Chapter 7 #4
They watch the next two matches in silence, one that Asher occasionally breaks to offer commentary or simply because he can’t shut up.
Truth is, if he does, he’ll be forced to face the ache within.
It grows like brambles between his ribs, scraping away at his bones.
Everything he’s given up. Everyone he misses.
Friends. Home. Two circles slide over each other until they’re one and the same.
A tag-team match comes next. A blonde and a brunette emerge from a cloud of smoke. They are clad in leather, steampunk goggles sitting atop their carefully styled hair, outfits perfectly paired with gear-lined boots.
“Harley”—Asher points to the blonde—“and Valentina.” He points to the brunette.
“They’ve been a duo for, like, ever. Everyone was like, ‘Oh my God, they’re roommates,’ but turns out they are genuinely roommates who have been in a committed relationship since college.
Harley is a menace and Val protects me from her. ”
When he turns to look at Caleb, Asher finds him with eyes glazed over. His lips are so roughly bitten there are dark red and angry indents left behind.
“Knight, I know you’re a royal asshole, but please do not make me have to add homophobia to that laundry list.”
Caleb hunches over and leans his forearms on his thighs. “I . . .” Bowing his head, Caleb stares at his feet. “I’m not homophobic,” he insists, voice cracking. “I promise I’m not. I’m not.”
He glances up, and the look on his face—
Oh.
Oh.
Asher doesn’t want to assume, but he doesn’t want to push Caleb for a confirmation either. Not like this.
He takes a moment to look inward.
Queerness isn’t a foreign concept to Asher.
In fact, he has been surrounded by it for as long as he can remember.
Back in Singapore, his paternal uncle cohabits with another man.
They can’t put a legally recognized label on it due to local laws, but Asher’s always understood what it meant—the way their hands would linger on the small of each other’s backs in a crowd, unspoken reassurance in a language of their own.
Hell, a sizable chunk of the Performance Center’s locker room is queer too.
It’s just that he’s never really given much thought to his own sexuality.
Why? Because, well, he’s straight. At least, he assumes he is.
That’s the default, isn’t it? It’s what all his nosy aunties and uncles ask come Lunar New Year: “Aiyo, do you have a girlfriend yet?” Besides, he’s spent so much of his life trying to prove his worth and forge a name for himself, he doesn’t have the luxury of time to figure out who he is.
Asher isn’t great at the whole emotionally vulnerable heart-to-heart thing but gives it a shot anyway.
“Hey,” he says to the ground. It’s hard for him to say stuff like this head-on.
“We might hate each other, but never about this, okay?” He gingerly rests a hand on Caleb’s thigh but withdraws quickly when Caleb inhales sharply.
“Yeah,” Caleb mutters, pinched apprehension etched all over his face.
Before Asher can go on, an arm wraps around his shoulder.
“Hello, loser.” Crouched low behind them in the stands, Ava Kiss smiles widely up at Asher. Rising to their feet, they beckon Asher over with one arm and begin to jiggle open the lock on a nearby door with the other.
“Holy shit!” Asher whisper-yells after them. “You were amazing tonight.” He moves to follow Ava, but at the very last minute, twists back around, taps his knuckles against Caleb’s shoulder, and looks pointedly at the back of Ava’s figure slipping through the door.
“But—” Caleb’s lower lip juts out. He stares longingly at the ring.
“A/V room,” Asher explains. “More privacy.”
Inside the A/V room, the roar of the crowd pours in as doors swing open and abruptly cut off when they swing shut again.
“How did you know I was here?” Asher asks, catching Ava in a bone-crushing hug.
Ava holds up their iPhone. The Find My app fills the screen. “You haven’t been replying to my texts, so I naturally assumed the worst: that the Ice Prince had accidentally snapped your neck during a match.” They shrug. “Just checking. There’s nothing wrong with being a little codependent.”
Caleb clears his throat. A flush predictably reaches his nose.
“Jesus!” Ava jumps about five inches into the air, almost toppling over onto their butt.
“Speak of the devil. I didn’t see you there.
” They nudge ahead, extending a hand to Caleb.
“Hi, I’m Ava. Medium-size fan of your work.
Would appreciate it if you didn’t kill my best friend though, however enticing that may be. ”
“Hang on, I thought we hated him,” Asher says.
“No, you can’t shut up about how much you hate him,” Ava corrects. “I am only a hater in solidarity.”
“Et tu, Brute?”
Nodding at Ava, Caleb’s back straightens. Something odd happens to his sharp features, like a cautious mask slides over them.