My Type of Socializing | ✓

Chapter 7

While Assad and his friends ate and talked together during their get-together Adam waited patiently in his apartment downstairs. He couldn't get himself to do anything but sit at his work desk, listening to the muffled voices coming from above. He told himself that he wasn't spying. He was just sitting around and waiting for them to leave so that he could go upstairs and meet Assad. That was partially true. Partially because when the voices would wander off to a distance where he couldn't hear them, he would grow frustrated.

Adam already knew a lot about Assad. The younger man talked too much, but there was a want to keep knowing more about him that Adam couldn't shake off. Knowing small things like the man was left-handed, always skipped a cracked stair, and used the same washing machine setting regardless of what he was washing were random knowledge nuggets that Adam kept.

Somewhere along the line, Adam took a nap on his seat, and when his eyes peeled open and caught a glance at the time on his computer monitor, he stood up, panicked that he must be too late to meet with Assad as he had planned.

He crammed for his phone, clicking the message notification from half an hour ago.

Message from: Assad.

I just wanted to check if you were still coming to watch a movie.

SUNDAY 11:02 PM.

The message had come in thirty minutes ago, and Adam wondered if he should reply or just get out of his clothes and head to bed.

After a few minutes of pacing around, he decided to head upstairs to check if Assad was awake. It wasn't like the man's apartment wasn't close by, and it wouldn't hurt to check. Adam left his apartment and went up the stairs before wandering over to the door he had come to know was Assad's. A ball of hope formed in his chest when he noticed the light coming out of the window. He hesitated a bit before raising his balled fist to knock on the door a few times.

"Who's there?"

Adam perked up, licking his lips. "It's Adam," he said, still getting used to the sound of his own voice. When you were alone you didn't have to talk much, and talking for Adam had, at some point become rare and even odd to do.

There wasn't a word in response from the other end, but there was the sound of footsteps and before Adam could ask a follow-up question, the door had flung open.

There was Assad, wide-eyed with a smile so wide that it looked like it hurt.

"I thought you weren't coming," Assad said, giving Adam a look over. The older man looked down at the welcome mat, feeling his face warm up as he recounted the conditions that made him late. He couldn't tell Assad that he had been dressed and waiting since six in the evening and had slept off at some point, so instead, he just shrugged his shoulders.

"I overslept," he half lied. He had indeed shut his eyes for what he has guessed would be a few minutes, not two hours.

"That's fair," Assad said, stepping away from his door. Adam walked in, and Assad closed the door behind them both. For once since Adam started coming over to Assad's apartment it didn't smell like food. The younger man had packed things up and cleaned up the kitchen. Adam noticed that the television in the living room was on, and there was a paused movie on the screen.

"I already started, but we can start from the beginning," Assad explained, coming up behind Adam.

"It's alright, you don't have to do that," Adam mumbled, looking over at Assad who had now wandered over the fridge.

"I packed up the food, but you can still have some of my portions if you're okay with using my own bowls," Assad said, looking up from the opened fridge door.