Chapter 27: Rathmore Court.

The next three days were quiet.

Cian settled into Rathmore Court, and both Eoin and Fergal seemed to have forgotten him. No one bothered him, and life was calm. But Cian knew the two companies had already clashed several times.

With Declan’s sudden death, no one was sure who owned the company’s shares. Fergal was buried in the mess, while Eoin, using Cormac Lynch’s influence, had managed to steal many of the Fitzgerald Group’s old clients.

On the surface Dublin looked still, but underneath, the water was rough and hard to read. Cian guessed Eoin hadn’t come to bother him because he was too busy with Fergal.

He enjoyed the free time and treated it like a holiday. Every morning he went food shopping. He strolled in the park and watched old men play cards and fish. He napped at noon, then played games and watched TV in the afternoon. His routine was more regular than an old man’s.

He didn’t notice at all that someone had moved into the empty flat next door.

Rathmore Court was a council housing block from the last century, with narrow gaps between buildings and thin walls. From the balcony next door, it was easy to hear and see what went on here.

Over those three days, Eoin saw a completely different side of Cian.

Although he had spent more than six months with Cian, back then Cian was the pampered young master of the Fitzgerald family. He stayed in hotels, drove luxury cars, and wore expensive watches, with his own drivers and doctors. He was the centre of attention with no worries. Eoin had caught glimpses of a gentle side, but it was like looking at flowers through fog.

Back then, Eoin never knew Cian could be like this.

Every day at exactly eleven o’clock, the stove next door would be lit, and Cian, in a bear apron, would be standing at it with a spatula.

The first time Eoin saw this, he worried that a young master who had never done housework might burn himself. But Cian’s movements were smooth and easy. From heating the oil to chopping the meat, he did it all without effort. He was clearly an expert.

Eoin had cooked a lot as a child too, on the old turf fired range in his granny’s farmhouse kitchen. Back then he wasn’t even as tall as the range, and he stood on tiptoe to add turf. He was quite good at it.

But after quietly comparing for a while, he felt he wasn’t as good as Cian.

Cian seemed to treat cooking as an art. He hummed songs while he worked. Over the three days the dishes never repeated, and every meal had proper main dishes like poached salmon and roast duck. He was never sloppy.

At every mealtime, the smell of food floated through the window. The smell of spring onions, ginger, and garlic, and the sweet smell of roast meat, filled the whole building and made it feel like home.

Sometimes Cian bought too much meat and couldn’t finish it alone, so he went downstairs to feed the cats. In the evening, when the sun was softer, he mixed red and white meat with offal, chopped it up, put it on a small plate beside the bench downstairs, and then took a nap on the bench.

Rathmore court was an estate with over a dozen stray cats. Every time Cian came down, they ran over. At first they were wary of him, but after two days of feeding, they slept against his trouser legs once they’d eaten their fill.

The cats were all ordinary local ones, mostly big, fluffy, chubby orange tabbies. They lay around happily, slowly washing themselves, while Cian sprawled lazily on the bench, stroking them. Eoin couldn’t resist and secretly took a photo through the window.

In the photo, the setting sun gave everything warm colours: the cats, the bench, even the crumbling walls of the old estate. Everything was soft and warm, like the belly of an orange tabby. The young man on the bench looked so relaxed that hugging him would be like breathing in the smell of sunshine.

When Cian fed the cats, Eoin had just finished his day’s work. He would watch from the window for half an hour as Cian lounged on the bench. His chest filled with a feeling he couldn’t name, and he felt calm and peaceful.

Since they parted five years ago, Eoin had often imagined, on restless nights, that Cian would still reach out and pull him into his arms, his body heat coming through the thin fabric, hot and strong.

Eoin had always slept alone, but during those six months Cian had made him get used to sleeping together. After they parted, his mind tried to hold back, but his body remembered. Every midnight, his body still longed for that embrace, though over time the feeling faded.

Now the feeling came back with full force. His fingertips rubbed against each other without his noticing. He wanted to hold the whole person and breathe in the smell of sunshine.

But at the same time, he was a bit confused.

Was Cian really like this?

There were so many rumours about the young master of the Fitzgerald family in Dublin. People said he was rough, violent, short tempered, and wild. But there had never been a rumour that Cian was a good cook who fed cats downstairs.

How could a person like this exist? The closer you got, the more you liked him.

What outsiders say can be made up, but how a person acts when he is alone can’t be faked. The rumours that the young master was violent, gloomy, crazy, and twisted were false. His gentle, smiling, good natured side was true. And if Cian really did show violent behaviour, it could only be because...

He was ill. He had bipolar disorder.

Eoin remembered that long paper, and his fists clenched without his noticing.

"The causes of bipolar disorder are complex, and it shows up in many ways. During an episode, patients act nothing like their usual selves. Treatment options are limited and a cure is difficult. Symptoms can only be eased."

Cian had no idea what was going on in his neighbour’s mind. He also had no idea that he had been diagnosed with a serious mental illness. He was healthy and happy for three days, until the date on the calendar came.

That day he woke up early and changed into a plain black suit.

The original owner had a flashy sense of style and liked expensive, custom made clothes with fancy patterns and bright colours. Cian was used to casual clothes and liked jackets and tracksuit bottoms. This suit was something he had dug out from the back of the wardrobe.

The System was anxious. It didn’t know what its host was planning. It watched Cian open his backpack and put in three bottles of whiskey, its head full of questions. "What exactly are you trying to do? Are you making a bomb or something?"

Cian answered simply, "To drink."

He had bought the three bottles two days earlier. He had grabbed the most expensive ones on the supermarket shelf, without checking the price or the strength, and paid before leaving.

The System warned, "...Cian, seriously, you can’t take these on the Luas."

Cian replied, "We’ll take a taxi."

He took out his phone and tapped a few times. The System flew over for a look and was stunned. "Wait... Glenmore Hill Cemetery?"

While other male leads hung out at fancy tearooms, luxury hotels, and exclusive clubs, their male lead visited psychiatric hospitals, council estates, and remote cemeteries.

The System was confused. "...?"

Cian picked up his bag and headed out, casually saying, "Remember that scene where the original owner got drunk by himself and called Eoin to the hospital to torment him?"

"I think there was something like that?"

"I wondered about that at the time. The original owner loved parties and was always surrounded by friends. He never did anything alone. And with his status, he never lacked company. So why would he drink alone?" Cian sighed. "I think it was the anniversary of his mother’s death."

The System was an electronic life form, and Cian was its first host. It didn’t understand the complicated side of human feelings. After a short pause, it asked, confused, "Are you going to pay your respects?"

Cian said, "I’ve benefited from her kindness. I’ve lived in her house. She was very much like my own mother. It’s only right that I visit."

Glenmore Hill Cemetery was in a remote area outside Dublin, about a forty minute drive from where they were. It was not far from Dr. Keane’s psychiatric hospital, on the front and back of the same mountain.

Psychiatric hospitals are usually built in remote places, but Dr. Keane had chosen this spot back then partly so he could keep an eye on his sister.

That day a light rain was falling, and the air was chilly. Cian was wearing only the suit, but he didn’t feel cold.

It wasn’t All Souls’ Day, so there were few visitors. Cian bought a bunch of plain white daisies at the entrance and found the grave of the original owner’s mother under a pine tree on the back hill.

Someone had already left a bunch of daisies in front of the grave, along with a burnt down candle. Dr. Keane had probably already been.

Cian wiped the dust from in front of the grave. It was a modest single plot. Declan and his wife had a bad marriage and fought often, so they weren’t buried together.

The headstone had her photo and name. The original owner’s mother was named Maeve Keane. In the black and white photo she looked gentle, with a calm smile. Cian took one look and gasped.

He reached out, and his finger rested on the photo. A faint, bitter smile crossed his face.

They really did look alike.

Two completely different worlds, yet so many similarities.

Cian cleared away the dust and sat down. He pulled a bottle of whiskey out of his bag, poured half of it onto the soil in front of the grave, said a short prayer for the dead, then leaned against the pine tree and poured himself a drink.

The System: "...Are you really going to drink all that?"

All three bottles were strong spirits.

Cian: "I won’t be able to come here many more times."

The woman in the photo, smiling calmly, would never know that the child she treasured was no longer here. He had been replaced by a visitor from another world who came with a System. She would never know that the story was nearly over, and that this visitor wouldn’t stay much longer either.

By then there would be no one left in the world called Cian Fitzgerald, and apart from Dr. Keane, no one would come to this grave to leave white flowers.

Cian wiped the raindrops off the photo and stared at the gentle, beautiful face. He said with a sad smile, "If she knew what the original host had done, she’d probably be very sad."

A kind mother, yet her child had gone down such a dark road and ended up disgraced, miserable, and completely forgotten.

The System: "Host..."

When you have something on your mind, it’s easy to lose control while drinking. The System watched him drink cup after cup but didn’t dare stop him. By the time the rain had nearly soaked his clothes and hair, Cian staggered to his feet, using the pine tree for support, and started packing his bag to leave. He was already quite drunk.

The System was nervous. "How are we getting back... Watch your step!"

The cemetery was in a remote area, and there was no way to call a taxi. The nearest bus stop was about seven or eight kilometres away, and in Cian’s state he might not make it halfway.

Cian: "I’ll walk to the psychiatric hospital and stay the night."

After all, according to the story, he was supposed to stay there overnight anyway.

The System connected to the map and showed the route on its screen. "Okay, we’re three kilometres from Glenmore Psychiatric Hospital, about 46 minutes on foot. I’ve planned the route for you... Host! Watch your step!"

The cemetery was built on a hillside, with steps everywhere.