As It Was

Chandler

"Your MRI results have returned with excellent news, and the consistent effort you've put into your weekly physical therapy sessions is clearly paying off. Given your remarkable progress in recent weeks, I believe it's now safe for you to transition to performing light exercises at home instead of visiting our office directly." Dr. Perez's face lit up with satisfaction as he spoke to me from across the room. His glasses sat perfectly on his nose, and his pristine white coat mirrored the one he wore during our previous check-up a couple of weeks ago.

"That's fantastic!" My mother exclaimed with a beaming smile, seated to my left and gripping my hand tightly in excitement. "What does this mean for Chandler moving forward? Should he still refrain from engaging in work and other activities?" Her words flowed incessantly, as if I were a child unable to voice my thoughts, prompting me to affectionately roll my eyes.

Despite my suggestion that Henry could conveniently drop me off at the hospital before work and arrange for a ride back home afterward, my mother insisted on accompanying me to the appointment. I couldn't help but feel guilty about denying her the comfort and reassurance she evidently sought from being present during the appointment.

Dr. Perez cleared his throat and adjusted his thick, black-rimmed glasses before delivering his prognosis. "Considering Mr. Lee's remarkable recovery, I would recommend he gradually return to work in approximately three to four weeks. However, it would be advisable to start with shorter shifts initially, minimizing exposure to excessive stress. Given the absence of any concerning symptoms or adverse effects thus far, resuming driving activities in a few weeks seems feasible, provided there is no deterioration in his condition."

"I'm glad to hear that," I replied with a polite smile, attempting to push aside the growing unease in my chest. Despite the positive news I had just received, an inexplicable sense of dread weighed heavily on me, causing my stomach to churn with somethin akin to dread.

I knew what this meant, even though I was trying to deny it.

As my mother gushed over the news, squeezing my knee with her frail hand, a mix of conflicting emotions choked me. On one hand, I understood her joy and relief at the prospect of me regaining my independence and returning to a more normal life. Her laughter, intertwined with Dr. Perez's, filled the room, creating an atmosphere of shared happiness. However, beneath the surface, the sense of sorrow continued to gnaw at me, making it difficult to fully embrace the moment. Despite their joy, I couldn't shake the lingering fear that lay dormant within me.

I tried to laugh along with them, but my stomach was twisting wildly inside. It was beginning to feel like too much at once, and all I wanted was to get back to Henry's apartment and curl up on the couch until he got home.

Pathetic? Maybe.

Did I care? Surprisingly, no.

With each passing day, it seemed like my once steadfast pride was slipping away, gradually fading into the background. I found myself reduced to a vulnerable state, like a whimpering puppy longing for attention, eagerly awaiting the arrival of his petite owner whom held the key to its fleeting sense of self-worth. It was a humbling experience, one that left me feeling small and insignificant, unable to muster the strength to reclaim my former confidence.

After the jovial atmosphere settled, the tall, middle-aged man gracefully rose from his seat, adjusting his immaculate coat with precision. He approached me, his voice carrying a sense of reassurance and guidance. "I believe it's time for you to gradually reintroduce regular routines into your daily life. Engage in social activities and savor the joy of being among others. However, remember to prioritize your well-being and take things at a comfortable pace. If any unexpected symptoms arise, don't hesitate to seek immediate medical attention. We will continue monitoring your progress with check-ups every two months throughout the year to ensure a smooth recovery."

"Of course. Thank you, Dr. Perez." I shook his hand firmly and stood from my seat as my mother did the same.

"Don't forget to continue your physical therapy exercises at home at least a few times a week," he gently reminded me as we made our way toward the room's exit. "Consistently building your strength will only aid in your recovery process. I wish you the very best and a fantastic remainder of the day."

"Yes, sir," I nodded respectfully, a grateful smile on my face as he excused himself. "Thank you, take care."

As we made our way to the parking lot, my mother's voice became distant, mere murmurs that blended into the background. My mind was overwhelmed with a whirlwind of thoughts, making it difficult to process them all at once.

I should have been overflowing with happiness. It was a moment I had been eagerly waiting for—to reclaim my life and regain my independence. The need for constant supervision and assistance would soon be a thing of the past. I could gradually reintroduce my old routine and before I knew it, I would be driving, working, and living on my own once again. The possibilities were endless, yet this lingering unease tugged at my heart, casting a shadow on my elation.

Everything could go back to normal.

Except, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise, I couldn't escape the nagging feeling that "normal" was a distant memory. The accident had altered the course of my life, leaving an indelible mark on my existence. The truth was, there was no returning to the way things were before. Everything had shifted, and I had changed along with it. The notion of resuming my old routine felt like an illusion, as if I were grasping at fragments of a past that no longer fit into the present reality. I had to come to terms with the fact that moving forward meant embracing a new version of normalcy, one that would require adaptation and acceptance.

On another note, I found myself increasingly captivated by the dynamics unfolding between Henry and me, at least within the confines of my own thoughts. It became apparent that whatever was transpiring between us couldn't be easily dismissed or resolved overnight.

These unfamiliar emotions clung to me tenaciously, refusing to fade away. I was aware, perhaps more than I'd liked to admit, that they carried a weight and significance that surpassed mere friendship. Initially, I tried to downplay and dismiss them, attributing their existence to a temporary confusion—a muddled intertwining of seeking solace from my closest companion with something deeper. However, as time went on, it became evident that these feelings were evolving into something resembling a tangled mass of knots.

The situation was far from simple. The web of emotions had woven itself intricately, defying simple categorization or explanation. As much as I wished I could ignore or simplify these complexities, they demanded my attention, urging me to confront the truth that something profound had begun to develop between us, demanding my attention

The uncertainty of how to navigate this newfound emotional burden weighed heavily on my shoulders, filling me with an unsettling amount of fear. It had become an intricate balancing act, trying to move forward in the face of this enigma that now occupied my thoughts and heart.

The fear stemmed from the realization that I couldn't simply go back to the way things were. The path ahead was uncharted, and I felt a profound sense of vulnerability as I grappled with the complexities of these evolving emotions. How could I maintain my equilibrium while carrying this unspoken connection with Henry, unsure of its implications and consequences?

The fear wasn't rooted in a desire to reject or escape these feelings, but rather in the unknown territory they represented. It was the uncertainty of what lay ahead, the potential for joy or heartache, and the courage it would take to confront and embrace the truth of my emotions. Moving forward meant acknowledging and navigating this raw emotional landscape, and that, above all, was what frightened me the most.

"Chandler?" My mother's voice jolted me back to reality, causing me to startle slightly. Having been preoccupied with my thoughts, I hadn't even noticed that we'd reached her car. Unsurprisingly, she noticed my distracted state and asked with concern, "Is something troubling you?"

"Everything's fine," I reassured her, forcing a small smile to mask the whirlwind of emotions inside me. "It's just a lot to process all at once, you know? I know we got great news but all these changes... it's just a bit overwhelming."

"I'm sure it is, darling," she sympathized, her voice filled with warmth as we settled into the vehicle. "You've gone though so much, but you have to remind yourself that these obstacles only strengthen us in the end. If you ever forget that, you have your friends and family to help you remember again." As much as my mother let our conversations trample into emotional territory often, she could tell that I wasn't exactly in the headspace to get too deep into it. Lightening the mood in the way she did best, she suggested, "How about we treat ourselves to some brunch, just you and me? We could use some quality mommy-and-son time, don't you think?"

I genuinely laughed for the first time that day, glancing over at my mother's slightly aged face. Her usually bright eyes and impeccably sculpted cheeks now carried a touch of wrinkles, evidence of the stress she had endured during the accident and my recovery. My heart sank, realizing that I bore a part of the responsibility for the toll it had taken on her. She appeared older and more drained than I had ever seen her before.

However, one thing remained constant, and that was her infectious smile. Her straight teeth shimmered at me, lips curling into a mischievous little smirk that I had inherited. I returned her smile easily and reached out, gently grasping her hand that rested on the steering wheel before giving it a tender squeeze.

"That sounds great, Mom." She let out an exuberant little cheer and started the car, smoothly maneuvering out of the parking spot and heading towards the exit of the lot with the enthusiasm of a delighted child promised a sweet treat.

Despite the mess of thoughts surrounding Henry and the apprehension of moving forward, I made a conscious effort to set them aside for the time being. Being with my mother for only a couple of hours made me realize just how much I missed her. Typically only seeing her on weekends when she and my father didn't have any work, I was forced to accept the fact that, no matter how much I tried to appear tough on the outside, I was still a boy deep down who needed motherly comfort every now and then. I needed to know that I was going to be okay in the way that only a parental figure can do without having to be asked. For the first time in a while, I acknowledged that I deserved to relax and take things one stride at a time. For the remainder of the morning, I relished the opportunity to immerse myself in quality time with my mother, free from the burdens that plagued my mind. It was a chance to simply be present and enjoy the company of the person who had always been there for me, offering comfort and support in both good times and bad. Perhaps I could provide some comfort for her as well.

Thursday night came quicker than I'd liked. Each day since my appointment with Dr. Perez seemed to whizz by quicker, the usual slow and dragging hours waiting for Henry to get home from work fleeting by in what felt like only a couple of hours.

Every morning ticked another day off the calendar, leaving a bad taste in my mouth as I was constantly reminded by the fact that I no longer had an excuse to stick around like a poor little victim for an unknown amount of time.

I chose to withhold the full extent of the news from Henry during dinner that evening. When he asked about my appointment, I provided him with a vague summary, mentioning my progress in recovery and the continuation of physical therapy at home. However, I deliberately omitted the details that I could potentially return to work in a few weeks and regain my independence by moving back to my own apartment. It wasn't that I didn't trust Henry or value his opinion; rather, I needed time to process the weight of these decisions on my own before sharing them with him because we both knew what the next step would be.

It was horribly selfish, but I wasn't ready to leave this all behind just yet. Henry, perceptive as always, sensed my reluctance to delve deeper into the topic. He respected my boundaries and chose not to press me for more details, instead letting the conversation come to a natural close. With a sigh of relief, he flashed me a warm, understanding smile that illuminated his features in the soft glow of the dining room. I appreciated his ability to read me so well, sometimes even better than I could read myself. It was one of the many reasons why he had become such an integral part of my life.

As the credits of another episode of our favorite childhood cartoon, 'Adventure Time', rolled on the screen, I let out a contented yawn and stretched my arms above my head, feeling a satisfying 'pop' in my back. The fatigue from the day's events was catching up to me, and the comforting presence of Henry by my side only added to my sense of relaxation.

Eyes shifting to the left, I noticed Henry concentrated on something he'd been reading on his phone. All evening, his attention had been focused elsewhere, head in the clouds. Curiosity piqued, I shifted closer to the shorter man, trying to catch a glimpse of what had been capturing his gaze. His brows furrowed slightly as he began to type, fingers dancing across the screen with an intensity that shocked me. I couldn't help but wonder what could be so captivating that it drew him away from our usual shared moments of laughter and nostalgia.

Was he bored of me?

On several occasions, I couldn't help but notice Henry's gentle smile as he became engrossed in whatever was gravitating him to the device.

I didn't think much of it at first. I did find it strange how he seemed to be so distracted by it, though. Henry wasn't much of a tech-type person. He used his phone to text or call you if he needed to, but he wasn't one for using social media much or playing games. Especially when with company, he seldom used his phone. He valued the time he spent with others, which is something I always admired about him.

Still, though, I didn't really consider this sudden change over the last couple of days to be anything more than maybe speaking to a friend or colleague about something of relative importance.

I sighed a bit dramatically, throwing my left leg onto his lap. He didn't respond to my action, fingers still typing away deftly as his eyes remained on the screen of his phone.

I grunted, heaving my other leg up as well, expecting some sort of reaction- only to receive nothing. Instead, his pink lips parted slightly to reveal a precious, tiny smile as his honey eyes danced across the screen at something he read.

My brows furrowed in confusion. Who the hell was he so interested in talking to that he didn't even notice my insistent movements?

I sat upright, leaning my upper body toward his swiftly and narrowing my eyes as I studied him silently for a moment. Still lost in his own little world, I lurched forward and tickled his sides where he was most sensitive, knowing I would surely get a reaction out of him this way.

He startled, letting out a surprised yelp as he doubled over and attempted to free himself from my playful grip, his face contorting with laughter as his infectious mirth filled the room.

"Chandler!" He squealed, "S-stop it!" I gave in after a few seconds, pulling my hands away reluctantly and allowed a gentle smile to spread on my face as I watched his small form dive for his phone that he'd accidentally thrown across the couch when I'd sneak-attacked him a few moments prior.

He unlocked it, eyes widening comically before he looked over at me and smacked my chest lightly, "You made me accidentally send a text!" I chuckled heartily as he shot me a not-so-scary glare and groaned as he typed away on his phone once again, assumingly apologizing for whatever message I'd caused him to send in his moment of surprise.

However, he still had a ghost of a smile on his lips as his fingers ghosted across the glass of the device, clearly forgiving me despite my actions.

"Who the hell are you texting so much?" I leaned forward to try and glimpse at his screen, "Your new boyfriend?" I teased him, the words coming out slightly sour on my tongue but sounding familiar and much like all the other times I'd teased him in the past.

Abruptly, his smile faded, and the atmosphere in the room shifted, transitioning from lighthearted and cozy to an unsettling chill, as if a frosty breeze had swept through.

I quirked my brow at him, trying to read the strange look on his face that seemed to be draining of color with every second. However, a masochistic curiosity inside me pushed. Something in my gut told me to let it go- that nothing good would come from what was surely about to unfold after what I said next.

I should've listened to my gut.

"What," I tried to nonchalantly tease, crossing a line that I surely wasn't ready to be on the other side of, "Got a hot date or something, Henry boy?"

He stood up, coughing slightly into his fist as he spluttered at my words. He avoided my eyes at all costs, leaning over to busy himself with plucking the dirty dishes from the coffee table before standing upright and turning to retreat to the kitchen.

Perplexed, I furrowed my brows, my confusion growing. This was not his usual response to my jokes. Normally, he would brush them off with a playful eye-roll or a light slap on my shoulder, followed by a dismissive comment like, "Oh, shut the hell up." Something was definitely amiss.

However, halfway to the entrance of the kitchen, he abruptly halted and turned around, his eyes locking with mine. In that fleeting moment, I could discern a mass of emotions swirling within his gaze, too complex for me to decipher all at once. There was a hint of vulnerability, a touch of hesitation, and something else that I couldn't quite place- perhaps sadness. It left me yearning to unravel the enigma behind their deep honey color.

I didn't even have time to gather my thoughts and formulate a coherent sentence to inquire what what wrong before Henry's facial expression alone virtually smacked me from cheek-to-cheek. He blinked, and in that simple action, his face transformed into an unnerving mask of stoicism. The warmth and playfulness that had characterized our evening suddenly vanished, replaced by an impenetrable façade that sent a shiver down my spine. It was as if a door had slammed shut, blocking me from the emotions that had flickered in his eyes just moments before.

His lips parted, and a knot formed in the pit of my stomach, a sense of apprehension creeping over me. Deep down, I found myself hoping that he would choose silence over words, that he would turn around and simply continue with our routine, allowing me to follow him into the kitchen and offer my assistance in cleaning up. I longed for the familiarity of our domestic tasks, the comfort they provided, and the way they had defined our interactions in the past few weeks. But as the seconds ticked by, it became clear that the words were inevitable, and the air between us grew heavy with anticipation.

I wasn't prepared for my heart to fall the way it did when he finally spoke after the moment that seemed to last an infinity. Even if I held it steady in my hand, right through my chest, his words cracked it piece by piece until it shattered into about one hundred smithereens , leaving them nothing but rough shards defeatedly slipping through hopeless fingers.

"Yeah, actually." Henry's voice was eerily empty in the chilly room that was now an empty void of uncertainty, "I do."

As he hurriedly turned away and disappeared into the kitchen at last, a sinking feeling settled within me, realizing that I had missed the fleeting opportunity to unravel the tangled emotions and understand the mysterious depths of my own heart. In that moment, all the optimism I had harbored for the potential of embarking on something new with him seemed to crumble away, leaving behind a desolate sense of disillusionment.

I blinked, closing my slightly gaping mouth and slouching where I sat alone on the couch that suddenly seemed far too big for just one person.

Deep within the recesses of my being, a mocking voice erupted in laughter. It was the voice that berated me mercilessly, reminding me of my foolishness for entertaining the notion that this could be a transformative moment, an opportunity to forge a different path. It sneered, emphasizing how naïve I had been to believe in the possibility of a fresh beginning, taunting me with its biting cynicism.

It repeated the same taunting refrain, echoing relentlessly in the confines of my mind as I lay in bed that night shortly after Henry had sauntered back into the living room after cleaning up. He had a strangely artificial smile plastered on his face as he bid me a good night, claiming that he was tired and was going to get some rest. His expression was so foreign that it made me feel as though I'd be more at ease if he had ignored me altogether. The uneasy encounter lingered in my mind for hours, leaving a bitter aftertaste in the air. As I meticulously replayed the evening's events, I couldn't escape the disheartening truth that every corner of the room was tinged with an unspoken tension, his attitude devoid of the usual warmth and familiarity. The weight of uncertainty settled heavily upon me, intertwining with the haunting laughter that echoed in the depths of my consciousness.

A surge of self-awareness washed over me, and with it came a wave of embarrassment and remorse. I berated myself for the foolishness of my expectations, realizing that I had kept Henry in the dark about the turmoil brewing within me. The weight of my distress felt like an anchor dragging me down, while he remained blissfully unaware, unintentionally becoming the unwitting source of my torment. I couldn't blame him; I hadn't shared the depths of my inner struggles. In my self-reflection, I saw the selfishness of my actions and the unfairness of my silent accusations. It was a humbling moment, where I recognized that I alone bore the responsibility for my own turmoil.

This whole time, I'd been painting myself to be a helpless victim, and him to be the oblivious perpetrator. However, I had learned in that moment that I was the one holding the knife to my own throat by suffering in silence.

In the wake of my realization, a pang of regret sunk into the deep waters belonging to a suffocating sense of loss. I had taken for granted the presence of his kind soul and the beauty of his gentle demeanor. He had always been there, a constant presence in my life, and I had foolishly assumed that he would remain by my side indefinitely, patiently waiting for me to gather the courage to confront my feelings. But time was slipping away, and I had allowed the comfort of his unwavering friendship to lull me into a false sense of security. Now, it was clear that Calypso's tides had turned against me, forcing me to acknowledge the opportunity missed and a chance that may never come again.

The truth was undeniable, and it cut through me like a sharp blade. The image of the daring and confident Chandler Lee that everyone thought they knew was shattered, revealing the raw reality of his own cowardice. He had allowed fear and uncertainty to hold him hostage, clinging to the safety of familiarity instead of taking a leap of faith. He had become a shadow of the person he once was, hiding in the face of vulnerability and tip-toeing behind a façade of false strength.

He waited too long- and now he was too late.