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There was a reason scholars usually abhorred alcohol and why religions considered drunkenness an intolerable vice.
Robin was into his fourth glass of Madeira, drinking without tasting, when he understood why students rebelled and got drunk anyway. It was perhaps the first time Robin could stop studying— where he stopped taking apart the grammatical structure of each sentence, and stopped speculating the etymology of each word.
This was because there were only four words– Don’t you know why? – that kept echoing in his head, trying to find the correct meaning to latch onto. Had it been a rhetorical question? Would Ramy have liked his answer? What was Robin supposed to know?
It wasn’t just the words themselves, but the manner they’d been said; Ramy’s tone, pleading. Robin wasn’t certain whether Ramy wanted him to respond or if he was begging him to keep quiet. What did it mean that Robin was so desperate to find out?
But Robin knew, didn’t he? That was the worst part.
He kept insisting that he wasn’t that drunk, but everyone could see how unbalanced he was when walked. How his speech was growing slurred. It didn’t matter. Thumping away in his head were the same words: Don’t you know why? Don’t you know why? Don’t you know why? He felt like he would go mad with it.
He found Ramy alone at the top of Babel, overlooking Oxford. Robin realized for the first time just how high up the tower went, and how easy it would be to fall.
“Aren’t you cold, Birdie?” Ramy asked when he caught sight of him. He was alone. The night sky was filled with dark clouds that the moon couldn’t sneak past. The only light came from where Robin had the door opened, which brushed orange against their cheeks.
And perhaps Robin had drunk too much, because suddenly, he was crying over those four words too.
“Why not her, Ramy? Why not Letty?”
Robin’s vision blurred as tears drowned him. He noticed that Ramy had stilled, that he was slowly turning towards where Robin was sobbing like an inconsolable infant. It had been years, perhaps a lifetime, since he had felt such a strong surge of emotion in order to let it out so shamelessly. And he didn’t know it would make him feel so light.
Ramy stepped towards him and brought him away from the door. It slammed shut, leaving them in the dark, but Robin was too busy wrapped in Ramy’s arms, warm. Ramy’s grip was tight, just the kind of embrace he needed. He found himself sinking into his arms. He trusted Ramy to hold him.
“No more drinking for you, right,” Ramy mumbled into his hair. Robin laughed from the absurdness of it all, trying to catch his breath. He would’ve kept laughing if he wasn’t so scared. If he wasn’t so angry by the injustice of it all.
Robin felt a hand at the back of his head, pressing him closer. He tried to listen for Ramy’s pulse, but he couldn’t hear it over his own.
“Tell me why,” Robin's voice was muffled against Ramy’s chest.
He didn’t mean for it to sound like a challenge, or like a demand. He also didn’t mean for it to come out as a whine. Robin didn’t know what would come after something like a confession— if a confession was even possible, or if they would pretend none of this happened in the morning and could blame it on Madeira.
Ramy’s response was what no student at Babel should have ever thought to say, and certainly not seriously.
“We don’t have to find the right words, Birdie. It’s enough just to know.”
And then Robin understood. Ramy was scared, too.
The party will end, the hangover the next morning won’t be as debilitating as warned, and Robin will remember everything. He’ll remember how Ramy’s fingers raked at the base of his neck, shyly, like he wasn’t quite sure he was allowed. He’ll remember how their breaths matched up almost supernaturally, like they were synchronized even whenever they were apart.
Which is why, when one heart stopped fluttering, the other one had to follow it home.