Page 171 of The Menagerie

“I’m okay. Sorry for going MIA,” Rowan tells him with a halfhearted laugh that Mal ignores.

“What the hell happened, man? Your coworker—Addison?—told me you were sick but wouldn’t give me any details.”

For a moment, Rowan’s stunned. “You went to my work?”

“Yeah, course I did. Thought you fuckin’ ghosted me or… died or something.”

“Not dead. Definitely didn’t intend to ghost you, either.”

“What happened?”

“I was sick. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

“I w—” Mal starts, and Rowan’s glad he doesn’t finish because it’s clear hewasworried. Worried enough to text and call him a couple dozen times and even go to his work. “What had you so sick that you couldn’t even text me back, Rowan? The flu or something?”

“It’s….”

Rowan takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. One, two, three in, four, five, six out. He hadn’t wanted to tell Mal atall, but with everything that Mal’s shared with him, it seems wrong to hide it from him any longer. And to be honest, a big part of him is tired of hiding it. He’s wanted Mal to be more than a hookup to him for a while now, and trusting him with this is the first real step to getting there. Now instead of feeling backed into a corner like he thought he might feel, he wants Mal to know. Tounderstand.

“It wasn’t a cold or anything. I’m….” He tries again. “I’ve got depression. Like my mom had. Major depressive disorder, it’s called. Got diagnosed when I was a teenager. Later got diagnosed with PTSD from all the shit I did when I was younger. Makes me go crazy sometimes. See things. Get angry. Feel like shit, you name it.”

For a long moment, there’s nothing but silence on the other end.

And finally, when Rowan’s lip is bitten raw with worry, Mal replies, “Okay.”

“Okay.” No shock or disgust or any of the dozen other things Rowan had been expecting to color Mal’s voice.

“But you’re okay now? Just had… like, an episode or whatever?”

“I… yeah.” His head’s spinning with questions he wants to ask. “Couldn’t get out of bed or do much of anything. Sometimes it gets worse than the usual run-of-the-mill depression I’ve got.”

“You on meds for it? I remember you said your mom wasn’t.”

“I am. I’m good about taking ’em, mostly. But the past few weeks have been kinda rough. Y’know… emotional.”

There’s a sharp breath in on the other end of the line. “Was it cause’a….”

Steven.

“Partially, yeah. Didn’t really think it affected me all that much till I felt like garbage.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Red.”

“Not your fault. I shoulda… shoulda told you a while ago.”

Mal doesn’t tell him that Rowan doesn’t owe it to him to tell him about his life, but Rowan hears it anyway in the strangled sound he makes. But what Mal says is, “Why didn’t you?”

Rowan shrugs before he realizes that Mal can’t see him.

“Guess I didn’t want you to think I was batshit crazy or, like… not able to be a good Dom or something.”

“Well, I know you’re batshit crazy, knew that shit after the gangbang,” Mal jokes.

Rowan snorts out a soft laugh, the first time he’s done so in well over a week. It feels good to laugh again. To laugh with Mal again.

“And you’ve been… fuck, the best Dom I’ve ever had, so I dunno what you were worried about, man,” Mal adds.

The sincerity of the statement makes a puddle of warmth ripple in Rowan’s belly.

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