Returning to the Crane household, Frasier slipped into an outfit commonly saved for daily jogs and the occasional game of squash with Niles: a solid colored tee shirt with sweatpants. Like Cécil, his the outfit was meant for sleeping and lazing about in his humble abode. Before putting on his slippers to stop by his close friend's apartment, the house phone's tune echoed down the hall. Frasier, while a bit confused, approached the phone in the empty, quiet living room. Martin had gone to sleep early because he had plans with Duke, his best friend, the next day. Frasier pondered who could be calling at this hour—nine-thirty. Niles had mentioned that aside from taking Daphne shopping, she would be spending the night at his apartment as well. Could it have been Roz, potentially having some guy troubles or to ask him to babysit Alice? He picked up the phone like clockwork. Before getting a single word out, he heard the panicked greeting of Cécil.
"...Frasier? Are you there? I… I need to talk to you about something." A feeling of dread overtook him realizing that his suspicions were correct. Based on his judgment, Cécil was in fact having an obsessive-compulsive episode. "The door's unlocked." He added, rather secretively.
"I'll be right there, don't worry." He answered quickly, hanging up the phone with vigor. He virtually ran to the door, ignoring that he had nothing on his feet but socks. The front door to his residency slammed shut as he ended up at the front door of Cécil's apartment. Afraid of coming off too strongly, he waited a few seconds before gingerly opening the door, turning the knob slowly and quietly. Now within Cécil's quarters, he quietly locked the door shut. All he could do was stare in bewilderment.
"Frasier, I—" he began, feeling guilty for interrupting his evening. He observed him walking closer to him and pried his way underneath his weighted blanket.
"Don't even say a word of apology, Céci," he said firmly, taking a seat next to his troubled neighbor. He couldn't help but feel warm upon hearing Frasier call him by his nickname. Despite being close to his family, as well as Roz, no one called her 'Céci' but him. He moved back to a sitting position. "I came here as fast as I could. I don't think I've ever left my apartment in such a hurry!"
"Forty-five seconds," he said, impressed. "A new record."
"I see you've been putting the weighted blanket I got you for Christmas to good use," he commented awkwardly as he attempted to engage in small talk. He observed Cécil's body language, taking note of his distance from him as well as the repetitive shaking of his left leg comparable to a well-oiled machine. He paid attention to how his arms were under the blanket, making his stomach queasy as he wondered if his concerns earlier really did have substance.
"Are you kidding? I would wear it if I could." There was a feigned enthusiasm in his voice. He made brief eye contact with Frasier but moved away. From the view he got of him, he had a mild frown upon his face.
Silence fell upon the apartment once more. The two adults both had things to say as a feeling of malaise spread through the air.
"Céci," he requested gently. "Please give me your hand." His left arm slowly emerged as it extended cautiously. His body was so tense that his wrist could not go limp. He felt the warmth of Frasier's hand overwhelm him with comfort instead of fear. "My goodness, you've bitten your nails straight to the bone…"
An inaudible gasp from Frasier startled Cécil. He saw the deep red splotches around his fingers. His condition was worse than he imagined.
"Where do you keep your peroxide?"
"Frasier, you don't have to do this. I'm fine." He fibbed.
"Céci, you're obviously not fine if you called me sounding like you were on the verge of tears." While he knew he was right, Cécil could only blankly stare at him in a complete loss of words. "Whether you called me or not, it doesn't change the fact that I am deeply worried about you. That's why I'm here, after all."
Frasier checking on him was something considerably in-character for him but surprised him nonetheless. It brought a sense of comfort knowing that he thought of him. The extent of how much, or what ways Frasier thought of him, was unknown. He lightly held Frasier's hand, hoping to God he wouldn't grow suspicious. A grin slowly appeared on his face as he exhaled suddenly in light amusement. "Glad I could cheer you up a bit."
"The peroxide is in the medicine cabinet." He pointed to her kitchen, which had lustrous granite countertops, a chef's grade stovetop, a double oven so clean it was like new, a stainless steel fridge with no fingerprints in sight, and jet black cabinets and drawers. "It's next to the fridge."
"I'll be right back."
Cécile clutched his dominant hand into a fist and repeatedly punched a pillow to the left of him, frustrated at herself from holding the radio host's hand and getting confirmation that he noticed it. His anxiety clawed at his stomach as he anticipated Frasier to come back with a pocketful of questions. "Christ…" he muttered. He heard Frasier's footsteps become more audible, signaling his return to the living room.
"There's not much peroxide left, but it should do for now," he said, pouring a few droplets onto a fluffy, white cotton ball.
"Stuff like this… happens to me often, unfortunately." Cécil scratched his neck, looking downwards glumly. Frasier once again took his right hand, disinfecting each nail and cleaning off the dried blood. He was incredibly careful, making sure his wounds were well-kept.
"There's nothing to be ashamed of, Céci. This is just one of the… 'ugly' parts of having OCD—the behaviors the average person doesn't see." He explained. There was a certain tenderness to how he cleaned Cécil's nails. It was with enough pressure to clean off the blood but was done in a way where his jagged, bitten fingernails wouldn't get caught on the cotton. It made all the pent up tension in his hand wither away. "It's a compulsion. And compulsions essentially are habits that obsessive-compulsive people have that provides comfort; a sense of security." After finishing the right hand, he motioned Cécil to put down his left hand, which noticeably was in worse condition.
"I don't know if I've told you this, but my mom always got on my ass for biting my nails when I was a kid. She said I could get an infection from it."
"Is that why you always carry hand sanitizer in your purse?" Frasier asked inquisitively, finishing up cleaning his pinky finger. He placed the dirtied cotton balls on the coffee table and let go of his hand.
"Shockingly, no." He snickered in amusement. "I'm pretty good with not biting my nails in public. It's only when I'm… alone with my thoughts that it becomes an issue." He quietly observed his hands, surprised at how they became less swollen.
Digesting Cécil's remark, Frasier bobbed his head. "I see."
"...See what?" He asked quickly, resting his chin on his palms as he tried to fake a 'casual' demeanor.
"I'm here to talk to you because, since Monday, you haven't visited as frequently as you do. I just wanted to know how you were doing, and if I could be of any help."
"Oh." Cécil's eyes widened. "I wasn't having an OCD flareup if that's what you were going to say next." He sensed that Frasier was unconvinced by his explanation by the mere look of his daunting, blue eyes and the wrinkle of his brow.
"I'm really thankful that you reached out and took care of my nail-biting situation, though. The reason why I called you here was," he halted, feeling himself perspiring as the air around her grew dense and hard to breathe. "Was because I was I've been thinking about the state of our friendship."
He hauled the weighted blanket off himself and tossed it on the floor, registering the what the hell he roped himself into. Frasier leaned forward, waiting for the tense man to explain himself.
"I did a lot of thinking and…" he twirled a lock of his curly, brown hair. He needed to think of a lie, fast.
"I feel like our friendship hasn't been healthy." Cécil announced slowly. Surely this was a convincing white lie, as it was in some truth. Cécil always worried in the back of his mind his friendship with Frasier was one-sided or dependent, but he was always able to reassure herself.
Frasier's hand moved to his cheek, tapping his face lightly. "Could you… explain why you feel that way?" His voice was low and confused.
"I just feel like I frequently vent to you about having OCD, and we spend less time enjoying ourselves and more on… life problems and complaining. I've treated you like a therapist more than a friend." Feeling like he sounded ridiculous, he further elaborated. "I-I mean," he stammered. "You are a therapist, but friendships that are based on venting rarely work and are emotionally draining. You don't deserve that from me, Fras. I haven't been a good friend to you, and I apologize." A weight of guilt plagued his conscience, fearing that he hurt him. He turned his body to face Cécil, slowly moving his arm to place on his shoulder.
"Céci, look at me."
He sluggishly moved his head to face him.
"I've never looked at our friendship as unhealthy in any way." He reaffirmed.
"You really think so?"
"Of course! We respect the boundaries that we've established and we communicate our feelings directly and maturely."
"Yeah… you're right."
"I came to you on my own accord because I wanted to help. And when I looked to you for input on something, I always asked if you had the time to." Frasier further elucidated. "That is fundamentally different than just dumping your problems unwarranted."
"I think I'm just worried about being a burden on you," Cécil admitted; a probable cause to why he waited so long to confess to Frasier in the first place.
"You never have to worry about that, Céci. I've always seen you as my equal."
"You really think so?" Cécil queried, timidly covering his mouth with his hand. It was the biggest compliment he ever received. Dr. Frasier Crane, a notable psychiatrist and radio personality, viewing him as his equal, perplexed him.
"When I meant I see you as my equal, I meant that I've always felt like we're on the same page, not that I previously saw you as inferior to me." He flinched, feeling as though he made what he said worse. "Ignore the last part," he pursed his lips. "I apologize for the confusion. I've never seen you as inferior to me, either."
"No, no, I understood what you meant and I didn't even interpret what you said with any negative connotations. But… me?"
"You don't hear me say that to just anyone, Céci."
"Jeez… That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me. Thanks for everything." His nervous air faded away, as it usually did whenever he spent time with Frasier.
"No need to thank me, it's what friends are for. However," he paused. "There is… one thing I meant to discuss with you. I hope it's not poor timing to bring it up."
Cécil felt his stomach instantly drop.
"W-what is it, Fras?"
"I have a feeling that you called me over for a completely different reason." He answered straightforwardly.
He tensed up instantaneously. "You're right," he admitted, frowning. I'm sor—" His sentence was cut short by Frasier putting his pointer finger on Cécil's lips.
"No apologies here, remember?" He recalled, taking his finger off her mouth. "It's normal for people to divert from what they want to discuss with someone, especially if it's of great importance."
"I mean, what I told you wasn't entirely a diversion. It was a legitimate worry I had, but it wasn't a pressing matter."
"I can tell that you needed reassurance, though."
Frasier paused mid-sentence, a mildly frightening look appearing on Cécil's face.
"Not the obsessive-compulsive kind, Céci!" He quipped.
"Well, duh!" The two broke out in raucous laughter.
"Getting back on topic," Frasier cleared his throat. "I've noticed a couple of your… mannerisms since we became friends. Two and a half years really went by, haven't they?"
"Really?" Cécil started to internally panic. He then reminded herself that Frasier is a psychiatrist, so of course, he analyzed his friends' behaviors. "Tell me about them! I… also feel like we've been friends much longer." He slowly moved closer to Frasier, who was relaxing on the couch, facing forward.
"Alright, I'll start with this one first. While you've always been incredibly talkative, especially around my family, your attention usually gravitates to me when I arrive. In group conversations, you focus on me for the most part or we end up having a one-on-one conversation. That's usually how our best conversations came to fruition, and I don't mind at all."
"Of course! Remember that time we watched TV on your couch?" Cécil recollected fondly. "I was in nothing but pajama shorts and a tee-shirt, freezing my ass off."
"And we bickered about the heat!" Frasier guffawed. "I couldn't stand seeing you become an ice cube, so I bundled you up under my blanket."
"I was too stubborn to admit I was cold, so I really appreciated that." He remembered when he was beside Frasier on his apartment's couch, and the comfort he felt relaxing beside him. The fluffy blanket smelled like his Versace L'homme cologne—warm, fragrant, with notes of basil and citrus. "I also remember—" he quickly cupped his hands over his mouth, fearful that if he said any more, he would reveal his true feelings.
"Are you alright, Céci?" asked Frasier. "Whatever you were going to say, I'm positive it was nothing embarrassing or inappropriate."
He uncovered his maw and took a deep breath. "I… remember falling asleep beside you that night. I woke up early the next morning and you were right next to me." Frasier's eyes suddenly moved away from Cécil's, ashamed. He was mortified that he made him uncomfortable or afraid.
"You fell asleep on my shoulder, and you looked so comfortable and peaceful. I didn't want to disturb you, so I stayed." Frasier shyly fidgeted his hand.
"I think that's really sweet, Fras." He reached for Frasier's hand and tapped it comfortingly. "They wouldn't have suspected a thing. Your dad would've thought that I stopped by for a cup of coffee before getting to work!"
"You're absolutely right."
"Is there anything else you've noticed about me?"
"You've… given me so many gifts and presents. You gave me an absolutely gorgeous landscape painting of the Seattle skyline done in oil paint, as well as the Super Nintendo you just… gave to me on a whim. It's what led to me using Mario Paint to compose music for fun."
"I actually found it when I was packing my things to move from New York City to Seattle. I thought it was my way of giving you a keepsake from where I lived most of my life. I'm ecstatic you're making the most out of it."
"I didn't know that, Céci!" Frasier declared amazedly. "You know, I've always wanted to go to New York City. You go on about how great New York-style cheesecake is, and speaking of, your six-ounce chocolate chip cookies based on the ones sold at Levain Bakery are to die for!"
"Well, as a native New Yorker, I can confirm that my version is almost identical to the ones sold at Levain Bakery. Ask my friends who still live there if you want a second opinion." Cécil bragged.
"I trust your word, as well as the various other treats you've made for me. I really enjoyed the pumpkin cheesecake you made on Thanksgiving, as well as the dark chocolate mousse. Using whipped egg whites instead of egg yolks is absolutely genius. It makes it incredibly airy and is absolutely refreshing! I'm getting hungry just talking about it…"
"I'm no professional baker, so I'm flattered that you enjoy it so much. I just worry that you may think it's somehow… manipulative?"
Frasier raised his brow. "Why would it be?"
"I dunno," he shrugged. "People sometimes do favors and expect something in return. I don't expect anything in return when I bake things for you, or your family, other than a 'thank you' and 'make this again.' "
"Doing nice things for people you care about doesn't make you a bad person at all, Céci. I, for one, think I deserve to treat you to something sweet, like crème brûlée."
"Don't you mean Crane brûlée?" The hobby baker joshed. Frasier snickered at Cécil's cheesy joke.
"You're an absolute riot, I swear."
"It's nice you think that I'm funny, but I'm just curious as to why you brought all this up. Reminiscing on our friendship is therapeutic in itself, but it clearly has a purpose in this situation." Cécil's tone was solemn.
"Right."
Frasier's humorous nature switched to a strongly contemplative one. "Céci, dear. What prompted me to mention some memories I have of you is that" he closed his eyes, feeling his heart rate slightly spike.
"I believe that you may have romantic feelings toward me."
The the fleetingly lively room went to a complete standstill. Discomfort ran through Cécil's body as the impulse to exit the front door of his home to impulsively leave to God knows where taking full custody of his mind. He felt sick to his stomach seeing that he figured it out before he could even remotely utter the phrase "I love you." Cécil Fernandez had no other choice but to lay in the bed he somehow carefully yet recklessly made, and prepare for his friendship with Frasier to change permanently.