Tremors

     For Yuri, the sound of rain was the sound of home.

     Especially in the later half of the year, when the weather started making it harder for him to paint outside. Summer showers, later Autumn storms, would equally make for an inconvenient outdoor studio– so he would set up shop somewhere in his living room, and paint to the rain falling outside the window.

     It was like a melody, one which did not require any sort of accompanying vocals. He did not mind when there was more noise in the house– like Miroslav watching TV or water boiling in the kettle– but if he could avoid it, he would. The raindrops against the thin metal roofing served as a white noise for the man, which lulled his ideas out to meet his brush.

     Though that night, he was not painting, instead finding himself in the kitchen to fix himself a snack. Mylani, comfortable in the other room, had not explicitly asked to feed from Yuri’s cooking, but he hadn’t necessarily denied it. And so, Yuri was making food for two.

     “Are you okay with cherry tomatoes?” Yuri called out through the hallway, getting only a grunt as an answer. Another thing Yuri assumed was a positive.

     Over the past couple of years, with Miroslav having settled himself into his routine, Yuri had become as familiar with the man as he had with the sound of rain: they were home to him. Miroslav prided himself on being a lonesome individual, but his quiet presence was never unpleasant. The opposite, with Yuri spending time around Miroslav’s space, never seemed to be unpleasant, either. So they enjoyed existing around each other, as part of the other’s routine as they were of their own.

     A family had been born around them. First, they had become brothers– with the same blood and different mother– but brothers nonetheless. Then, with Miroslav’s affections, there had come Polina. Yuri had accepted her with open arms, excited for the family growing bigger. Even more so with the arrival of Alina, a treasure of a little girl. Yuri was determined to be the best uncle, the best brother-in-law, and above all, the best brother. The family had grown bigger, and with it, he had grown better as a person.

     As it had for the entire first half of the week, there was rain visiting the city. As much as the adults enjoyed the stillness of it all, Alina had begged her mother to take her outside, and the pair had gone out for the afternoon. Meanwhile, The brothers had found themselves both at home, enjoying their particular hobbies in different parts of their living room. By the time Yuri had found himself hungry enough for a bite to eat, Miroslav had finished up almost half of his newest read. As Yuri worked in the kitchen, prepping up a simple meal, he could hear the sound of paper against paper as Miroslav turned to the newest chapter of his book.

     The chopping of vegetables, the turning of pages, and the reassuring sound of rain: a choir of a melody. Yuri felt at home.

     Then, there was a thud. 

     A heavy mass fell onto the carpeted floor, the echo of the wood muffled by the padding. Yuri’s hands stopped moving, at first confusing the noise to be from the outside. He looked up at the ceiling, expecting to hear it again. Maybe a branch smacked by the wind, or a bird resting from flight. He heard the noise once more, smaller this time, but suddenly persistent. And it was coming from further down the hall.

     “Slava?” He called out again. No grunt this time, just that repetitive little thud. “Miroslav, everything okay?”

     Nothing. Had he fallen asleep? Yuri started wiping off his hands with a kitchen rag to check it out, but then the noise go louder–

     CRASH.

     A glass of water, shattering against the floor. The noise became sporadic, even more incoherent, the thump, thump, thump of a lim repeatedly struggling against the floor. Yuri choked in a gasp, rushing to the kitchen, calling for the other man.

     Miroslav was on the ground, actively convulsing, hand struggling to grab his chest. His mouth was wide open, letting out choked-out groans that lost themselves to the muteness of the rain. Besides him was water, already soaked into the carpet and the glass fragments from the man’s struggle.

     “Holy shit,” Yuri hissed out, before sprawling into action.

     Miroslav was having a seizure.

     Yuri had known of Miroslav's seizures, but he had never been so present for one himself. At first, he panicked, stumbling to his knees to try and aid his brother, but finding it almost impossible to get hold of the violent movements of Miroslav’s limbs. His muscles were still, arms and legs thrashing about as hard as they could compress, and Yuri’s panicked attempt for aid seemed to be caught in the middle.

     His first instinct was to try and hold him down as if that would bring some sense into him, but he managed to stop himself from doing so before attempting anything stupid. Instead, Yuri clenched his fists and forced his brain to try and recall whatever conversation he’d had with Polina about seizures in the past.

     First of all, timing. Yuri pulled on his sleeve, glancing at his watch just enough to see the time: six thirty-eight in the afternoon, the second hand somewhere in the middle of the circle. Next, grabbing Miroslav by the shoulders, he dragged him away from the broken water glass on the floor, trying to keep his convulsing body from facing the ceiling. Instead, Yuri moved behind his head, resting it on his knees to give some kind of padding through the seizure.

     And then, all he could do was wait.

     There was a part of him that crept up through the back of his mind, keeping his throat in a chokehold. Miroslav’s seizures had been born with him, through the process of cloning that bonded them forever. Yuri was safe from such symptoms, but Miroslav was not, and even if he had been born having to deal with such episodes, time had not made them easier to manage.

     Yuri did his best to focus on what the situation called of him, pushing away every emotion he felt– but it was difficult when he kept catching glances of Miroslav’s convulsing body. His eyes were open but looked as dazed as he probably felt. Yuri knew for a fact that he was not conscious, yet he looked as if he was going through pure, unadulterated agony. Yuri’s hands trembled as he held him down, praying that the time would be kind to them both.

     By the first minute, the trashing of his limbs had diminished to a tremble, and by the second, only a couple of spasms remained. Yuri kept a watchful eye on both the clock and Miroslav’s airway, ensuring he could breathe through it all. And closer to the third minute, he finally stopped. After, there was only heavy breathing– if it was Miroslav or Yuri himself, it was hard to say.

     “Slava…?”

     With a choked-up gasp, Miroslav’s eyes fluttered, and he slowly seemed to regain consciousness. With a confused gaze, scanning the room around him, he started sitting up.

     “Wha–”

     “Ah, thank god you’re okay!” Once Yuri started speaking, he found it hard not to do anything else. “I did what I could, I– I didn’t know what to do. I heard the glass crashing, and when I came over, you were already– you were–”

     “Alina, Polina, are they home?” the man snapped, his voice hoarse, tone dry.

     “I– no. No, they’re not,” Yuri attempted a smile, “It looks like you’re not hurt by the glass, though. How is your head fee–?”

     As Yuri reached out to help Miroslav, the man slapped it away. He then pushed his body as much as possible, clearly aiming to distance himself from Yuri.

     “Out,” he grumbled.

     Yuri was almost speechless, “Slava, let me help–”

     “Yuri,” Miroslav cut him off, almost cringing at the sound of his nickname.  His voice wasn’t loud– he wasn’t strong enough to yell just yet– but it was so cold, it brought a chill down Yuri’s spine. He wasn’t playing around, “Leave me alone. I am going to my room. If the girls are back before I’m out, tell them I’m sleeping, and to leave me be.”

     “Wha– wait, no,” Yuri shook his discomfort off,  still all too aware of what had just happened. He couldn’t remember if seizures came and went like earthquakes with residuals, but he couldn't risk Miroslav to be on his own at all. “Please, sit on the couch first. I’ll bring you another glass of water, I want to make sure you’re okay before you try and–”

     The word walk was lost in his lips because Miroslav was already aiming to stand. He moved as if his limbs were weighing down with lead, but he was stubborn enough to pull his body away from the ground he’d been laying on. Yuri stood as well, faster, though almost as unstable as he scrambled to offer his hand.

     “Leave me alone,” Miroslav repeated.

     “No. You’re not doing great. I want to support you.”

     “Fuck. Off.”

     Yuri tried to offer his hand once again, and once again, it was rejected. This time around, Miroslav almost tumbled down after pushing the other away but miraculously kept his ground. His stubbornness worked for something, in one way or another.

     He had always been a very reserved man, through and through. From the times when he chose to speak to others, to the language he constructed when using his words, Miroslav kept that look to his inner thoughts under wraps. Yuri could probably count on one hand how many times he had seen the man truly open up to something, and it was always reluctantly, always more hassle than it seemed to be worth.

     But Miroslav was not okay. In one sense, he never had been, even if he insisted on keeping every single emotion buried within him. People called Yuri naive in his endless pursuit of being a good person, but he couldn’t just stand and watch Miroslav retreat to a cave to lick battle wounds.

     On the other hand, he wasn’t naive enough to not understand where this was coming from. Being hurt, even if recovering, meant being vulnerable. And if Miroslav had to be vulnerable, Yuri was not his person of choice to see him through it.

     And yet, Polina was not in sight. And given Polina and Alina were together…

     “Listen,” Yuri started, doing his best to keep his arms from reaching out, urging him to help. “If the girls come back, and you’re in this state– o-or, if it happens again, Alina might be around to see it.”

     Miroslav hands balled up into fists, but he didn’t say anything, avoiding Yuri’s gaze.

     “If you let me help you now,” he continued, “we can both make sure you’re feeling well before they’re back. I don’t know what time they’ll do it, but given it’s almost sunset–”

     “Then it must be soon,” Miroslav said with a sigh.

     “Is that a yes?”

     Their eyes met—Yuri’s welcoming warmth clashing with Miroslav’s isolating cold.

     It was strange, Yuri found himself thinking, how different they could be when they were to look almost the same. He hated the idea of thinking about Miroslav as part of himself, as the years had taught him how the clone was his person. But Yuri couldn’t help but wonder if his clone was just a mirror of what he could have been, taking help from others. A Yuri that would not accept help even from himself.

     “I will sit on the couch, on my own,” Miroslav finally stated.

     “Is there any medicine, any food I can–”

     “I don’t need anything,” he barked, “Just a second for… you know.”

     “Will it happen again in a couple of minutes…?” A question he dreaded the answer for.

     “No, no. 'repeat, just need a second.”

     Yuri nodded, slowly seeing the other sit down on his own, and melt against the safety of the couch. All the while, the man stood there, looking as if he could find any indication of anything going wrong, and finally be prepared to help. He found no sight of other tremors or sharpness of breathing, despite how vivid the memories still were in his mind.

     What he did find, was blood.

     “Shit– Slava, your arm.”

     Miroslav looked down, noticing the wound for the first time almost in tandem with Yuri. There was an open cut, still oozing crimson, somewhere above the elbow. Broken glass, most likely.

     “It doesn’t hurt,” Miroslav said slowly. As he tried to flex his arm, he found otherwise. “It… isn’t a big deal,” he said instead.

     “Look, I’ll bring you water. After I can patch you up, and then I’ll sweep away the–”

     “Sweep first,” Miroslav said with a reluctant sigh, “Then water, then…  whatever. Don’t want Alina stepping on it.”

     “Water first,” Yuri conceded as a compromise. He sheepishly smiled, “Then glass, then patching you up?”

     A grunt as an answer, and a positive one at that. At least Yuri could breathe easy knowing that he was finally getting back to normal.

     Yuri had never had an episode like that, when one’s own body moved with little control, and one’s consciousness faded away for a moment in time. Still, the aftermath of Miroslav’s seizure felt exactly like that.

     He could pretend that he knew what it felt– those violent tremors, rippling through his body. His experience was so physically detached, it would be sinful if he claimed to know the toll such an episode would have on one’s mind– and yet, as Yuri kept replaying it over and over, he could almost feel them: the tremors, clawing at his heart.

     Tremors, and the fact there was little he could do to help his brother.

     Yuri handed Miroslav a fresh glass, and couldn’t recall if he had drunk it or not. He swept up the glass in what seemed to be dead silence, with neither brother choosing to seek eye contact. He cleaned Miorslav’s wound with peroxide then water, and wrapped some bandage around it. Turned out to be a small, shallow cut– dramatic in its bleeding, but as Miroslav himself had said it, it wasn’t a big deal.

     “Done,” Yuri said.

     Another grunt. Miroslav’s eyes were still closed, but his breathing and pose were as normal as they had been before this whole fiasco. Little victories, Yuri supposed.

     “Is there anything I can do to help, so it doesn’t… happen again?”

     “Don’t bring it up again,” Miroslav grumbled. He stood, gave his arm flex, and nodded to himself.

     “Medicine?” Yuri suggested, “Some kind of pills? I mean, what do you usually do when–”

     Miroslav leaned towards Yuri, who was still sitting on the couch. He stared him down, eyes glaring, “If it happens again,” he said, “You leave me. The Fuck. Alone.”

     Yuri took a shaky breath in, concerned. He opened his mouth to try and argue, but before he could get a word out, the door of the apartment was bustling open, accompanied by the sound of the rain outside.

     “Papa!” A little voice, and lite footsteps running through the hallway.

     “We’re home!” Polina called out behind her child.

     Miroslav held his gaze, for just a second longer. A warning.

     And then, he was off, walking to meet his family, “Welcome back, girls.” There were no traces of what had happened left in his voice. They would be none the wiser.

     But Yuri wasn’t. Knowing that it would happen again made it hard to pretend everything was okay. And for once, even if the apartment still echoed with the sound of the rain, it didn’t feel like home.

     Both brothers were quiet through that night’s dinner.