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That night, Ramy made Robin sleep up against the wall. It’d only been that single puff of opium, but neither of them knew just how long the effects would last, or if they’d get worse. Usually, Robin was restless at night, always hanging his arm or leg straight off the bed. But Ramy knew it was better for him to be on the inside tonight. At least this way, if Robin woke up in the middle of the night high and confused, Ramy could prevent him from stumbling out into the hallway.
But really, Robin embarrassing himself was the least of Ramy’s concerns. Of course, he didn’t want anyone finding out that Robin had impulsively decided to smoke opium, but he was also scared of the chance that Robin would sneak out and smoke some more. And he didn’t want Robin going out alone, journeying too far, not thinking twice about a fateful drop.
The room didn’t have a window, giving the sense that they were stuffed inside a spare cupboard. Perhaps if there had been some hint of the moon, some portal to outside, Ramy could’ve been distracted enough to fall asleep or stop overthinking. But there was far too much to think about and not enough time during the day to do so.
He’d been angry. But angry was probably an understatement. It was the type of anger that came with betrayal mixed in with disappointment, hurt— a selfish anger. Robin had kept the Hermes Society to himself for three whole years, and Ramy hadn’t picked up on him keeping a secret in all that time. Some part of his anger was at his own blissful ignorance, too.
Though, with this trip to Canton, rage was fizzling out, shifting into something far more territorial. It had become quite clear to Ramy just how little Robin had been taught to respect himself, and just how much Professor Lovell treated him not as his student or son, but as a soldier. Robin had his reasons for not telling him about Hermes, just like Ramy had his own. But it was apparent after tonight they were only safe with one another: safe in an unconditional way. Robin had probably wanted to avoid ruining the only thing that was stable in his life. There had been so much conflict lately with less ways to resolve them— Ramy understood why Robin wouldn’t have risked any more.
If only Ramy knew more than basic Cantonese. Then, he could’ve focused on eavesdropping the muffled conversations coming through the walls– not Robin’s hand that was lightly resting on his shoulder, or his breaths brushing against his skin. He wouldn’t have had to think about how badly he wanted to wrap Robin up in his arms, where no one would’ve been able to tell where one began and the other ended. He could’ve stopped picturing about what could happen if they simply gave in. If they let all those accidental touches become intentional. If they were brave enough to lean in instead of looking away when they stared at each other too long. Maybe it would’ve made everything that tore them up inside vanish. Or, it would’ve made things worse.
But even all of those thoughts felt inconsequential compared to the sight of Robin standing over a ledge, a strong gust of wind enough to lose him. Ramy would forever be plagued by this scene; the resignation in Robin’s eyes, the frustration that had melted into a helpless hollowness. Ramy had been too overwhelmed to panic– he was too far away to grab Robin without startling him. And just because he liked to call him Birdie didn’t mean he actually believed he could fly.
Of course he had noticed things getting worse. But it had been easy to write off as stress from coursework or the sort of universal fear of what came after a diploma. Ramy hadn’t understood just how poorly Robin was coping. And it was one of those things that didn’t have one clear reason— they couldn’t draw linguistic trees and find the roots to their pain. Colonialism was a word too broad. Racism was a word too cheap. It was all those things and more— a dehumanizing hatred that did its job well. There wasn’t a perfect word assigned to that feeling. And if that drove Ramy crazy, he could only imagine how maddening it was for Robin.
It doesn’t feel like we have the right to be alive.
How was Ramy supposed to respond to that? Why was life another thing Robin thought had to be earned? But instead of arguing, instead of reaching up and dragging him to the earth, Ramy calmly spoke reason until Robin found himself back on solid ground. He didn’t want to think about what was going to happen whenever he wasn’t there to say the right words.
”Ramy.”
The fingers around Ramy’s shoulder twitched, then tightened. Robin was dreaming. Ramy didn’t know if it was a nightmare or not, couldn’t see the telltale signs of worry and frowns in the dark, but he reached up and circled the back of Robin’s hand with his thumb anyway.
“Right here,” he whispered, like a joke. He knew Robin couldn’t hear him, but maybe he’d remember it sometime down the line when Ramy couldn’t be found.
Robin curled closer to him, furrowing under his arm. Ramy breathed through his mouth, afraid he’d somehow breathe too loudly and break the spell. Once he was certain Robin would stay asleep, Ramy pulled him into his side and shifted, settling his chin on the top of Robin’s head. His hair had gotten long, but it was smooth and untangled even after days without combing it. He could still smell the sweetness from the opium smoke, Robin’s earthy scent underneath. Baths were far and in between in Canton, but Ramy found he didn’t mind as much as he should’ve. He had an urge, an obligation, almost, to kiss his hair. No one would ever know. And he was almost certain Robin would’ve wanted him to. But Ramy knew that if he let it happen once, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from letting it happen again and again.
They’d been young once. When they first arrived in Oxford, they hadn’t even grown to their full height yet. They had still been shedding baby fat. But they weren’t too young to start being trained by Babel, to fit the mold that had been carved out since before they were even born at all. They were adults now. Old enough to stop blushing over crushes and certainly old enough to act on them. There was so much to feel ashamed over– their skin, their studies, where they belonged; Ramy was tired of feeling ashamed over this too.
Ramy couldn’t tell whether coming clean about Hermes was bringing all of them closer together or was wedging new challenges. He wasn’t sure if they’d ever truly belong in the Hermes society– just like he wasn’t sure if they’d ever belong at Babel, or in Canton, or in Calcutta either. Maybe nowhere was meant to be home. Maybe that was the whole point of taking them from their countries before they had a chance to be loyal to them.
With his other hand, Ramy cupped it at the back of Robin’s head, letting his fingers fall through the ends of his hair, toying with it, seeing if it could curl. He knew it was all rather cliché– feeling like you didn’t belong at a place, but with a person– but it was the only thing he was sure of, lying there in the dark, holding Robin. They had started Oxford together, had been together since– together would have to be how it’d end, too.
He talked himself into it. He pressed his lips against Robin’s crown. He was sure he imagined Robin’s body relaxing as a response to it. He was sure he imagined Robin returning the kiss to his chest. And he was sure he imagined another whispered Ramy, like Robin hadn’t been asleep at all, and his own breathless Birdie back.