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Asra wakes reluctantly to the sound of his phone buzzing, disgruntled for a number of reasons, not the least of which being that his boyfriend is not in bed next to him, as he ought to be, and that he never sets alarms on his phone, so this can only mean one thing: someone is trying to call him. In the middle of the night.
Whyyyyy?
Groaning, he rolls onto his stomach, burying his head under the pillows. The buzzing persists for a small eternity, then suddenly ceases, and he sighs in relief. Whoever it is can assume he’s still sleeping and leave him a voicemail that he’ll ignore in the morning. The perfect arrangement.
But just as he starts to get comfortable again, just as he starts drifting back to sleep…
BZZZZ BZZZZ BZZZZ
“For fuck’s sake,” says Asra, twisting to grope for his phone and tangling himself in the blankets. He struggles for as long as it takes the phone to finish ringing a second time, and by the time it’s started up again, he’s out of breath, but thankfully sitting up. He snatches the device off his bedside table and answers without looking at the caller ID.
“What?” he says, harsher than he would if he knew who was calling.
“Asra.”
“Ilya?” His anger dissipates some hearing his boyfriend sound so frazzled. But as his concern grows, so does his frustration. “Ilya, it’s almost,” he checks his phone, “three in the morning. What’s going on? Where are you?”
The audio goes shaky. Something rustles on the other end of the line, and Julian takes several deep breaths before saying, “I did something. And I need your help.”
For an instant, the tiniest fraction of a second, Asra pauses. Then, he sighs, heaves himself out of bed, starts patting around in the dark for his keys. “Put the body on ice and grab a shovel, I’ll be there in five.”
“What?”
“You need to slow the decomposition, love, it’ll buy us some time.” He steps into the front hallway and grabs a jacket from the rack. A very smart investment, that rack. “Now, I won’t ask who it was, but if it was that snooty bitch from the farmer’s market, I’d completely understand.”
“...Asra, what are you talking about? I didn’t kill anyone, Jesus Christ—”
Asra pauses with one arm in his jacket, phone balanced precariously on his shoulder. “You didn’t?”
“No!”
He throws both his hands up. “Then why did you wake me up at three in the morning—”
“Just get here, please.”
And because he loves his boyfriend so much, Asra does get there. He just whines and moans about it the entire way.
Now, with both arms in his jacket, and an actual view of the situation, Asra can understand why Julian would call him in the middle of the night for help.
“Wow,” he says. He crosses his arms, nods a bit. Inhales through his nose, exhales, blowing a raspberry with his lips. “How’d you manage this, dear?”
Julian stands next to him, arms also crossed, and shrugs helplessly. “Honestly? I ran right into it.”
“Ran right into it? Seriously?” Asra looks at Julian, waves a hand in front of his face. “Do you need glasses?”
Julian rolls his eyes and grabs Asra’s hand. He kisses the back of it lightly before letting it fall. “No, I don’t need glasses. I was just tired.”
“Hmm. And Mazelinka doesn’t know?”
“No, she’s out of town, thankfully. Also,” he turns to Asra, “why would you assume I killed somebody? I think we should address that.”
“Well, I think we should address the situation at hand,” Asra retorts, gesturing ahead. “Because there’s obviously a lot that needs addressing.”
“Yes, okay, yes, you’re right,” Julian concedes. He turns back and surveys the mess in front of them. Then, just as Asra opens his mouth to offer a suggestion, Julian says, “Okay, but, really. Why was that your first instinct? I get that it’s late, and I didn’t necessarily sound like nothing was wrong, but—”
“Oh my god,” says Asra. “Does it really matter? If you want, we can have a nice long conversation about it at home, but right now I feel like we have more pressing matters to attend to.”
“No, no, you’re right. It doesn’t matter.” Julian nods. “Let’s figure out what to do here.”
“Okay,” Asra says. He waits to make sure Julian has really moved on, then continues, “You did good by picking out all the big chunks of glass first. I think the best way to approach the rest would be to—“
“Do I seem like the kind of person who would kill someone? Is that it?” Julian says. “Do I come off that way?”
“Oh, for Christ's sake.”
“Is that how other people see me?” Julian rubs a hand over his mouth and scratches his chin nervously. “I don’t mean to look… scary, or intimidating, you know, I’m going for a more approachable, roguish type aesthetic. Maybe with a splash of pirate-like whimsy. God, it’s because of the eye patch, isn’t it? It’s too much. You told me it wasn’t too much—“
“Ilya. Honey. Sweetie. Love of my life. Light in my sky. Pumpkin to my bread,” Asra says, exasperated. He moves in front of Julian and stands on his toes so he can attempt to look him in the eye, bracing his hands on Julian's arms for balance. “Listen to me. I don’t know why I assumed you killed someone. Probably because I’ve read too many books. But you don’t come off that way. People don’t think that. Don’t worry. Hey. Look at me. Don’t. Worry. Okay? Nod if you understand me.”
Julian nods.
Asra cheers quietly. “Great! Now, keep listening, darling, sweetums, honeybun, okay? Because you didn’t kill anyone, but this custard is not going to clean itself.”