Chapter 25

Ryder

“Come on, just pick a house already!” I complain to no one in particular.

I like watching house hunting shows because it’s cool seeing how other houses look. But people can be really picky and it’s annoying me. I’m fine with any house they show - it’s good enough for my broke ass - unless the toilet’s really badly done or the rooms are weirdly shaped. I guess everyone can understand that, right?

But anyway, I love roasting these houses - my favourite insults are “The walls look like the aftereffect of explosive diarrhoea” and “Who the fuck actually carpets kitchens?” - but I say that to my empty home so no one else hears my absolutely hilarious comments.

As the next episode of House Hunters International starts playing, a loud thud interrupts my evening and I jump out of my skin. It sounds like right outside my door. I mute the TV and stand up slowly. Then, someone starts knocking at my door - loud and persistent. I gingerly walk to my door. Is this some kind of a joke? Or is this a burglary? But I don’t think anyone’s lame enough to knock before robbing. (“Hello, thanks for opening the door, I’ll just take your stuff and leave?")

Then, I hear heavy breathing and someone calling out, “Ry - ” The person coughs. “Please . . . open . . . door.”

There's something familiar about the voice, though raspy. I open the door and I’m greeted by a very drenched and wheezing Nathan.

“Nathan?” I say, perplexed. What’s he doing here? At 8:53 pm? And especially wet?

He lifts his head weakly at me. Then, his eyes roll back and his whole body slacks, falling to the ground. Again, I catch him before he hits the floor (this time I’m glad for my reflex).

“Nate?” I try again, my hand on his face. No response. His head lolls off to the side. He’s actually unconscious. It takes a moment for me to process this. And when I do, I leave his soiled shoes by the door and carry him to my sofa.

I lay him down slowly on it, trying my best not to accidentally drop him. When he’s down, his head falls abruptly to the side again and I almost shriek. Oh god, why am I so spooked by an unconscious person? I thought his head was going to fall off.

His glasses are so spotted with raindrops, I’m surprised how he was able to see through them. So I take them out, wipe them with the hem of my shirt and awkwardly put them back on his face.

Nathan’s slightly shivering, and his face is as cold as a raw New York strip. Oh fuck. What do I do? I have absolutely zero knowledge about first-aid (I should have listened to Aunt Mars when she was teaching me some basic stuff). God, I’m panicking. Is he dead? I hesitantly place two fingers on the side of his cold neck. Okay, I feel a pulse, though faint, so he’s alive.

Then, I try to rub some warmth into his hands; but my hands are equally as cold and they’re shaking so much, so I give up. Shit, shit, shit. I stand and nervously run a hand through my hair when my conscience speaks up: Look, he’s cold, so just put a fucking blanket over him and wait for him to wake up.

As much as I hate you, conscience, you’re right. I guess.

So I take the thickest blanket I can find and tuck him in on my sofa. Both my blanket and sofa are going to be wet too but I don't care. All that matters is that Nathan doesn’t die on me. God, I need to stop thinking that he’ll die and calm down. He isn’t going to die, he just fainted, okay? Shut up!

I start counting the seconds, watching the clock in my living room studiously. 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24. . .

Once I’ve completed a full minute, I start counting again. And again. And again. I slowly and carefully sit on one end of my sofa. Nathan’s looking better now, less frightening than how he did when he showed up unannounced. The only movement from him is the slight rise and fall of his chest.

Still counting, I bury my head in my hands. Everything else disappears, leaving me and Nathan alone in the darkness of my mind. As the numbers resonate loudly in my head, a phrase - a prayer - repeats itself in the din:

Please be alright.

Nathan

I wake up, sitting groggily. I try to open my eyes, but everything is too bright, so I keep them half-closed. A thick blanket is over me, and I find myself sitting on a black sofa.

"Where am I?" I mumble to myself.

To my left, I see a hunched figure at the other end of the sofa. He's wearing a black tank top, and his head is in his hands. I try to sit up properly and fully open my eyes, pushing my now-clear glasses up the bridge of my nose. His head rises from his hands to look at me and his face lights up immediately.

"Nathan!" Ryder breaks into a thousand-watt smile and puts his arms around me.

I tense up at first but relax immediately against his warm lean-muscled body. I wrap my arms around his body.  Warmth emanates from him, seeping through my wet clothes and filling my whole body with it. We stay like that for a while, wrapped in each other's arms. Then, he pulls away and puts his hands on my shoulders.

"Oh my god," he says, eyes searching my face. "I was so worried."

Since our faces are so close, I take a good look at his eyes. They are slightly puffy and glassy like he had just been crying. His eyes are the kind of turquoise that's the colour of the ocean - not deep blue, but the rich turquoise one you usually see on beaches. It's so beautiful to look at.

"Sorry," I say.

"That's okay. Are you hungry? I'll go cook something- "

"No. I, uh, just ate dinner."

"Then do you want anything to drink?"

"Nope, I'm good."

"Hmm." Ryder stands up and goes to the kitchen to get something. He returns seconds later with a glass of water. "You don't look good, so drink up," he says, a smile hanging on his lips.

I give him a small smile and cup the glass in my cold hands. I take a few careful sips, willing my hands to stop shaking. Ryder then moves closer to me and wraps the blanket tightly around me.

"You're cold, Nate," he says, his arm around my shoulders.

I feel my cheeks burning and my heart starts racing again. This mere action sends electricity running down my spine. The cup shakes slightly in my hands, and my drenched clothes are not helping at all.  Ryder places a finger under my chin and gently raises my head. "Hey, hey."

"Hi."

"You alright?"

"Yeah." I smile weakly at him. "I don't know. . . no."

He pats my shoulder softly. "Come on, tell me what happened."

Ryder

As soon as I said those words, different colours flash through his eyes - brown, light blue and grey. It’s like watching a mini light show in his eyes. But it’s full of fear and anxiety.

He doesn't talk for a while. His knuckles are white from gripping the cup too hard. Then he finishes it, putting the cup on the coffee table afterwards. Nathan looks at me but something inside him must’ve broken because he starts crying.

“Nate . . .” I bring my arms around him. He leans on my shoulder and cries into it. I rub his back with one hand and rest my head on his mess of dark orange.

“I- I told . . . I told my parents . . . .” He starts whimpering, trying to form sentences and dropping them immediately when his tears get too thick.

“Shh, it’s okay,” I whisper.

He shakes his head against me, scared.

“It’s okay, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.” Then I slow my heart rate for his sake. “Feel my heartbeat?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Just focus on that, okay?”

Nathan nods and his cries slowly soften. I pat his back softly as his breathing slows and his body sags. Soon, we’re just holding each other, completely silent except for our breathing.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. There we go.

Then, Nathan mumbles into my shoulder, “I told my parents I’m gay.”

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Yo hello guys, gals, and non-binary aristocrat chaps!

Have a pseudolong-ish chapter to make up for Nathan's short running away chapter

And also happy April Fools day and it's also Autism Acceptance Month (not in any way related)!!!  Autism Speaks suck >:1 Go listen to autistic people's voice instead :D

I haven't got much to say except stay safe (and also indoors, because it's always safer inside) and drink up!! Get plenty of rests and love yall❤️✨