Page 125 of Under Construction

That night, like every night lately, Chris prowls the apartment after Dennis "falls asleep." His cat-quiet steps thunder in Dennis’s ears. The mattress feels massive, arctic, without Chris's warmth beside him.

Chris's phone buzzes constantly. Each time, he startles like he's been shocked.

"Everything okay?" Dennis asks once, and Chris's "Fine!" comes too sharp, too fast. He softens it with a kiss to Dennis’s temple, but the damage is done.

Monday, Chris is gone before sunrise again. By noon, Dennis’s phone buzzes:

Feeling really sick. Heading home to rest.

Dennis calls immediately. Once, twice, three times. Nothing.

Maybe Chris has already taken something and passed out. Maybe he just needs sleep.

Maybe Dennis is getting better at lying to himself.

That night, Chris's call comes through raspy and weak. "Baby, I don't want you to catch anything. As much as this kills me, I think we need to stay in different apartments for a while."

"No, let me look after you."

"You need to handle these permits and the site if I'm not there to hold down the fort."

"But I'll miss you…"

"Baby, I miss you already. I know I haven't been the best company lately with everything that's going on, and now this. But I'll make it up to you, okay?"

Dennis’s own bed feels foreign that night, sheets too crisp, pillows too firm. He wakes up aching for Chris's morning kisses, the sleepy way Chris pulls him close, how Chris's hands always find him in the dark.

Beyond the physical need, beyond missing Chris's touch and taste and the way Chris makes him feel precious—he just misses Chris.

His calls go straight to voicemail for days. When he finally texts:

Coming to make sure you're still alive

Chris responds instantly:

Please don't, princess. Doctor says it's flu. Last thing you need right now.

After that, Chris sends regular updates:

Feeling better

Taking meds

Getting rest

Dennis tries again:

Let me bring you some food at least

Bzzz.

No! Can't risk you getting sick too. With all the permit drama, it would only set you back. I'm OK, promise.

And Dennis believes. He wants to believe.

36Confrontations

Five nights in his own apartment have stretched endlessly.

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