My Type of Socializing | ✓

Chapter 8

Assad did not reach out. He always reached out first, and Adam decided that that sealed the end of whatever relationship they had started to develop.

Adam felt it made sense. Why would Assad message him? He wasn't in the wrong, and it was Adam's fault for freaking out. For the next week Adam tried to build the confidence to go upstairs and talk to the college student, but unexpected news that Archie Carter was launching a show that had a character that looked a little too alike to one original character Adam had put together for a client, had sent Adam spiraling again.

He was back in a messy apartment and being late on his deadlines. He was back to sleeping half of the day and not knowing what time it was. He was back to take out and badly put together sandwiches, and he was back to not speaking to a single soul for days at a time.

The weeks of not reaching out to Assad turned into a month, and soon the younger man was back to frequently bringing people over and causing a ruckus. Adam never complained, though, because if he sat at just the right spot in his living room, he would be able to hear Assad's muffled voice mixed with that of his friends.

He missed the man, but he was too afraid to apologize to him and make things clear, so he did nothing instead.

Adam was currently on his way back from the supermarket. It was about six in the evening, and the sun was retreating behind the crowds. Some dogs were barking, and there were two girls in one of the open stores were bickering, but aside from that, it was pretty quiet. No cars on the street or any other person on the pavement. Adam had grabbed a ready-made meal, hoping to microwave it when he got back. If he didn't feel like shit—which would be a miracle since that's the only constant feeling he'd been having for the past few weeks—he would look into if there were any commissions he could do for some extra cash. Eating take out was expensive, and he wasn't in the position to keep doing that like it was nothing.

Shit. Adam gritted his teeth, when a ray of sunlight from the retreating sun flashed into his eyes and made him dizzy enough to stagger and almost mid his step.

"Hey, watch your step!" someone yelled from their balcony when Adam almost tripped over on air.

Adam ignored the person, pulling his hoodie down even more before hurrying away. Situations like that had been happening more often. Not eating meant less energy. Not eating plus crying a lot meant dehydration and headaches.

Adam was glad to make it into the apartment complex and get away from the sun, that was until he started climbing up the stairs and remembering that going up was a lot more energy-draining than going down.

He was feeling dizzy, the plastic bag holding the ready-made dinner he was supposed to eat tonight was feeling heavy on his arm. He kept pushing himself, climbing enough stairs to get him to the small long gaps before the next flight of stairs.

He paused, bending a bit and letting himself take deep breaths. This was harder than he had thought, and he felt weaker than he had initially thought.

"I just need—" his words got caught up in his throat as he dry-heaved and his eyes watered. "I just need to..." he started saying to himself as he stared at the next level of stairs, but he never finished his sentence. His legs gave way, and his eyes fluttered close as his body made contact with the cold sandy floor.

━━━━━━━━

When Adam's eyes opened next, he was in darkness and greeted with the sound of something boiling and the smell of food.

He winced when he sat up and felt a section of his abdomen contract in a weird way. He was in pain, and his head felt heavy, but first of all, Adam had to figure out where he was.

He squinted in the darkness and noticed this wasn't his bedroom. The room had an overflowing shelf at the side, and an easel propped up in the corner next to a stool.

Where am I? Adam wondered, moving to the side of the bed and sitting up so that his feet could touch the floor. His toes felt the cool tiles. He shivered a bit, not expecting that. He has carpet in his own room.

Adam was still trying to figure out where he was when the door to the bedroom creaked open. He turned sharply, staring at the figure that was illuminated by the light coming from the hallway.

"Oh, you're awake," Assad said as Adam's throat clogged up with the many words he wanted to say. "I thought you would like something to eat so I put some soup on the fire," the man continued to say, turning the switch to the light in the room on.

Adam winced as the room got flooded in the white rays of the fluorescent bulb above him.

"I'm sorry about that, but you have to leave the darkness sooner or later," Assad said, wandering into the room. He took a seat at the edge of the bed, creating a good distance between himself at Adam.

Adam was still dumbfounded, so the room fell into silence.

"What happened? I found you passed out on the floor when I was heading to my apartment," Assad said, and Adam tightened his jaw as he pulled the covers on the bed over himself. This was Assad's room. Assad's bed. The thought made Adam be both on the verge of tears and relief.

"Was it your work? It seemed like you were exhausted," Assad continued to talk. "I saw you put the comic on hiatus."

Assad's voice both annoyed and comforted Adam. He wasn't replying but the man was still speaking to him. Adam had hurt him that night, but here he was taking care of him as if none of what had happened had occurred. Adam felt small. Why couldn't he be as easy going and forgiving as Assad?

"Thank you," he said, making Assad blink.

"It's alright," the dark-skinned man said pushing a strand of his dreadlocks behind his ear. "I'm just glad that you still want to talk to me."

Adam looked up, confused. "What...?"

Assad shrugged. "You left in a hurry that night and I figured out that I must have done something wrong..." he trailed, sucking his bottom lip as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I figured you didn't want me to talk to you—"

"No," Adam said in a firm voice, cutting Assad off. "That's not it. I thought you didn't want to talk to me." Adam's face was heating up. He wasn't sure if it was because of their discussion or if it was because he was sick, but what he did know was that he was nervous, and the pain in his head, abdomen, and bruised arm couldn't match the pleading he was doing in his head in hopes that Assad would understand.

"I freaked out and said something I didn't mean, I'm sorry," Adam coughed out, feeling that it was now or never, or he would never get the guts to properly apologize. "I—I'm not okay, so sometimes my reactions to things are off..." he rambled, not sure why it felt like he was exposing himself. Assad knew how he lived. He was visibly suffering from some sort of anxiety or depressive disorder that made him stay indoors. It was an open secret but saying it out loud made Adam feel small.

"Anyway, I'm not mad, and I'm sorry for making you worry," he said instead, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat as he clenched his hands into fists so his fingers would stop shaking.

"Oh," Assad said. "That's a relief."

The two were quiet after that. Assad sighed, getting up from the bed.

"I'll go grab something for you to eat," Assad muttered, leaving the room and closing the door behind him. Adam was left alone with his thoughts, and the relief and happiness that came with the realization that Assad did not, in fact, hate him. He started to think about everything, and he felt bad for being abrasive to Assad's offers of friendship when they had initially started interacting with each other. Adam stared down at his hands as he listened to Assad fix a plate of food for him. Assad was a good person, and Adam putting effort into the friendship was the least he could do.