#heyitsasher

when and where: december 3rd, outside a house silas and asher are renovating on aurora bay drive

"Put that shit down," Uly says in a manner that wasn't a request as he gestures to Asher's tools, having no regard for whatever it is he was about to do and having more concern for what they were about to do.

where: a 21+ prom in a high school far, far away

Wandering around the botanical gardens with a drink in hand and the sun at his neck isn't the worst way to spend an afternoon, Silas has decided. It certainly beat getting wood dust in his lungs from sawing. He's more aware than he usually would be of his surroundings because he's on mild Jordan-alert, not quite sure if she loved him or hated him this week and felt inclined to let him know either way should she have the same idea as him.

He does spot a familiar face, though it's a newer one, about as recent as they can be.

where: sharky’s halloween party

"Whatever you wanna say, I'd shut the fuck up about it instead," Uly warns, referring to his costume and the unusual level of effort for him that had gone into it. There's no real malice in his words as he speaks them in thorough distraction, flicking the balloon attached to his best friend for the third time since he stood beside him like a compulsion.

( He wasn't going to pop it, but that didn't stop him wondering how loud it would be if he did. )

where: out by the pool at aiden's, during the world's most unfun double birthday party

Drip, drop, drip, drop.

There's a Hansel and Gretel'd trail of blood drops that follows Uly from the kitchen through the back door, crimson breadcrumbs that no one would ever choose to follow -- except for the one person he was seeking out.

When he tells a gaggle of four to move, they do so without complaint and he pushes passed through with unbridled aggression as he spots Asher near the water.

"You."

The easy affection that usually slipped into his tone that made them Uly and Asher, Asher and Uly has vanished along with Uly's better judgement as his mind races faster than he can discern.

There's a red handprint on his white shirt where his damaged hand pats just above his chest, like he could tap out some sort of Morse code message to himself that he might actually be able to hear, even the low effort motion causing a painful flare that felt like it spread right up to his elbow. He can't bring himself to care if he's broken it.

( What magnitude is the break of a hand following the break of a heart? )