A Love of Sleep

Part 1: Brush Against

The day broke calm and somber as the new boy’s hair. Asher’s hesitant eyes caught the flash of harsh light glinting in the black strands, and a glitter of grey in a pale face. He was mesmerized; he refused to be drawn away. Days would pass, and neither knew each other’s turmoil, barely aware of an acquaintance connecting each to the other. Asher wished for it, his heart set as it hadn’t been in so long, giving up, but one look…and in his dreams, he stared even then at that face, lightly shadowed of a turbulent, hidden past. The boy wished for any comfort, afraid of what it would mean.

“Harper.” Asher rasped. Flushing, anxiously clearing his throat, he met sight of a subtle fear in the eyes he searched for. He kept their gaze, tried again, “Harper.” Pausing. “I’m Asher. I’d like to welcome you to Saint Paul’s. It’s not so bad for an orphanage.” For that was what it was, no matter what other legal formalities were tacked onto it.

Harper stiffly shifted weight, slowly, concealing the motion, crossing his arms. He met Asher’s earnest stare with a sidelong glance of uncertainty, his slight body deeply covered in safe indigo blue. Black flickered over the clean glasses covering clear, wary eyes where his fringe had slipped.

Asher’s fingers drew close, Harper stepped away and frowned, looking affronted. Asher tried again and offered his hand. Harper dropped his eyes quickly, stood meekly and turned. Shuffled away, as though lost, head up with wary attention on the blank walls of the orphanage. Stiff, neck hairs prickling from Asher’s following, unrelenting scrutiny.

“You, there.” A finger pointing. Harper shrunk in his seat, flicking his eyes around a silent table.

She watched him. Nothing.

Impatience hardened the Headmistress’s voice, “Child with the black hair, in the glasses, I would like you to lead grace.” Harper ducked his head, eyes never ceasing in their darting dance from face to face. Asher held his breath, anticipating the feel of their weight on his face. Light and quick it fell, a gift that lifted Asher’s spirits, and left.

Asher spoke. “Harper.” Quietly. “Harper, you begin like this…” Asher slid his eyes closed, bowing his head, removing Harper’s pale face from his sight, but held him in his mind as he began prayer. “Dear Father in Heaven…” his hands were warm from the grip of boys on either side and Asher flooded the sweaty heat with thoughts of Harper and lead prayer with his heart set. He knew God would feel his love.

Asher finished leading grace, and light flooded his senses as he looked, drawn, to where Harper sat, shining in Asher’s vision no matter his somber demeanor, and saw Harper’s chair empty. Asher squinted, peering, dismayed; the Headmistress sat twisted in her seat, facing down the hall. Harper, a blue smudge hurrying against the white of the walls, the only color far away.

“Harper.” Kindly, face glowing, Asher held out his offer. Harper remained still, curled on dark blue covers. His grey eyes appraised the small plate of steaming food, re-heated thoughtfully. Asher took two steps closer, measured, carefully crafted in Harper’s line of sight; that precaution seemed right. In response, Harper shifted his gaze away, but Asher sensed him watching from the edge of sight. Covers wrinkled, the mattress sloped under thin, long feet. Asher held the plate out, hopeful. Grey eyes darkened, clouded, Asher frowned. Harper slid against the white wall, serving as a headboard, drew his knees up, his back facing Asher and stared out, across the room, at the window always left displaying the countryside. Sighing, Asher accepted the dismissal, leaving behind the plate of food he had constructed with the vigor of sudden infatuation.

Ink coated the room, settling over the boys’ beds as a heavy, guiding weight. Palpability seemed possible. Asher reached experimentally, spreading milk fingertips. In return, he received a cry from the night, and a moment passed; soft flesh warmed his palms when he moved across the blue.

“Harper.” Breath whistled past his teeth, heated the ear he leaned over. “Shh.” Asher’s hand found the sharply rounded shoulder and rested there, trying to convey peace to Harper. But Harper squirmed, twisted in the grip of a cold nightmare full of dark shapes and phantom touches and he mistook the weight on his shoulder as a restraint, a dominant hand forcing his submission.

“Quiet now. Shh.” Asher coached patiently. Harper loosened the confines of his throat and worried Asher with a short wail.

“What the hell is that noise?” grunted one of the boys, his name fleeting in Asher’s memory. Harper struggled from contact in his dreams; Asher found more softness under his fingers, hot, shaking skin.

Groaning complaints, groggy at such a late night hour, those disturbed from sleep rustled impatiently the sheets of their beds.

“Make him shut up!” a shadow appeared over Asher’s shoulder. The command splintered Harper’s mind from his troubled dream with a cry shivering down Asher’s bent spine.

Other adolescent voices joined the first, wondering what the stir was, what was wrong, complaining. Harper clawed in frightened confusion up against the wall, leaning away from Asher, the nearest, whom he eyed with white eyes of fear, glassy and not truly seeing.

Asher’s voice failed in the noise, and Harper fled to the bathroom, slamming the door on Asher’s closely following foot. Harper swung the weight of his body against the door, crushing Asher’s foot, slamming it in frustration. Asher reluctantly withdrew.

He stood before the bathroom door, fixed attention on the dark band underneath that should have shone brightly from the bathroom light. The space beyond was black and silent. Asher waited, listening to the grumble of the room. Eventually the heavy night returned over deep breathers, one alive even still to feel its presence, waiting for another to feel the fall of sleep.

---

“Oh!” Asher looked up, hearing a soft cry and smiled up at Harper pleasantly. Harper remained frozen in the bathroom door, hovering, picking out the concern in Asher’s hazel regard. Face drawn he looked off to the side, skin white in fresh sunlight.

The quiet was startled with Harper’s movement, sudden at Asher's touch to his leg, and he was across the room to the door. Asher hurried to his feet and attempted pursuit, wishing to know what he’d done wrong. Harper had turned hastily down the hall as Asher darted out the door, skidding on the slippery floor to the stairs after him. At the landing, Harper had disappeared.

Asher searched. He scanned the first floor, investigated the autumn tapestry of the grounds, and leafed through the grove of oak trees beyond a sloping field of wild flowers. He hunted around the kitchen, where he was doggedly pursued by a group of slightly younger boys asking for him to play a game of soccer. Asher deftly tossed them into another’s freer hands, and slipped up to the second floor.

He passed the infirmary, the offices, and the Headmistress's room. He peeked into the game room, frowning at the noise of the TV and an argument over a game board. Harper wasn’t in the dorm room. Asher, at a loss, stumbled through the day with his eyes peeled for any glimpse of dark hair and his mind imagining a sublime meeting of friendship.

“Harper!” Asher cried in delight across the dining room, “I’ve been looking for you!” he darted forward, slowing as Harper backed up and tucked his arms close to his sides, allowing his hair to hang limply, poorly concealing his face.

Asher halted a couple steps away, smiling benignly. “Where did you go?” He asked, speaking as though to a long lost friend.

Harper lifted his head and peered at him, forming words on his smooth lips, mumbling. Asher leaned forward eagerly, straining his ears. His flaxen hair flopped around his ears as he turned his head, and Harper quieted. A moment passed and Asher considered Harper’s alert grey eyes, while Harper stared back, watching.

“Sit next to me?” Asher asked, “For dinner?” he pleaded. Harper wordlessly shifted back and forth on his feet, then sailed around Asher to the middle of the room. He slipped into a seat at the end of the table, away from the hubbub at the center. Asher’s heart leaped when he caught sight of Harper’s wan face watching over a thin shoulder, and a gloriously empty seat beside him.

Harper turned away coldly when Asher slid into the seat next to him, offering a grin.

Thick starlight cast white shadows across the blackened room. Lying in that darkness Asher was afraid they would hear his heart beat, as somehow it was different. They would wonder what the loud rhythmic noise was, and its speed and constancy would keep them awake. Asher lay awake because of the racing of his heart. He heard it rushing in his ears.

He surveyed the dark lumps that were his dorm mates, fellow abandoned, forgotten children. Their breathing loud, almost more than his heart.

Could he be sure they slept?

Harper, did he sleep yet?

Asher breathed in hollowly through his mouth. Held it. Breathed out. His eyes lost in black, a neutral color of absorption, shifting, like mist, a dark canvas for imagination. He searched and thoughts drifted freely…

Cold air whipped over bare feet, threaded under his cotton sleeping gown and stole his warmth away…and Asher stood beside his empty bed, white gown hung half-way above knobby ankles.

The swish-swishing of cotton brushing cold skin subtly gave away Asher’s approach, yet too soft to be hear by Harper, who slept as if in anticipation of interruption.

Asher stood, a white, gentle presence, peered down at Harper’s pale face ringed in a soft black halo. The night air, partners with silence, accented Harper’s heavy breathing, drawn in a thin mouth, exhaled smoothly.

Hovering, Asher studied the sleeping face, frowning at the taut lines of a face harassed. Heavy shadows deepened around un-answering eyes. Asher’s hand, gloved in faint moonlight, slipped through the black air, seeking. He wanted to touch Harper. Somewhere intimate, that would secretly hold Harper as his, and no-one else’s.

He was shocked to feel how chilled the pads of his fingers felt against the warm skin of Harper’s cheek…he trailed down, followed the curve of his jaw. Brushed over the intricate folds of an ear; and settled, his hand dwarfing Harper’s neck, his palm resting over the base, his fingers splayed around, a slight unthreatening pressure.

Still under contact, Harper lay, undisturbed. Gradually, the sensation of oscillating blood warmed Asher’s hand.

Later, when Asher felt Harper shift, he realized his eyes had fallen closed and when he opened them, a different Harper lay there for him to see.

White light flowed through the single, solitary window and cast the dark wing of Harper’s past in a frosty spotlight. Asher traced the black shape that curled over Harper’s shoulder, pulling his hand back at a wince from Harper and followed it with his eyes instead, extending back around the base of his neck, weighted like a death shroud.

---

“Harper, come on.” Asher wheedled impatiently and tugged where his fingers curled all around a thin wrist. Harper stumbled forward, his free arm swinging back; head tossed so his black hair swung around his face. Asher wouldn’t hold his hand; Harper let it dangle limply in his grip and Asher felt he wasn’t important. Harper’s wrist was substantial. Such slim bones would do.

Asher dragged Harper down the sheltered stairwell and stepped briskly out the side dor into the first blush of the sun. Harvest colors softened under the new light of a fresh day.

Autumn’s spry wind blew the sluggish summer air away and rattled the changing leaves, but once run out of breath, summer air was back ruffling lingering grass. It lifted Asher’s white-yellow hair, and threaded through Harper’s black strands, blowing them free of his quiet face.

“This way!” Asher called brightly, and leaped onto the rising hill behind the orphanage. Harper flew along behind, riding the wind in Asher’s wake.

Asher focused determinedly at the tall oak forest. Dying grass whipped at his legs, slapped dew onto his jeans until pieces of dead earth clung to the wet fabric and chilled the skin beneath. The closest tree’s bark was within reach when Asher felt a sudden violent pull on his arm, and he came to a whip-lashed stop.

Catching his breath he turned and caught Harper up in his gaze. His wrist was still secure in Asher’s grip.Harper hummed darkly and stared at Asher’s eyes, one at a time, traveling his face, unable to settle. Asher tugged on his arm and tried to lead him into the forest. Harper dug in his heels.

“Ohh, Harper!” Asher complained, “Please?” and looked at Harper appealingly.

Harper tugged on his arm and pulled Asher a step closer to stand a safe distance apart. Asher watched with interest as Harper raised his arm and began to peel away, finger by finger, Asher’s hand from his wrist. Asher held still, didn’t move to let go, enjoying the feel of Harper’s fingers picking up his own individually. He allowed Harper that control.

Asher’s hand fell away and he looked to Harper’s grey eyes, surprised to see Harper meet his gaze. He held his arm closer to his body and rubbed it with his hand, Asher winced. “Sorry.” He offered sincerely.

Harper stepped away. Asher watched his body sway as he walked down the edge of the forest. Harper stopped a few yards away, tilted his head and peered into intricate branches. Asher slid down the curve of his back, saw the earth alive around Harper in the light, the colors stirring in the wind. He turned, walked back to Asher, focused tightly on the flecked leaves. Asher followed his progress, pivoting all around as Harper past him anonymously. He inspected the crinkle of Autumn leaves and dry rivulets the branches made against the sky on the other side.

Asher swung his arms, glanced behind to the red brick orphanage, swept the wild flower field to see it free of any observer. That was right. Most of the boys kicked the soccer ball around in the front, where the grass grew shorter and the turf-

Asher felt his arm lifted and knew before he turned to see that Harper held his wrist in a tight grip. Harper raised his eyebrows. Asher grinned, “Ready?” Harper’s eyes left after briefly meeting Asher’s and moved ceaselessly, searching the spongy, damp earth. Asher waited a second until his eyes skipped over himself and took off, towing Harper along at a steady pace. And this time Harper held his chance to let go should the need arise.

The wind followed after them, gusting, enjoying the lift of a new feeling stirring in each as they entered the wilderness.