful banter in the days of now. “But I kinda thought it was fate.” He looked away and smiled to himself, because that childhood belief was no longer just fate. “It was the first time I’d been able to sneak out and stay unfound for a while! You were the first person I was able to talk to unsupervised. So I figured I’d hunt you down and help you out later.” “Wow. I’m honored.” “Wow is right. You had no idea you were speaking to your future best friend.” “Well—” Rinet said automatically, habitually, before he faltered. “No, you’re right. Jeez. Such a small thing was the reason we met, huh.” He fell silent. Aulis wondered if he was thinking about how things might have been if they hadn’t had an accident that day, because he was thinking that, too. Would they have ever gone to this place together? Would they be here now, conversing in the dark? Would they be so willing to be close with each other, to cuddle? Rinet would never say that, he knew. Too many connotations wrapped up in one word. But it was the reality, wasn’t it? It was an odd thing, their relationship. Still, Aulis was content to simply keep it here—at this strange place between what most would call friendship and love, labelless, undefined. Because they were both most comfortable this way, and that was what mattered the most in the end. Rinet was still staring at him; he could tell. As much as it entertained him that he liked his face so much, Aulis made a decision. “Zoning off on me?” He cocked his head, a slight laugh in his voice. “I’m flattered.” “Huh? Wait, no, um.” Rinet coughed, tongue-tied in his fluster. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

“About what?” “I mean, I guess it makes sense. But—well—” He chose his words carefully. “Not that I’m doubting you or anything. But we’ve only gone there twice since then and both times, you complained about it the whole way. And I know you can’t stand the cold.” He exhaled. “I guess what I mean to say is— that’s a lot of effort for tracking down some kid you ran over on the stairs. It’s one of the steepest ranges in Sonatina. I had trouble climbing it, even.” Aulis fell silent for a long moment, and his body tensed. Rinet opened his eyes, concerned, trying to find his gaze. He lost himself in the dark instead. “... Aulis?” he asked tentatively. His head raised, and he smiled from somewhere above. It was the first time in years that Rinet couldn’t read his smile. “Well,” he said at last. “I guess if there’s any time to admit it, it’s now.” He paused, took a deep breath. “I wanted to destroy you.” Suddenly, Rinet couldn’t hear the ticking of the clock anymore. “You … what?” Aulis wasn’t looking at him. “What—” Emotions, too much, too violent, threatened to shatter him from within, and he struggled to keep his voice calm. Because he couldn’t. Not now. Not when he finally thought he had a—”What does that mean?” “I’m sorry. It’s not what you think, though, I promise.” Aulis’s breath ghosted across the air, empty, gone. Rinet could not think. “And more importantly, things did change! But it’s true. The day I approached you, I—” He still wasn’t looking at him. “My dream was and still is to become a writer. You know that.” He didn’t respond. He couldn’t really feel his body anymore. “You know,” and Aulis pulled away slightly. “My family never approved of the kind of stories I liked to read, and up til I met you, I’d spent pretty much my whole life with them, unable to exercise my own freedom or thought. When I finally left that place and saw you, I—well—saw you as an opportunity.” He rested a hand on his chin, then gave up and pulled his knees to his chest. “Lots of people say it’s hard to befriend an author, because so many of us look to life for inspiration. I wanted to find that someone for me too, I guess. To psychoanalyze. Even as a simple nine-year-old child.” He sighed. “It wasn’t so simple, though. And I’m glad it wasn’t.” The world felt mute to him, still. Aulis’s words carried, but Rinet could only barely comprehend them, as he were speaking a foreign language. But then again, wasn’t he speaking a foreign language? Who was this? What kind of weakness had he perceived in him that day? The whisper slipped out. “Do you still …?” He feared the answer. “No! No, of course not.” The answer came immediately. Aulis turned to look at him, and they were so close now—but he was uncomposed, for once. That ever-present grin, the indicator Rinet had come to recognize as confidence and control, was gone—he looked nearly anguished. “I was a dumb kid. You know my family—I grew up thinking the world was mine to mess around with. That was wrong of me, I know now. More importantly,” and his voice dropped, near-silent. “I would never do that to you.” “You brought me here.” Was he trying to convince himself? “I did. I guess I don’t know if it’s worth anything anymore,” he said quietly, and despite himself something in him—in them—broke. “But I brought you here because I care. Because we’re friends. Beyond this,” and he taps the couch. “Beyond Sonata,” and he gestures briefly to the ceiling. “Beyond everything. Life. Death.” He stared ahead at the lack of things—the thing that had suddenly become oppressive to Rinet again, as soon as Aulis had told him those five words. “I still want that. I—that was in the past. You under-

stand, right?” There was a silent plea in that unseen figure. How long, he wanted to ask. What was real? What was not? So many of their earliest memories—so many of the things he had privately treasured, held close to his heart in his worst moments—suddenly felt profoundly tainted, marked, impossible. It was tempting to just ask him everything. To interrogate him until he found out everything. To know, to know, to know. But even as he thought about these things, he felt exhaustion setting in further, deeper, into his bones. He looked through Aulis, and then through the darkness, and then through the void. Would knowing do him any better, now? Knowing the poison of the past, and injecting his own veins with it, because he worried about how truthful their relationship was? Would he lose him? “It’s … all right, Aulis.” Rinet turned to watch him. The moonbeams were receding now, but perhaps it didn’t matter. He leaned close, observing his red hair and shadowed golden eyes and familiar dress, and remembered different memories. It was still him, right? Even if he hadn’t quite been who he’d thought in the very beginning. It was still the boy who he accompanied thousands of times to the same bookstore—the boy who taught him it was okay to chase his own happiness no matter how other people saw it—the boy who’d helped teach him big, difficult, words and shared with him books that he’d never seen before and accompanied him on nearly all of his trips outside, even if his parents would have yelled at him if they’d known. It was still him. “Because it’s still you,” he echoed himself, faintly. Nothing else mattered. “It’s okay,” he repeated, stronger this time, hating how weak his own voice sounded, despite knowing what he should do. The right thing to do. “Aulis. I—we can talk about this later. But I want to be your friend, too. We’ve been friends for so long. Whatever happened in the beginning doesn’t matter.” “Do you really believe that?” His voice was small. So small. Yet still, the room was smaller. Rinet leaned against him and closed his eyes.