hate // ryllon

six

"If you had to choose between tea or coffee, what—"

"Coffee," I say. I sit up and blink tiredly, rubbing my eyes beneath my glasses. "I mean, right now, coffee." Ryan nods along, then looks down. "What about you?"

He looks at me and thinks for a moment. "Depends. If I'm tired or need to feel a bit motivated, then coffee. If I'm wanting to relax and, like, cuddle with someone and watch a movie under a blanket, then tea. Overall, maybe iced tea or a blended coffee. Or a smoothie," he says.

He is fascinating.

I look at the clock on the wall. 10:37 PM.

"Aren't you tired?" I ask. He shrugs, but is sent into a yawn. I yawn as well, trying to hide it more as I turn my head and force my mouth to close. I turn back. "Well, now I know the answer to that."

"Yeah, I just didn't wanna be rude," he says quietly.

"Come on, then," I say, pushing myself up. We've spent the day playing video games and talking, which is exactly what we did yesterday too. I ordered groceries and I've restocked his fridge, but other than that, it's nothing. I don't feel very productive, and it's already making me feel a little trapped. He doesn't seem to mind.

I pull the covers back and wait for him to get in, but he walks over to his dresser and pulls out a sweater. He looks at me, and I nod and turn around. I know what he wants. I stand and wait, hearing him take his shirt off and put on the sweater and the shirt landing in the laundry basket.

Eventually he walks next to me, sitting on the bed. He gets in and I pull the covers over him. The thought crosses my mind as I walk over and turn off the light: this feels so familiar. I know this situation. I know tucking someone in and turning off the light and making sure they're okay, and I know waiting for someone to be alright even more. My thoughts and words are jumbled and mumbled and I'm sleep deprived. Didn't sleep last night or the night before. My eyes are dark, I noticed that when I was washing my hands earlier. I look exhausted.

I feel exhausted.

Sitting by the door again, I try my best to not let my eyes close. I move my knees, rocking them back and forth. Soon it becomes hypnotizing, so I stop and come up with more random patterns for the next hour. Tap my fingers against the ground, move my ankles in a figure 8 motion, move them in opposite figure 8's, pop my knuckles, pop my neck, pop my back, tap my fingers against my thumb in random beats, slowly count my teeth with my tongue, make my tongue go sideways and make my bottom row of teeth feel upright, get rid of the dirt from under my nails, play with my hair, straighten my legs, bring up one knee, stretch-

Ryan sits up and I snap out of it. It's dark but the moon lets him see me and vice versa. I don't know how long I've been doing this.

"Dal?" he asks quietly.

"Hm?" I reply.

"Um... would it be okay if... if I asked you to, uh, sleep up here with me?" He sounds tired and nervous. I wanna say no, because if I do, I'll fall asleep.

But god, I'm exhausted.

I stand up and push my socks off, putting them with my shoes by the wall, and I walk over. My eyes fixate on his clock for a couple of seconds. 1:48 AM. I pull the blankets and covers up and I get in, suddenly melting into how comfortable his bed is. We both lay here and I begin to doze off. I'm exhausted, I keep saying that, and I know it's true.

We lay close but I don't think he minds and I'm too tired to move.

My eyes close and I feel my body slowly fade, but then I get pushed out of the sleep when I feel the bed move. Panicked, I look over, but Ryan rolls over, asleep, and snuggles into me. His right leg hooks over in between mine, his head rested on my arm, and his right arm laying on my chest. I remove my arm from underneath him and he snuggles closer, his left hand innocently resting between my side and his chest, and his head snuggles into my neck and collarbone. I relax, too tired to care, and I hold him just in case he tries to get up in the middle of the night, and I rest my head on his, finally succumbing to the level of exhaustion after I place my glasses on his night stand.

 

I wake up definitely after him, because when I wake up, I feel his arm moving. I open my eyes, the light hurting a bit, and I see him writing. I focus a bit, then reach over to put my glasses on. He's still cuddled into me, my arm around him, and he's playing Sudoku.

I watch the game, curious and confused. I don't understand it. He writes down a seven.

"This makes no sense," I say.

"It does," he says. "See, this one is an eight." He writes down an eight in an empty square. I blink tiredly.

"How?"

"You see, this is a nine-by-nine grid. These boxes each have nine squares, and no box can have the same numbers, so it goes from one to nine. Same rule applies to the rows, so since there's a seven in this row and this row, as well as these two other rows, this one has to be a seven," Ryan explains.

"Weird," I say while reaching over to turn his alarm clock. He hums. 7:38 AM. "Why do you play this?"

Ryan pauses and thinks for a moment, then sighs. "It helps."

"What do you mean?"

"With self-harm urges," he says, and then I'm the one who is stopping. He's not doing anything bad right now. I mean, he doesn't have anything to do it with, but he stopped himself from doing anything. He just reached over and found a pen and Sudoku and started doing it while laying in my arms. "From the first time I ever self-harmed, I felt kinda stuck. I found the simplest ways to hurt myself, so I tried to find distractions, and this one was an easy help. I'm shocked that it still helps me."

"Yeah," is all I say. It makes sense that he'd be confused. Saying he's done it for a long time seems shocking, but at the rate of how suicidal he currently is, the thought of doing the same thing for hours every day seems boring, and yet it still helps.

And he's helping himself while I'm here. He's not trying to give in again, he's giving life another chance.

I relax and watch him play, trying to see if I understand the game. He finishes it up and goes onto the next one, then immediately is able to write a few numbers down. I point to a blank square.

"Is that a four?" I ask quietly. He thinks for a moment, then he smiles and looks at me briefly.

"Yeah," he says. Our faces are very close and I notice things. Honey-coloured eyes, light freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose, almost perfectly clear skin, slightly chapped lips, dark corners next to his eyes from the lack of sleep he had been getting, his eyelashes curling nicely, his brown hair curling around his features.

He looks back down and cuddles me some more. I hold him closer, closing my eyes as I relax into everything happening right now. I haven't slept well, so I'll just use this as an excuse to rest. I'm not cuddling him, I'm just resting with him in my arms. He's definitely not comfortable and warm, and definitely doesn't feel very calming and sweet.

I'm just tired.

He's small and almost fragile in my arms, so I make sure not to hold him too tight. I don't want to squish him or give him the wrong idea. I drift off for what feels like thirty seconds, but I open my eyes again and he's started another one. He's readjusting, and I look at the time.

7:56 AM.

"I have an idea," I say. "We sleep until 8:30, then get up and I will make breakfast and then maybe we can go do something."

Ryan hesitates to put away his Sudoku and turn into me, cuddling closer and forcing himself to relax. I do too. It doesn't take long for me to drift off into sleep again, and based on his small frame completely relaxing just before mine does, I assume he falls asleep as well.