Vivek Swamirami #4

Departure

The soft warmth of a kiss on his cheek pulled Egon from a restless sleep. His eyelids fluttered open to see Vivek leaning over him, already dressed in a crisp linen shirt and tailored pants, his cologne faint but comforting.

“It’s 8 AM,” Vivek said, his voice low and gentle. “Enough time to shower, eat a proper breakfast, and then we’re off to the airport.”

Egon groaned, rolling onto his side and burying his face in the pillow. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled, his voice muffled.

Vivek straightened, crossing his arms. “No, Egon. You’ve already had enough indulgence. It’s time to face the day.”

Egon peeked out from under the covers, squinting at the sunlight streaming through the curtains. “Why do mornings exist?”

“To remind you there’s a world beyond your bed,” Vivek replied, his lips curving into a patient smile. “Now, up you get. We don’t want to miss the flight.”

Egon swung his legs off the bed with a theatrical groan, dragging himself into the bathroom. The marble floors were cold against his bare feet, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the room he’d just left. He closed the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment as he tried to gather his thoughts.

The trip to India loomed over him like a dark cloud. He wasn’t ready for an ashram, for meditation, for introspection. What he needed—what he craved—was something else entirely.

Dropping to his knees, Egon reached under the sink, his fingers fumbling until they found the small box he’d hidden there weeks ago. His heart raced as he pulled it out, but his excitement quickly turned to confusion. The box felt too light. He opened it, only to find a folded piece of paper inside.

He unfolded it with trembling hands. The note was simple—three red hearts and the unmistakable “VS” initials, written in Vivek’s elegant hand.

“Damn it,” Egon muttered under his breath. He shoved the box back and checked two more hiding places, both yielding identical notes. The realization hit him hard: Vivek had found his stash and replaced it with his signature touch.

A mix of anger and despair washed over Egon as he sat on the cool marble floor, staring at the empty spots where his comfort had once been. Withdrawal was clawing at him already, his body aching and trembling as if it were rebelling against his mind.

With a deep sigh, he pulled himself to his feet and turned the shower knob. Steam quickly filled the room as hot water poured down, soothing the tension in his muscles. For a brief moment, he let himself relax, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against the cool tiles. But the relief was fleeting. He knew the day ahead wouldn’t be easy.

Determined to snap himself out of it, Egon twisted the knob to ice-cold. The shock of freezing water jolted him awake, and he gasped, his body recoiling instinctively. Still, he let it wash over him, steeling himself for what lay ahead.

By the time he emerged from the bathroom, dressed but visibly subdued, the smell of fresh coffee and avocado toast greeted him. The dining room was bathed in soft morning light, the table set with meticulous care. Vivek sat at the head of the table, sipping tea and scrolling through his phone. He looked up as Egon entered, his expression softening.

“Sit,” Vivek said, gesturing to the seat beside him.

Egon obeyed, dropping into the chair with a quiet sigh. He reached for the coffee, his hands still trembling slightly, and took a long sip. The rich aroma and warmth did little to calm his nerves. He picked at the toast, his appetite muted by the gnawing unease in his stomach.

Meanwhile, Vivek was the picture of efficiency, issuing instructions to the household staff with his usual air of authority. “Ensure the plants are watered daily,” he told the head gardener. “And I expect weekly updates via email.”

The staff nodded, their deference absolute. Vivek turned back to Egon, studying him for a moment before standing. He walked around the table, kneeling beside Egon and taking his hands in his own.

“Are you ready?” Vivek asked, his voice softer now.

Egon looked down at their joined hands, his throat tightening. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Vivek leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to Egon’s lips. “You’ll thank me for this one day,” he whispered.

Egon closed his eyes, savoring the moment. He wanted to believe Vivek’s words, to trust in his certainty, but the storm inside him refused to quiet.

The ride to the airport was uncharacteristically silent. Egon stared out the window, his mind racing with thoughts of what he was leaving behind. Vivek rested his head against Egon’s shoulder, one arm draped casually across his lap. The quiet intimacy was both a comfort and a reminder of how much he stood to lose if he couldn’t find a way to pull himself together.

When they arrived at the private terminal, Vivek handled the formalities with his usual grace. Egon followed him through security and onto the plane, feeling like a man being led to his own execution. The plush seats and luxurious amenities did little to ease his discomfort.

Vivek guided Egon into his seat, tucking a blanket around him as if he were a child. “Try to relax,” he said, his tone soothing. “We’ll be there before you know it.”

As the engines roared to life, Egon’s breath quickened. He gripped the armrest, his knuckles turning white. The sensation of being trapped, of losing control, was overwhelming.

“I hate flying,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the engines.

“I know,” Vivek said, reaching over to place a hand on Egon’s. “But I’m here. You’re safe.”

The plane began to taxi, and Egon’s panic intensified. His chest tightened, his breathing shallow and erratic. Vivek unbuckled his seatbelt and slid closer, wrapping an arm around Egon and pulling him close.

“Breathe with me,” Vivek murmured, his voice steady and calm. “In... and out. Focus on my voice.”

Egon buried his face in Vivek’s chest, his hands clutching at his husband’s shirt. Slowly, his breathing began to match Vivek’s, the steady rhythm grounding him. By the time the plane lifted off the ground, the worst of his panic had passed.

Vivek held him tightly, stroking his hair as the plane climbed higher into the sky. “Just a little turbulence before we reach clarity,” he whispered.

Egon didn’t respond, his face still pressed against Vivek’s chest. But as the clouds parted below them, he allowed himself to believe—if only for a moment—that maybe, just maybe, Vivek was right.