MARCH 19, 2016 / RYANEL GONZALES' APARTMENT

The door swung open faster than Asher expected.

"What are you doing here?" Ryanel asked, shock and panic plastered over his tanned features. His eyes fell to Asher's prosthetic leg. "Did you walk?"

"Just from the bus station around the corner," Asher scratched the back of his neck. He felt something akin to awkwardness. It'd been a long time since he had felt . . . this for anyone.

"Can I come in?"

Ryanel narrowed his eyes at Asher, brazen doubt etched into the furrows of his eyebrows. He finally opened the door wider, stepping aside to let Asher in.

"You never answered my first question. What are you doing here?"

Asher moved closer to Ryanel, dragging his left leg, which was unused to the added weight, forcibly forward. "What I want."

He placed a tentative hand on Ryanel's cheek, feeling the smooth expanse of skin under his thumb. Then he leaned in, allowing their lips to meet in the briefest of touches.

"Is this alright?" Asher whispered, their noses barely a hair's width apart.

Ryanel's eyes were wide. There was a concoction of hesitation and desire pooling in them. The brown folds and flecks in his irises reminded Asher of the underside of a gilled mushroom. 

"I— I don't know."

"Can I convince you?"

Ryanel swallowed. Nodded. His eyes closed.

The boys leaned in, their lips skimming each other lightly once more Asher inhaled the musky, citrus scent of Ryanel's cologne. His hand snaked up Ryanel's chest, alongside his neck, to his nape. Pulling him closer and slanting his head, Asher deepened the kiss.

He explored Ryanel's mouth, savouring the sweet, cinnamon flavour on the tip of his tongue. Did he have cinnamon rolls for lunch? Ryanel's fingers tentatively reached out, slanting flat against Asher's chest before gripping Asher's shirt in a tight fist. He used that to pull him closer, his tongue coming to life in a battle against Asher's.

It felt like ribbons of electricity were running through Asher's limbs. The tingles started at the nape of his neck, slithered down his spine and wrapped in body in a euphoric joy that made him want to shiver. He threw all reason and logic to the wind, revelling in how good it felt to be wanted.

Ryanel started walking forward, and Asher stumbled backwards to keep the distance consistent between them. His arms were tugging Asher around the couch and across the small living room, relying on habitual knowledge of the flat's layout rather than sight. 

When they reached the bedroom, Ryanel swung the door shut behind them.

__________

"We can talk now, right?" Ryanel traced his fingers along Asher's arm, his ear pressed to his chest. He could hear Asher's heartbeat, strong and gradually slowing down from its frantic pace.

"Yes," Asher's eyes roamed around the ceiling of Ryanel's bedroom. 

He hadn't seen it from this vantage point before; lying down, basking in the afterglow. It was strange to be so entranced by a plain white ceiling. Suddenly the afternoon sunlight looked like pure gold, the dust particles caught in the rays like tiny stars dancing and whirling in the air. The room was humming with energy. To Asher, at least, it was. 

"About what exactly?"

"This, I guess. What even is this? Are we friends with benefits now?"

"No," Asher drew lazy circles on Ryanel's shoulder, hoping that with some physical contact the peace that he felt would seep into Ryanel. "We're more than that. I can feel it."

"So what are we? Do you even like me? And I thought you didn't want to deal with a relationship while you recovered — you broke up with Phoebe because of that. So would this be just a fling?"

"You have a lot of questions," Asher murmured. 

He vaguely remembered how Ryanel would stress about all upcoming exams, results day, waiting to see if he was accepted into university. He always fell head first into things that mattered to him. He was always invested. And he always voiced whatever came into his head.

"Well, yeah. This is . . . new to me."

"What? Sex in general or with a guy?"

"With . . . you," Ryanel propped himself up on his elbow, his shiny black hair a tousled mop on his head. "Is that not the case for you?"

"I've been with one guy. In high school," Asher recalled the New York socialite. The cigarette always wrapped in his slender fingers.

"Who?" Ryanel asked, his voice cutting sharper than before. "Did he go to our school?"

"No. I met him that New Year's the whole Krista Ming scandal happened. We met up twice, I think, but I wasn't ready to be his call boy. I had school and and work and my racing to focus on."

Ryanel's shoulders relaxed, a soft, self-deprecating smile on his lips. "I guess I don't like to be the inexperienced noob. I was always better at everything than you."

Asher laughed, shoving him away with a playful shove. "Well, you've been dethroned. Don't worry, I can teach you what marginal things I know, and the rest we can discover together."

Ryanel nodded, looking quite torn. "Do you even like me? Or is it just for the sex, as a distraction?"

It was as if he very much wanted to believe and be swept away by the charged tension between them, but his fastidious nature demanded to know what, when, how. He was always the one who planned outings. He would screenshot a Google Maps blueprint of the area, download train and bus timetables, arrange meetup times.

"Of course I like you. I guess it just happened. You looked after me. You were mature and patient and not afraid to give me a kick up my ass when I was being difficult," Asher grinned at the memory of their first kiss, how angry Ryanel had been when he first entered Asher's bedroom. "Who wouldn't like that?"

Asher felt suddenly that Ryanel was too good for him. Not too good, actually, but so passionate about the things he cared about. While he was happy to be one of those things, he knew he couldn't lead him astray. He was lost and hurt already, recovering from the crash, and he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he disrupted another person's life.

If he made Ryanel fall in love and ended up disappointing him.

Ryanel returned the smile, the room suddenly two shades brighter. "So, should we just play this by ear? Because I think I like you, too."

"Sounds like a plan," Asher replied, his heart hammering with a breathtaking mix of fear and excitement. It felt a turning point. Something big would happen because of his decision to come here today, and Asher didn't know whether it'd be the best or worst one of his life.

There was only one way to find out, though.

"One rule," Ryanel began. "We need to be honest. Always. Whatever we're feeling, even if it's small and insignificant. If you feel like it's too much to handle emotionally while you're rehabbing, just tell me."

"You're getting paranoid already," Asher joked.

However, part of him felt strangely exposed. Like Ryanel, intuitive and intelligent as he was, had unwittingly articulated Asher's deepest fear.

He was not as carefree as people thought. He was apathetic and numb and veering towards nihilism. He'd be a terrible, distant boyfriend and probably dump too much emotional baggage on Ryanel. As a person who'd experienced multiple different types of pain, Asher could say one of the worst was being in a relationship where one person tried harder than the other.

He'd most definitely be the other.

And as terrible as he felt about the prospect, he had not an ounce of motivation to prevent it. He just felt hollow.