The Head In My Hands

A glance out the office window alerted Marley to the time.

The sun dipped toward the horizon and cast a warm golden hue that only yielded to the blues of early evening as it lowered. He felt a shiver build in his spine and noted distantly how the air had turned crisper as autumn fully settled in, almost all the leaves crusted on the concrete ground, the days growing shorter with each passing week.

He sighed and wiped a hand down his face. His desk was cluttered that day; it had been a lot recently, and he just hadn’t had the energy to be bothered. Potion bottles and parchment were strewn about in what he would excuse as ‘organised chaos’ only known to himself.

Chamomile wafted through the air, but it was a scent gone stale, only lingering. His mug had long since been empty.

All that being said, Marley had gotten quite a bit of work done—nothing specific nor for any particular patient. Just general orders. He weighed his options, mentally going over his notes and half-finished brews.

Making his decision, Marley hunkered over his desk and scratched his pen over parchment as he finished off a report. He needed quite a few new ingredients delivered to him with the next shipment, along with the usual.

He tapped the end of the pen against his lip, the rubber cap bitten. There was another thing, not supremely important, but of enough notice to write about. The monkshood they had been supplying him hadn’t been reacting as normal—not bubbling or changing the broth in colour or sheen. That could have been a sign that it was old—past the due date for the specific potions Marley made—or that this monkshood was from a different region. He needed to know nonetheless.

He bit his tongue and considered alternatives, jotting down a list of safer options. There was no point in risking adverse effects for something that should have been straightforward. The clock ticked in the background; time passed. Finishing the report felt like a small victory, at least.

His brick sat unbothered in the far left corner of his desk, really only there in case he had questions for Khairi or she had any for him. His shift was over though, the sun almost hidden by the hills.

“Just wanted to let you know I’m off for the day,” he typed. “Not gonna respond to anything work-related—my brain needs a break.”

He hit send and only barely set his phone back down when it buzzed. He let out a laugh.

“WAIT q( T⌓T )p I need you! You can’t leave me like this!”

He huffed and reclined back in his chair. “That doesn’t really sound like my problem?”

“Marleeeeeeeeeeey.” That particular text was accompanied by about a million sobbing emoticons. Khairi once taught him how to do it, but still, he didn’t quite understand.

He sent her a shrugging emoji and shut his phone off. It buzzed four more times.

His back was sore, strained from sitting in a slouched position for hours. He really needed to get better with his posture.

He glanced away from his desk entirely and just watched the world outside the windows for a moment, shifting in his chair as he assessed his pain level. It had been… Well, it hadn’t been worse lately, but he couldn’t help thinking that he was running out of ‘good days.’

On this day, the tension was almost palpable, the air pressing down on him in an uncomfortable, smothering embrace. His limbs felt heavy, and the familiar, dull ache radiated through his joints.

All in all, it was not atypical.

Not worrying—just exhausting.

Sitting in one position didn’t help, despite his inclination to do it, but moving and changing positions didn’t help either. He sighed. It was an everlasting soreness for sure, like he had been tangled up in a blanket of exhaustion for so long that he couldn’t quite shake it off.

He closed his eyes for a moment, resting them back in their sockets. The house creaked around him, sounds filtering through the wood and glass. Finally, he stretched his arms above his head and stood, feeling his shoulders pop in a way that was almost reluctant. Almost soothing. Still, though, the tension remained, coiled around him not unlike a boa constrictor. He had learned a lot as he grew—he had learned to tolerate it, but it still sat heavy and insistent on the edge of his focus.

It… it didn’t matter, in the grand scheme of things, though, considering its frequency.

He did consider it.

Looking around his office, at how his space, once so organised, was now left cluttered, he wondered if it reflected him.

He started by collecting the papers, the ink still fresh on the pages from his earlier report, and tossed the sheets into a neat pile. It hadn’t been a bad day, not really, all things considered. He had managed to finish the ingredient report, and he and Khairi had been chatting all day, so it wasn’t like he hadn’t socialised. Yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had just been going through the motions lately, each day blending into the next.

As he moved to put his mugs in the sink, he glanced out the window, where the last hues of sunset painted the sky in soft oranges and pinks. Maybe he needed to get out more. The thought of stepping outside into the cool evening air felt refreshing, almost tempting, but the comfort of home often anchored him in place. Besides, he had to make dinner soon.

He returned to his desk and flicked off the desk lamp, letting the dim light of the evening settle in.

Back down the hall to the kitchen, the house was quiet, save for the soft creaks of the floorboards beneath his feet and the distant hum of crickets outside the cracked windows.

The kitchen was illuminated by warm overhead lights, mixing with the cooling ambiance of the evening and the fading twilight, casting long shadows across the room. It wasn’t untidy, but it was never as clean as it had been at the start of the week, with dirty dishes in the sink, used mugs on the counter, and parchment fluttering softly under the ceiling fan. The faint scent of pine wafted in from outside, mixing with the herbs hung against the wall next to the window.

He crossed the room.

Now that he was out of work for real this time, he could finally clean up his mess, rinsing out his tea-stained mug in the sink, the water swirling around the tinted ring at the bottom before circling down the drain. He tipped it upside down on the drying rack and wiped his hands on a dish towel, the red one to the right of the green one. (The green one was for messes; the red one was for hands. They had a system.)

It was home, even more so for Marley, who found himself so comforted by cooking, brewing, and baking that if he wasn’t working, it was where he spent most of his time.

He cracked the window open just a bit more, letting the evening breeze make its way in, and reached up to grab a bundle of herbs off the wall. Before beginning dinner, he lit the candle that sat on the dining table, the soft flicker adding a cosy warmth to the otherwise cool tones of dusk. The soft glow and scent of lavender from the candle helped ease the tension still gripping his joints. Marley sighed, wet his lips, and already felt the strain from sitting at his desk, but this—this part of the day—always brought him a small sense of calm.

He started gathering the ingredients for dinner. The cabinets creaked softly as he opened them, pulling out the spices needed for that night’s meal: butternut curry and rice. It was a dish Emrys had taught him years ago, one he quickly grew fond of, even if Emrys never made it himself anymore. The fridge hummed gently as he retrieved the butternut squash, its smooth skin cool against his fingers as he set it down on the cutting board.

The knife glided through the squash with a satisfying crunch, the bright orange flesh revealing itself beneath the thick skin. As he diced the pieces into even chunks, the familiar rhythm of the process set in.

There was something therapeutic about the repetition, the gentle thud of the knife.

The scent of onions sautéing filled the air, mingling with the rich spices he had already begun to toast in the pot.

Marley breathed deeply, letting the warm, earthy smells soothe the tension in his body. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for the wooden spoon, stirring the curry with care as the ingredients melded together in the pan, releasing bursts of aroma with each pass of the spoon. His legs throbbed, and his back tightened.

As the curry simmered and the rice gently bubbled away on the stove, Marley wiped his hands on the towel again, feeling the coolness of the floor beneath his feet. He leaned against the counter, looking out the window into the fading light, watching as the last slivers of orange disappeared behind the trees.

He rotated back and forth between chopping and stirring, silently debating with himself over the thoughts that had been circling in his mind for the past month. He knew he should think about it—should reflect, process, or whatever people called it—but he worried about his tendency to spiral. His thoughts had a way of becoming messy and overwhelming when left unchecked, and tonight, with the warm, comforting scent of curry filling the air, he wasn’t sure if he had the energy to confront them head-on.

Still, they came anyway, relentless and uninvited.

As rampant as ever.

Emrys, of course, dominated his mind, as he often did. And not surprisingly, he was the main source of Marley’s inner turmoil—if he ignored the ever-present discomfort gnawing at him. It was a bit jarring, really, to think that the man—his best friend—whom he had been pining for over the years, might actually feel the same way. Marley was almost certain of it at this point, but the idea was still a lot to wrap his head around.

The man he had quietly admired for so long, the person he had placed so high up on a pedestal, might have actually thought of them as equals. Maybe, just maybe, Emrys had even looked at Marley with the same level of adoration that Marley had

The whole thing made him feel a bit sick. Shouldn’t this feel good? Shouldn’t the knowledge that his feelings weren’t one-sided bring him some sense of joy, or at least relief?

Marley had always been an expert at doubting himself. It was second nature by now—convincing himself that he wasn’t worthy of something like this, that he didn’t deserve someone like Emrys. He was used to holding himself back, used to watching his life pass him by while believing deep down that he would never be enough for the things he wanted. So why didn’t this revelation change anything? Why didn’t the possibility of mutual feelings lift that weight off his chest? Instead, it felt heavy—like another responsibility he wasn’t sure he could live up to.

He stirred the pot absentmindedly, the scent of curry filling the small kitchen.

Really, there was no denying their bond– all that they’ve built over the years, but this? This possibility– this–

Hes— He's scared.

It should feel good. That’s what he kept telling himself, but Marley wasn’t sure he knew how to let it. Instead, he found himself toeing the line, hovering in the in-between, where hope and doubt collided in a messy, exhausting dance. If Emrys truly felt the same way, it would change everything—force him to confront all those insecurities he’d buried for so long.

He sighed. Maybe… Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he was just too used to not feeling good enough that the idea of being wanted, of being seen in that way, felt foreign. He set the spoon down for a moment, leaning heavily against the counter as he tried to shake off the overwhelming tide of emotions building inside him.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek.

Thats—

He swallowed hard, pushing the wave of emotions down his throat. With a quick swipe of his hand, he wiped his face, as if clearing his mind could be as simple as wiping the exhaustion from his eyes.

The pot bubbled over, and he quickly moved it off the heat.

Outside the kitchen window, the wind had picked up, blowing leaves into gentle spirals across the yard, letting them dance through the air before settling onto the damp ground. Watching it, Marley felt a bit unsettled. What would it be like—then—to be swept away in the wind like that? If only for a little while.

He shook the thought out of his head and finished up dinner. Emrys would be home in what—fifteen, twenty minutes? The motions were familiar—stirring the curry one last time, arranging the food neatly on the plates, and setting the dining table for two. His hands moved with practised confidence, despite the tension. He poured two glasses of brandy and placed them beside the plates, feeling more uneasy than comforted.

Well, he couldn’t say he didn’t expect it. He always did this—spiral.

Setting the table for two had always come with a strange sense of detachment, not particularly related to his thoughts but fitting all the same. It didn’t upset him, not in the way it used to. But it didn’t quite sit easy either; it wasn’t natural. He felt out of place. It was expected of him—he didn’t do it for any other reason, not really. But Marley… he liked doing this, he liked eating with Emrys after a day of work, he just wished—

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He sat down at the dining room table and breathed in the warmth of the dinner he’d just prepared, steam wafting in delicate strands off the ceramic plates in front of him. He’d pulled a book off the coffee table and let the familiar weight ground him as he waited for Emrys to get back from work, the burn of the brandy further anchoring him when he took a sip from the glass.

His eyes flicked over the pages without absorbing them, skimming without truly reading. Marley… He had always missed Emrys when he was gone, not unlike a dog waiting for its owner, he thought belatedly. The space without him felt oddly hollow, as if Marley had carved out a part of himself just to make room for him.

And yet.

Every interaction with Emrys was filled with adrenaline, familiar yet unsettling. Before, when he was worried about Emrys finding out about his feelings, it had been nerve-wracking, but even more so now that Marley knew about Emrys’s own feelings. Sometimes, the thought of Emrys brought an almost nauseating twist to his stomach. It wasn’t the thought of the man himself that made him sick—it was the realisation that Emrys might actually love him. That Emrys saw Marley in a way he struggled to see himself.

The fear that came with that realisation…

He took another sip of brandy, letting the warmth spread through him. Maybe… Maybe he should talk to Emma about it, even though she would tease him mercilessly. He had, perhaps unfairly, avoided the topic since their last conversation where she and Khairi had pointed out what was now obvious. Telling her she was right would mean confronting those feelings in a way he wasn’t sure he was ready for. Would admitting it really make him feel better? Or would it just make the gnawing anxiety worse?

The front door opened, and the sound of Emrys kicking off his shoes against the shoe rack clattered through the room. Marley barely noticed, only managing to blink up just in time to catch Emrys’s gaze.

He was so conflicted, and yet warmed by this man’s presence.

Marley smiled at him. “Welcome home, I made curry.”

Oddly domestic, the greeting was, but Emrys smiled all the same, his eyes lighting up in excitement.

“Hell yeah! I love when you make it. I never do it right,” he rambled, sliding his coat off and draping it over the back of the dining room chair as he settled down across from Marley.

“I don’t think that’s true. Your mom’s had you making all types of curry since you were what—ten?” Marley replied.

Emrys rolled his eyes and his sleeves, all the way up to his elbows. “Yeah, but I never make it like her. Or like you.”

He finished the sentence with direct eye contact, and Marley felt his emotions slide down his throat.

“Maybe so,” he responded instead, ignoring the affectionate look in his best friend's eyes.