One single thread of gold tied me to you

Introduction

Asher was born hungry; born with this underlying void within his gut that slowly grew, grasping, wrenching, avaricious and vulgar. He was born craving for his abhorrence to stop, for a pause in the pain.

Asher was born hungry.

The emptiness did not vacate as he progressed it etched itself deeper, celebrated their first words together, their first day at school, the first screams from his father, the first black eye. They sobbed and yelled and bled together, as one.

Asher was born hungry.

The longing was not his fault; being merely a child, there was no logical way to blame him, he was simply the monster of his parent's creation. Their puppet whom they projected their loathsome perspective onto. Who carried the burdens they refused to. His father was an indignant man, covetous and apathetic, with little tolerance for trivial matters involving his son. Failing to give thought to any aspect beyond whatever Asher was able to accomplish to support him and profit from his success. He gave little fondness for the boy, gradually revealing the seething hunger brewing inside his son—a burning he had ignited. The ache grew greater following each blow. The ache to be someone, to accomplish something, to be worth anything, was utterly nauseating.

His mother took pleasure in his quivering fear. Her favourite pastime was shaming him, and she consistently emerged victorious. Always. The young child abandoned any optimism as a consequence of her condescending stares and faux pity. His olive eyes ceased welling up with tears, becoming acclimated to the brutality. His focus was fixed firmly on his meagre feet; Locating holes and rips in his sneakers became an activity to fill the time as he endured the mockery.

Asher hid his hunger well. The consistent yearning was covered up with a smile whenever he was exposed to the outside world. His burning ache, his indescribable void however was always in his lower stomach, whenever his father would hit him or his mother would yell. Whenever they shunned or shamed him, whenever he was abandoned, the void was always there eating away.

The only positive thing in Asher's life was racing. When he was out on the track with his friends, his parents couldn't touch him, couldn't degrade, harm, or mock him. He felt invincible. Completely and utterly invincible.

Despite his best efforts to keep feeling untouchable, and to keep karting as his lifeline. His father's unwavering cruelty crept in. He was taught to compare himself to his competitors, he was taught to compare, compete and to win. To bring pride to himself and his family, redeem himself, and make his father proud. Nothing else was acceptable. Nothing else endeavoured to fill the void, even if a victory only temporarily half-filled him. It lusted in the background.

Asher was born hungry.
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Oscar was born full. He was filled with light and love from the second he entered this world. He enjoyed his family's kindness and learned how to spread it to others. No desolation of any nature could ever find a home inside Oscar thanks to his generosity and benevolent life. His mother and father were loving, gentle people who taught him to see the goodness in others, to see their shining hearts throughout whatever tough exterior they may be fronting. He learned to read people's pain and to help his neighbours in any way he could. He was taught what love felt like, he was taught how to love.

Oscar was born full.

Despite his introverted nature, Oscar showed his goodwill to everyone around him. He smiled and laughed and wondered his way through life. Sharing his quiet positivity with everyone around him. Oscar was loved.

Oscar often wondered about love. What kind of person would he fall in love with? would he be just like him or would he be the opposite? Where in the world would be be from? -he secretly prayed for an Australian just like him, so they could go to cricket matches together and go watch the f1. Young Oscar thought about his future boyfriend and smiled, he hoped that wherever he was in the world right now, he was smiling back at him.

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Rolling up his right sleeve gently, Asher took care not to further harm his already wounded arm, he had tears pouring down his rosy cheeks. Nice, yet another visible bruise, that people were bound to ask about. That means wearing hoodies in place of T-shirts for almost two weeks in the height of summer. He bit his lower lip hard to contain the sobbing that threatened to spill out.

Playing with a boy he knew from karting, Asher gave him a friendly peck on the cheek (they were both Italian after all). As a result, he was hauled away and punished for the exchange, told it was embarrassing and unacceptable to kiss boys. He was then sent upstairs with a large bruise on his arm and a shattered heart.

Asher often wondered about love. What does it feel like to be loved? To have a loving family? To be able to not live in fear? Where in the world does that exist? Young Asher thought about his future, how someday he would be surrounded by people who he loved and who truly loved him too. Sniffling and weeping, he hoped that someday or in some other life, he would be loved.

(A/N: HIII this is my first time writing so it might be shite but idrc. LMK if you want more :)