FEBRUARY 29, 2016 / DELROV HOUSEHOLD

Asher had become quite proficient in feigning sleep.

The blinds were drawn against the white afternoon sunlight, leaving the room dark and stagnant. It had snowed that morning, so much that everything outside was glaringly painful to look at. In shadow, Asher laid swaddled in blankets, lazily perusing the large bookshelf opposite his bed.

The bookshelf contained Vasily's manuals, Ekaterina's novels, trinkets and photographs. It was once the fixture of Vasily's study, now Asher's bedroom. Vasily and Vanessa had spent a day exchanging the furniture of Asher's room and the study, but neglected to move the bookshelf. Maybe it was too large to move, or Vasily thought it would provide some entertainment for Asher. 

Asher remembered the stern, no-fuss manner they went about the task. He also remembered how cheerful Vasily had been moving their furniture into the house when they first arrived in Astoria. He laughed, made jokes, smiled until his eyes disappeared beneath the sunburnt hills of his cheeks.

The day Vanessa had helped, there were no smiles. The murmured conversation between her and Vasily was ostensibly tense, and it ceased whenever Asher came to ask how they were going.

"Fine. Thanks, son," Vasily had reassured. They had remained silent while Asher was in the room, so he'd left. 

He could tell Vasily didn't know how to behave around him any more. Asher didn't want sympathy, and Vasily wanted nothing more than to sympathise and dote on his son. The result was a strained middle ground where conversations were brief and clipped, because anything deeper would probably cause both men to cry. 

So they feigned normality.

Asher had become rather good at feigning things. Sleep. Normality. 

Happiness. 

It was easier to feed people what they wanted. Suppose they found out how he lay awake most nights, or struggled to wiggle into his pants. They'd feel awful. Ask how to help. Maybe apologise even, in that illogical and fruitless way people do when confronted with another's tragedy. And all it would do would cause another person pain, while taking away none of his own. How unwise.

So Asher kept his day-to-day feelings to himself. Sometimes refusing to share was difficult, so he resorted to staying in his room, pretending to be asleep if need be.

"I'm sorry, Ryanel, I swore he was awake when we called earlier," Asher heard Vasily murmur, from just outside his door.

"That's alright," Ryanel assured. "It's good he can rest. How is he lately?"

"Hmm. Physically, he's doing well. Learning quickly, as usual," over which both men shared a chuckle. Vasily continued, "But I worry, as usual. He doesn't come out of his room often. Even less outside the house. I wish I knew how he was feeling."

"Me, too. I was hoping we could catch up today, especially. Despite all my visits, I feel I haven't seen Asher in a while. The happy Asher."

"I know how you feel," Vasily replied comfortingly.

"But maybe I'll try again in a few days. I have a lecture after lunch, so I won't stay long."

"Please, you can leave your gift with him, at least. He'll see it when, or if, he wakes up. God forbid he sleeps through his twentieth birthday."

"God forbid," Ryanel echoed, opening Asher's door and stepping in.

Asher had to refrain from moving. It felt uncomfortable eavesdropping on their conversation, even if it was about him. Even if they had chosen to talk outside his room. As a fervent compartmentaliser, Asher respected the nuanced relationships his loved ones had with other people. It didn't feel right witnessing a private interaction not meant for him.

"So, your china anniversary, huh?"

Using only his sense of sound, Asher placed Ryanel at about three feet away from his bed. He didn't speak again, unfortunately, and made no ambient noises — which made it hard to glean his whereabouts in the room.

"Ow!" Asher instinctively exclaimed, feeling a sting of pain at his ear.

"I knew it," Ryanel smirked.

"You pinched my ear!"

Rebutting smoothly, Ryanel said, "And you faked sleeping to avoid me."

He had him there. Asher, sheepishly nursing his earlobe, asked, "How did you know?"

"Your breathing. You tried too hard to slow it down, and forgot to add in some eye twitching that would be present if you were actually in REM sleep."

"Nerd," Asher mumbled.

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, Ryanel levelled his accusatory gaze to him. "It's your birthday, Asher. Why are you in here?"

Ryanel was straight to the point today. He'd tried to make contact with Asher everyday since they made their peace with his secret-keeping, whether it be visiting, calling or texting. If he came around, he was either sleeping (or pretending to) or taciturn. Digital efforts were often left unanswered. 

Safe to say, he was now near his wits end with Asher. 

Ryanel wasn't expecting that he feel sprightly, or even positive at all about his situation. He wasn't expecting him to leave his room, his house, or his perpetual grump. But he was expecting him to communicate. Or at least try to.

Asher could feel as angry or depressed as he wanted, he could swear to be a hermit for the next year, so long as he confided these thoughts in his best friend. 

All Ryanel wanted was to be there for Asher, providing support and a listening ear. And it frustrated him that Asher couldn't see that, or was choosing to ignore it.

"Alright," he sighed, seeing no change in way of a response. "I just came to drop off your gift. I'll see myself out."

"Wait," Asher's hand shot out, locking around Ryanel's wrist. "Can you stay a bit longer? I know you have a lecture, blame me for eavesdropping, but I'd like to catch up. How did your finals go?"

"Pretty well," Ryanel shrugged, "I got A's for Maths and Physics, a B+ for Mechanical Engineering."

"Congratulations. I wish I was around more during finals season."

"Don't. I was buried in books pretty much twenty-four-seven, so we wouldn't have talked much anyways. Plus, you were busy with your Australia trip and . . . damn, what was her name?"

"Phoebe. We, uh, probably won't go any further than hanging out."

"Oh. How do you know that? Have you talked since the . . . accident?" Ryanel felt rather uncomfortable. He and Asher talked about food and astronomical news and anything in between. That was the nature of their relationship up until Asher's accident, which saw him clamming up tighter than the screws on a NASA spacecraft.

"I should give her a call. She probably hasn't heard from me since I dropped her home the night of. Unless she's seen the news, which — knowing her — she has." 

For all the openness they shared, relationships were always a touchy subject for Ryanel. 

Maybe it was crossing the tacit boundaries of bromance— though Ryanel knew that wasn't case, after all their ruminations on sexuality and romance and whether soulmates exist or not. That miniscule prick of unease only ever flared up when Asher brought actual partners into the mix. Tangible, solidifed figures. Putting faces to the concepts they talked about, except none of them were his.

"Well, good luck with Phoebe. You could always reconnect, you know. Maybe you'd be more open to communicating with her."

The subtle jab was not lost on Asher, despite Ryanel's efforts to keep his irrational bitterness under firm control.

"I've hurt you," Asher's eyes wandered around Ryanel's mournful face, "haven't I?"

He did not respond. 

"Haven't I?" Asher pressed on, propping himself on his arm and leaning closer so Ryanel would have no choice but to meet his gaze. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't want any of this. But all this shit has been dumped on me so quickly and so mercilessly — how am I going to live like this? Please, tell me how." 

"You're going to get through it with me. And your dad, Vanessa and Kerry. I don't know exactly how, or when. But I know who will be by your side."

Asher was overcome by gratitude. His heart swelled with warmth and something motile, fluttering and swooping. The remorse for pushing his loved ones away was weighty, but at the same time, nothing compared to the pure, shiny emotion ringing through his body. He felt ready to burst, and feeling could only be alleviated by being closer to Ryanel.

Vaguely, Asher registered Ryanel's expression. Parted lips, warm breath fanning his face. Wide eyes swimming with anticipation. Did they mirror his? Did he want them to? All these observations and sensory information were faintly acknowledged by his brain. The majority of his thoughts were a jumbled mess. 

He was doing this for himself. Because he needed to. Needed to feel something other than pain.

That was all Asher knew as he shifted forward, closing the distance between Ryanel's lips and his.