8 - Like all the time

After what felt like only five minutes later, I woke up to a shaking bed and a lot more space next to me than I remembered was there when I fell asleep. The morning sun beamed through the trees into my room, and the clicking sound of a suitcase being opened ripped me out of that floating space between dreams and reality.

Conor squatted next to my drawer, searching for something in his suitcase. He glanced at me as I stretched my arms over my neck and yawned.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he purred and searched through his shirts, sweaters, and... why did he bring two additional pairs of shoes?

I pushed my pillow between my neck and the headrest so that sitting up was at least comfortable and I could watch him. "How long have you been up?" My question made him glance at me, and as soon as I saw his eyes, I was startled. They were flaming red as if he had cried for hours.

"I could pretend I have been awake for two hours already and make you feel terrible. But... it was... two minutes?"

"Are you sure? You look like you haven't slept at all."

"Like a rock," he replied, his brow furrowing, clearly confused why I asked him. So he probably didn't cry. But... eyes shouldn't be that red after sleeping, should they?

"Have you looked in the mirror?"

He threw the pair of grey vans he held back into the suitcase and walked past the bed into the small private bathroom adjacent to my room. As the light switched on and, with it, the fan, I leaned forward as if those ten inches made it easier to peek around the corner.

The following silence was disturbing. It lasted only a few seconds, but I knew something was coming. And when he let out a quiet "Fuck," I instantly sat on the side of my bed.

I tiptoed to the bathroom, like a deer that heard something and wanted to see what it was, not sure if I should be looking at all. I peeked around the doorframe, and Conor's red eyes stared at me through the mirror.

Did I do something last night that I forgot? Did I say something terrible, and he actually was crying but tried to hide it? Or maybe I hit him in the face accidentally? The bed was rather small for both of us, after all.

"What is it?"

"Nothing bad." He blinked but left his eyelids shut for a second too long, almost as if he didn't want me to see them anymore. "Just another secret about to be revealed."

"Huh?"

"I knew you would have to find out sooner or later anyway."

"You enjoy building the tension, do you?"

He showed me his tongue as if he was about to do exactly that, keeping me in suspense. He casually stroked my belly as he passed me to hurry to his suitcase. With a quick hand, he pulled a small toiletry bag from underneath all his clothes. Within a flash, he was back in front of the mirror. He zipped it open and fished out a small white-green container with two separate caps. He unscrewed both of them, glanced at me, and then pulled down his right eyelid to fumble out a contact lens.

"No way," I laughed as my nerves calmed down again.

"I used to wear lenses you can wear through the night, but we switched brands, and I always forget that I have to take these out in the evening."

He carefully pulled out the other contact lens as well and, after he had stored it, screwed the lids back onto their container. A pair of round glasses with a thin black metal frame almost magically appeared on his nose.

"You could have just told me that."

He shrugged. "I thought you might not like me anymore when I look like a nerd."

"It's not a big deal."

He threw the container into his toilet bag and searched for a spot to store it for the rest of his stay.

"I thought it was at first. Now I'm used to it. I've been wearing them for years. But it's still scary when people see a new side of you they never knew existed."

My stomach felt as if I had swallowed stones. I worked my fingers around the wooden door frame.

That's what it must have felt like for him to tell me he was gay when we were fourteen. Shit. And didn't he say yesterday that there was quite a lot he wanted to tell me? What else is he afraid of revealing when he is already scared about a pair of glasses?

"You're still Conor," I said, trying to say something positive, and somehow, it felt as if I was saying that more for my own sake.

We still only connected through the mirror, almost as if something was separating us, when in fact, I only had to take one step, so my arms could reach him.

"And you're still hot. Even a bit hotter than before."

"I knew it. Nerds are one of your kinks, aren't they?"

"Wha— Hell, no! Don't twist my words!"

And I took that step, wrapping my arms around his waist, ready to revenge-tickle him. He tried to wiggle himself out of my grip, leaning his body over the sink, his face dangerously close to the marble.

"Careful." We don't want to break those glasses.

I stopped the tickling and tried to pull him up, but Conor was already in defense mode and kept wiggling himself out of my grip.

But we both froze as a loud knock interrupted us.

"Breakfast," Aj's puberty-announcing voice screamed from the outside.

"In a minute," I yelled back and waited until I could hear him stomping down the staircase.

"At least he remembered to knock," whispered Conor.

"I doubt that. I locked the door yesterday to be on the safe side."

I softened my grip and turned Conor toward me. He sat back on the sink, and I held his hands. They were so soft. I turned his even, short fingernails up. Is it weird to examine someone's hands like this?

"But honestly, Conor, this changes nothing," I whispered.

"I know."

I searched for his eyes, and even though his glasses were covering them, I could still see them clearly. They weren't an obstacle holding me back from looking at his eyes. If anything, those glasses were more like an aid. Because they also helped me to see better who Conor is.

We both grasped that moment and went for a kiss. It was only a short touch of our lips at first. And then another one. Man, I can't wait to ask him if he wants to be my boyfriend. And then our lips touched for a bit longer, and I wished we didn't have to go down there to eat breakfast with the whole family. Conor grabbed my head, and we lost track of time for a short moment. But we came to our senses as Conor's stomach growled, and we couldn't help but laugh about that.

"We better get ready," Conor whispered. He was right. My parents always put so much effort into making every meal a masterpiece when we had guests. We didn't want to miss that.

Conor turned back to the sink, thinking about what to do first.

"Can you promise me something?" I asked. "Or more like, we promise something to each other...."

"Okay?"

"I wanna know everything about you. And I want you to know everything about me as well. So, how about we promise not to hide stuff like that?"

I pointed to his glasses and didn't know why my body thought I should do that.

Conor thought about it for a second.

"But one confession at a time, okay?"

He kissed me on the cheek and, without waiting for me, strolled back into my room.

—

The smell of freshly made pancakes crawled up our noses. Joined by the sounds of whirring up more batter, Dad's surprisingly soft "Morning, boys" rang out of the kitchen as we walked to the white table in the adjacent dining room. White was the color of choice for almost everything downstairs: the kitchen, the living room, the dining room, and even the mudroom next to our home gym. All of it was white with a hint of light wooden tones. When Dad built this house, he took all of our tastes into consideration, and even though my parents equally shared the kitchen, he let Mom pick out the style. So she got the clean midcentury design she had loved for years, and he was happy because she was.

The table was festively overflowing with food: a fruit plate, baguettes, several fancy platters with breakfast meats, and several kinds of cheese I couldn't name if my life depended on it. If their company failed, Mom and Dad could open a catering business. And thanks to spring break, the whole family was there to enjoy it.

Adam sat next to Mom, downed the last drop of his coffee, and reached for the can to fill his mug again. (He is what you would call a freaking coffee junkie. He even has two personal coffee machines. One in his room and one in the workshop behind the garage. I pointed out several times how ridiculous that is since the garage and his room even have the hidden staircase, and he could just have one for both rooms.)

Mom had one of their work MacBooks cramped in front of her, not noticing our arrival as she was typing something. One of them is always working. But 'just for the sake of financing this family,' as Dad always points out. (While Dad handles the creative part of their company, she handles numbers and communication. So his cooking while she worked through documents wasn't unusual.)

Aj was crammed into the darkest corner of the bench surrounding the white table, looking at his Nintendo Switch. Not that there was a dark spot at all because the whole room had so many windows that it was always bright as day in there. Despite that, he still managed to find the darkest places everywhere.

"Nice Coke bottle, Green Beans," Adam yelled as he spotted Conor.

"Shut your damn mouth!" I snarled back as I pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the table.

"Boys," my Dad yelled from the kitchen counter. "We have a guest. Could you please behave?"

"It doesn't feel like he is a guest. More like a long lost brother finally being back home," Adam said. And I found it hard not to agree with that. "So this is just the usual show of appreciation. Isn't it, Green Beans?"

"I don't like it when you talk to your real brothers like that either," Dad intervened as he put a plate full of pancakes in front of Conor. Taking a slight glance at Mom, who was still occupied with writing something, he hurried back to the next batch.

Mom sighed and flinched back as if she had just realized we had joined them.

"Oh, good morning, my dears," she sang as if we were a welcome distraction from her work.

She reached for the coffee can, and after pointing it to everyone to ask if they wanted some (only Adam refilled his already half-empty cup), she poured herself half a mug of the black steaming wake-up drink.

"Good Morning, Adria," Conor's eyes smiled through his glasses.

Adam choked on his coffee.

"Wait, wait, wait. When did she become Adria to you?" He kept the mug close to his mouth, ready for the next sip, but glared over it as if he was a police officer, not yet ready to interrogate due to coffee deficiency but too interested in finding out what was going on. "I don't even call her that."

"Who would call their parents by their first name?" I asked.

"Only people who hate their parents and psychopaths," Dad yelled out of the kitchen, looking at Mom through the open casing as if he also wasn't happy that Conor called her by her first name, but her eyes gave away that this wasn't something she would have answered.

"Boys, please behave." She sighed and walked into the kitchen, taking her coffee mug.

"So now that we have established that you are a long-lost brother, what are you, Green Beans? A psychopath or a parent hater?" Adam pointed his coffee mug at Conor as if it was a weapon.

"Back off, Adam!" I yelled again. I looked at Conor; he had trouble hiding how badly he had to laugh about that conversation. But he tucked his lips into each other to keep himself from bursting out.

"Okay, okay," Adam glanced at Conor and shrugged, "Guess you're no brother after all. Too bad."

Dad joined us at the table and sat before the MacBook to read whatever Mom had just written.

Mom put a bowl of oatmeal in front of me that Dad had prepared and then took over preparing more pancakes. The bowl, of course, was also white. But this only accentuated the colors of fruits and nuts arranged as if they would be right out of the Instagram of a famous food blogger even more. Conor couldn't take his eyes off the oatmeal, but I wasn't sure if he was envious of my plate or wondering why I was the only one not having pancakes.

"Orders from Coach," I explained, directly followed by an impressed nod from Conor.

"So you guys are going to Tristan's party tomorrow?"

Why Adam? I almost had forgotten about the party. And boy, do I wish I could.

Tristan Colby is our second-degree cousin, and I fucking hate him. He is a spoiled asshole who picks on everyone for everything. So he is basically like I was until I met Conor again, with the difference that he gets everything he wants from his parents. His eleventh birthday? He wanted a dog. His parents bought two and then had to hire a dog sitter because Tristan lost interest in them after ten minutes. Sixteenth birthday? New car, but not just any car, no. It had to be a brand-new BMW. But he crashed it two weeks later, speeding on the highway, and only got a replacement the (literal) next day.

"What party?" asked Aj, looking up from his switch for the first time today (or ever).

"His birthday party," Adam answered in a soft voice he never used when talking to my friends or me.

"How old is he now?"

"Seventeen," replied Adam, and somehow, I got the impression that his voice grew even softer.

"Can I come too, Dad?" Aj asked. I was surprised that his eyes hadn't rotated back to the screen in his hands for almost thirty seconds now.

"No, not in a million years," Dad answered. Aj turned toward the kitchen in order to annoy now Mom, who was still working on more pancakes.

"Can I go, Mom?"

"Don't ask your mother when I already said no," Dad interjected without taking his view from the MacBook.

"Please, Mom?"

"Listen to your father, honey."

"Asher can look after him if he really wants to go," Adam said, glaring at me.

Why is he going after me more than usual today? What is his fucking problem?

I thrust my leg under the table to kick him, but he saw that coming and pulled his leg away, forcing my leg to kick Aj instead, who immediately shrieked.

"Mom! Asher kicked me! Dad!"

And then came the waterworks. Of course, they came with a delay because they were fake as shit. But Aj always got what he wanted by crying. When I was younger, I tried the same thing. It never worked for me. But Aj? He even managed to get out of school once simply by crying that he was afraid of his math teacher.

Mom let the pancakes be and walked over to Aj, scrutinizing me.

"Why do you always have to stir up beef, Asher?"

"I... It was meant for Adam!"

"I don't care! You shouldn't be kicking anyone!"

"Then tell Adam not to provoke me all the time!"

Mom examined Aj's leg. It wasn't even red. She blew on it, kissed it, and held Aj tight to her chest, patting him on the head. He was still sobbing, but his eyes looked at me as if he knew he had got me in his hands.

"Say you're sorry," he sniveled.

"No."

"Asher!" Dad yelled and glared at me from behind his MacBook as if he had more serious things to do than to deal with me.

"No, I... just no!"

"This is no way to treat your family!"

"Did you see how he treated me? How the fuck Adam talked to Conor?"

Like a lightning bolt, Dad sat up straight, ready to scold the living hell out of me.

"Watch your language!"

To stir things up more, Aj intensified his weeping, holding his ears shut as if our voices would hurt him too. He shoved his face right into Mom's chest.

"I thought you would at least get yourself together when you had a friend over," Dad berated.

Why are they against me? Didn't they see that Adam had just provoked this from the beginning? His first words were harmful to Conor!

I didn't even dare to glance at Conor, how he just silently watched what took place in front of him.

"I apologize if Adam does it too."

"This is not a negotiation. You should own up for what you did, no matter if other people wronged you too," Dad lectured me.

The air between us was thick, and it got harder to breathe. But breathing was what I had to do if I didn't just want to start screaming at everyone. And, no, I didn't want to.

I have to pull myself together.

For Conor's sake.

Instead of breathing slowly, I huffed. It was as if the air I inhaled was toxic, and I wanted to get all of it out of my body.

Why is this so hard?

"Ash is right," Adam suddenly said, using the same voice he used for Aj, "I'm sorry, Conor, about how I spoke to you."

And that he sounded sincere made me almost more mad than I was before.

I glanced at Conor, who nodded slightly and softly replied, "I appreciate that."

This made it even harder for me to breathe.

I felt like a rope was tied around my neck, and some higher entity slowly pulled it together, ready to cut off all air forever if I didn't apologize at once.

The whole family stared at me, waiting for me to do what Adam just did.

Apologizing. Why was it so easy for Adam? Why is this so difficult for me?

I sighed, trying to get the toxic air I inhaled out of my system. But I immediately knew I shouldn't have done that because it made what I said next sound super fake.

"I'm sorry for kicking you, Aj."

Dad shook his head and slumped back into his chair.

"I really don't know what is wrong with you," he judged.

"But I meant it."

"Tell that to your voice."

I'm never good enough.

I pushed my chair back, ready to get up, out of this situation, maybe even out of this house.

"There is no need for you to leave," Dad said calmly in his deep voice, already back to staring at his laptop. "We still love you. But you should work on your attitude if you ever want to succeed in life, son."

I kept the stool where I had pushed it and froze. Great. If I leave now, I'll be the public enemy number one. So I chomped down my oatmeal, not looking at anyone while regretting that Conor had to watch all this.

The sound of cutlery hitting porcelain felt like it could cut through my skin. And it got worse as Aj eventually stopped crying because then the summer songs playing on the kitchen radio got through to my brain, contrasting my mood in the worst possible way. Aj was back to his sunken gaming self within minutes and had already forgotten that I had kicked him. Mom returned to the kitchen and glared at a couple of burned pancakes.

While everyone was focused on their work, games, or food, Conor secretly pushed his leg against mine. I glanced over, and he silently winked at me to show his support.

He is on my side even when shit like that happens.

That is, at least, how I understood his attempt. I really wanted to say sorry again. And even if I would aim it at Aj, it would be targeted toward Conor. But I knew that the moment for that had passed now. And as I said to Conor yesterday, I think that an apology that comes too late just always feels so fake. Because it's not even about the thing itself anymore or the people you hurt. It's only about yourself. It's to make oneself feel better, to not live with the guilt anymore. And isn't that in some way worse than not apologizing at all?

"So, you're coming to Tristan's party?" Adam asked again to break the ice.

"That was the plan, yeah," I answer without looking up from my oatmeal. Conor kept pushing his leg into mine.

"I can give you a ride if you need one."

This felt like the offer of a truce, and I was happy to accept that. Fighting with my brothers was tiresome. Okay, to be fair, it was tiring to fight with anyone, especially when everything gets you as angry as stuff makes me. But with siblings, the level of annoyance doubles (or even triples if there are two siblings).

"Thanks," I replied and felt Conor's leg pushing even closer to mine.

"So, yeah," Adam continued, "I'll leave around eight. Let me know if I should pick you up somewhere." And with that, he emptied his mug again and reached for the coffee pot.

"Will do," I replied, finally feeling as if I could breathe normally again.