One single thread of gold tied me to you

Chapter 4

Being around him is strange. Asher doesn't know what to do, what to think, how to feel. All he knows is that being with Oscar is different to being with others; it always has been. Oscar brings something out in Asher he didn't know existed before the Australian came along, pulling him by the hand to go do anything and everything. Ultimately, Oscar was the reason Asher got through it. Knowing that someone cared about him that much, that deeply, got him through the worst of times. Now, Asher wants any kind of resemblance of what once was back. He wants to try at least.

What Asher hasn't bargained for, however, is the awkward tension between the two of them. How could someone he once considered his best friend, end up a complete stranger? The silence speaks volumes, volumes conversation couldn't. Fortunately, they are both relieved from their purgatory via the cameraman and a media officer preparing the two of them for the video. A short video, looking through old pictures of their childhood, their time racing together. As if they didn't remember it vividly, the lake, the podiums, the fight. All of it. Asher remembered every little detail about Oscar, how the other boy always gave him the gherkins in his burgers, or that he had a mole on his right thumb, in the left of the space between his nail and knuckle. He also remembered that Oscar loved forests. Although he could never understand why, a pause in the woods was always required whenever he was with Oscar. Always.

Filming began awkwardly, with the media officer having to restart several separate times due to the pairs, discomfort together. Not knowing what to say or do, what was appropriate with their current level of, friendship? However, with their best polite smiles and small jokes, the two don't do too badly, displaying a level of affection good enough to make an audience believe they get along a reasonable amount. If only the audience knew.

Rushing off from filming is Oscar's next move. Engaging himself in conversation with Logan, who is finding the entire ordeal incredibly funny, and hurriedly moving away whenever Asher is in view. It wasn't that he didn't want the Italian for company, quite the opposite, in reality, he just couldn't. He simply couldn't do it. Couldn't bring himself to talk to him, to talk to Asher. His Asher.

He simply couldn't.

Looking over to Oscar is Asher's next move after filming. He hopes to strike up a conversation to break the ice between them, to settle the potentially lingering conflict, and to get his friend back. He expects to see loud eyes meeting his; he sees nothing. No loudness, no joy, no nothing. Oscar is nowhere to be seen and all Asher is met with is disappointment. running a hand through his curls, Asher stands up and tries to busy himself, with media duties, with making new friends, with finding Fred as to give him his hoodie back. Asher just couldn't. He simply couldn't do it. Couldn't bring himself to ignore him, to Ignore Oscar. his friend Oscar.

He simply couldn't.

This is how the rest of their day went, wistful looks across filled rooms, focusing on everyone but the other, the only one they realistically wanted to talk to. Oscar wishes he could sit Asher down and hear everything that's happened to him since he was thirteen. He wants to know if the other is safe. Did he get out? Oscar is hoping he's out, he's praying. He would ask if Asher still plays football if he still likes breadsticks, and sunsets and singing. They would talk about Ferrari. Is that still the dream? would they be racing against each other any time soon? What about his love life? Girlfriend? Boyfriend? What's his favourite colour? How did he get that scar? Spending hours discussing all of the Italian's hopes and dreams is all Oscar wants. He wants it more than anything. But they can't, they won't. Simply settling for nothingness instead. A void, slowing gnawing at the pair. For Asher, it's a familiar yearning as it is one he grew up with; that slowly took and took from him. That desire to be something, that hunger.

Unbearable, simply unbearable. Asher groans at yet another photo shoot Oscar darts away from. Enough is enough, he decides as he goes chasing after the Australian, with little idea of what to say or do when he eventually catches up to him. With his name being called from behind him, Oscar turns around and the next part happens all too quickly for him. A grab of his hand, being dragged away, a door being opened, being pushed into the room. suddenly and somehow, he ends up with a rather angry Italian in his face. Bushy brown eyebrows firmly downward facing, soft lips parted slightly and those eyes, a quiet determination, a quiet anger, a hunger. Oscar's seen them before. 

He rambles, fiercely asserting his opinion, filling the silence, the void. The same way Oscar's positivity filled the yearning buried deep inside of him all those years ago. He blames himself for the way it all is now, he blames Oscar, he blames his father then he blames himself some more. Hurried apologies and sorrow-filled glances are thrown Oscar's way; all without him muttering a word. Asher has changed, completely and Oscar can see that. He has matured into a young man, not the boy he once was and Oscar can see that. He can see that. 

Asher wishes for his friend back, for Oscar back, he wants Oscar back more than anything. Grovelling and overexplaining, he keeps going, not letting the other get a single word in the entire time; He knows he messed up and he's sorry. He's so fucking sorry.

What Asher doesn't hear during his vent is Oscar calling his name, trying to get a word in. What Asher doesn't see is Oscar's intense gaze meeting his own; Quiet forest eyes meeting loud chocolate ones. What Asher doesn't feel is Oscar's warm hand on the side of his face.

What Asher does feel, is soft lips meeting his own, cutting him off mid-word. Intense and soft, warm and comforting.

The world seems to end, Time stops just for them.