JULY 1, 2016 / B. WILLARD LIBRARY

How did one look at someone they've seen naked, screaming in pleasure, and pretend they were just friends again?

That was Asher's most pressing dilemma that sweltering morning, where he and Ryanel had planned to meet in the blissful, air-conditioned reprieve provided by the student library on campus.

Ryanel was poring over the blueprints and rudimentary research Asher had hastily drawn up since inspiration struck him. There were a few sketches of various prosthetic designs, seven pages on bio-engineering research and a heartbreakingly extensive list of materials and their hideous costs.

But Asher could only focus on the stray lock of hair falling into Ryanel's eyes, the smooth expanse of tanned skin on his exposed forearms, the way he chewed his plump bottom lip as he perused the documents.

Fuck, this was going to be a mission.

"Looks like you've been busy since . . ." Ryanel caught himself, his eyes widening nervously, like Asher might explode into another tantrum. "Really busy."

Maybe any day earlier than this, he would have. 

But it had been a tortuously long week of crying, stalking Ryanel's Snapchats and overthinking every place he went, who he might be holding, with what memories he might be filling the corner in his heart once reserved by Asher. 

Yes, it was safe to say, he'd had enough of the paranoia, the desperation and the hurt.

Between the breakup — which cost him his best friend — the gruelling physical therapy — which reminded him of his physical loss — and the cold dread around not earning an income anymore, Asher had so much to try to not think about that he'd thrown himself wholly into his research and ideating.

"Well, I have a lot of free time now that I don't need to train. It doesn't even feel like work, I'm really excited about this," Asher explained, hoping the forced smile on his lips was convincing.

Ryanel's eyebrows stayed furrowed in concern for a brief second, before he seemingly accepted Asher's newfound joy. "I would be, too. I mean, I am. This is amazing. But I don't know why you're talking to me about this. I'm not majoring in bio-engineering."

"You're right," Asher quipped, "I guess I'll have to hit up my other engineer buddies. When they get back from Mars."

Ryanel chuckled, the vibrant sound sending pangs of longing through Asher's chest. "Okay, fair enough. I can put you in touch with the people you need."

You're the people I need.

"That'd be great. But I'd still like your expertise on it. I mean, I think I'll need software engineers and mechanical engineers on this as well."

"Why don't we just get the whole faculty in on it?" Ryanel joked.

"One can dream."

The two chuckled lightly, before the reality of their relationship settled down on them again. Ryanel asked tentatively, "Are you sure working with me is the best idea?"

Asher appreciated Ryanel's concern. 

He was obviously wanting to make the healing process easier, and Asher knew if putting more distance between them meant for a better long term outcome, well, he might never get his best friend back again. Ryanel was so controlled, so reasonable that he'd force himself away for Asher's sake.

Which wasn't an option.

"Remember the sophomore year science fair?"

Ryanel's face scrunched up in confusion and pain. "Yeah. It was dreadful. Why?"

The pair had formed a group (Kerrish partnered up with Uma Tamil, his crush at the time) to investigate how varying concentrations of ethyl alcohols in soaps affected their ability to kill bacteria. 

Asher would bet that the intensive workload of that experiment was what turned the group off chemistry and biology forever, leaving them physics-inclined for the rest of their high school years. It was so theoretical, you see, and the rare practical work was something like swinging masses, or throwing stuff or dropping stuff.

Menial.

Unlike their science fair project, which won first place but only after hours and hours of work.

First, the bacteria had to be collected and cultured. Then they had to produce their own soaps with the ethanol provided by the science technicians. They nearly blew up the laboratory with their inexperience with refluxing. After the soaps were applied to the agar plates and had filter paper pressed to them, they had to do a whole other round of culturing of the bacterial colonies that survived.

It was mind-numbing.

But it made Asher fully realise what a good team they made. 

Ryanel had the patience to watch the reflux setup, to do repeat trials, to hunker down until six in the afternoon until the custodian came by and kicked them out of the classroom. He had the longest fuse of anyone Asher knew, slow-burning, too, and always had some reserved energy or motivation to with which to corral his friend.

In comparison, Asher didn't really lend anything to the team. Well, the idea certainly was his, but that was only saying that their frustration and fatigue was entirely his fault. 

Now, it seemed history was repeating itself; Asher, the bright spark, had another big idea to chase after and needed Ryanel's help.

Because he was the only one who could turn the spark into a blaze.

"You're the only person that can see this through. You know me," Asher grimaced, "I'll hit a wall or get distracted and give up."

"If you're forking out for these materials, I guarantee you, you won't quit because that'll bankrupt you."

"Aside from that, though. I need you to bounce ideas off and do morning coffee runs with. You will find the research paper that the team has been looking for, or you'll spot the error in our calculations."

Ryanel smiled pitifully, like he was flattered by Asher's words, but completely disbelieving of them.

"You probably think I'm lying," Asher reasoned. "But I feel it in my bones. Without you, this whole thing will capsize. And I'm not saying this because I still love you, or whatever fucked up feeling you said I felt—"

A flicker of guilt rippled across Ryanel's features.

"—I'm saying it as a well-reasoned, objective scientist. I have collected evidence and come to a credible conclusion."

Ryanel guffawed. "You're full of shit."

"You're buying it, though, aren't you?"

"Can't confirm nor deny. But I'm interested," Ryanel propped his chin on his elbow. "Tell me more."

"Imagine this," Asher began in a dramatic, Broadway-style tone. "A prosthetic unlike any on the market. It's not just a hunk of metal you need to drag after you. It has nerves, muscles, joints — all mechanical, of course, connected to my brain via electrodes. If I want to bend my knee, it bends. If I want to wiggle my toes, it wiggles."

"Actually, from a biological perspective, do you even need toes on the prosthetic?" Ryanel interjected.

"It's part of my spiel, dude," Asher moaned. "But you're right. Adding toes would be wasteful. See, look at you! Already improving the design."

Ryanel rolled his eyes. "You don't need to kiss my ass so much. We're not dating anymore."

There was a brief tightness in Asher's chest, but the majority of him hummed with happiness. He'd wondered if the damage done to their friendship was irreparable, but this meeting had bolstered his confidence in the future. He felt like anything was possible.

Working with Ryanel so closely but being unable to hold him would be agony. The day he found out he had a new partner would probably break him.

"So is that a deal?" Asher asked hopefully.

Ryanel extended his hand, the pair shaking on it. "Deal."

Despite the numerous, inevitable heartbreaks, Asher would take whatever he could get of Ryanel. He would always want him in his life, whether it be as lovers, best friends or nothing more than project partners.

Because that's what you did when you loved someone too much for your own good.