My Type of Socializing | ✓

Chapter 2

It would be fair to say that the next few weeks were hell for Adam. He met his deadlines, he even went out to get groceries—a productive week for him, typically, but there was one thing that was off and was gnawing him from the inside out.

He couldn't sleep.

He hadn't slept for more than two hours at a time for almost a month, and it was messing with his productivity.

Adam blinked, opening his eyes before rubbing them with the back of his palm. He let out a sigh, leaning off the washing machine that had just started. He was in the apartment's laundry room, doing his washing for the week so that he wouldn't have a no-clean underwear day for the fifth day in a row. Even though he had straightened out, his head was still wobbly, and his eyelids were droopy.

He lets out a yelp when he almost fell over. "Shit!" he said, the volume of his voice exceeding that of the washing machine for a few seconds. A frown made its way to his face as irritation bubbled on his skin. He was so tired, and all he wanted to do was sleep, but the upstairs-neighbor—

"Well, you look tired."

The sound of a familiar voice wakes Adam up even more. He looks up, turning until the dark-skinned man with dreads was in full view.

"What?" the man asked, frowning when he noticed how intense Adam's stare was. "Is it my laundry basket?" he asked, looking down at the full blur basket that he had under his arms. "Look, I wash once a week. It's cheaper."

Adam rolled his eyes. As if I care about that. He said to himself, wondering how someone could seem so naive yet be so social judging from the number of people he had in his apartment. Every. Single. Day. 

"That's not why I looked pissed," Adam said, reaching up to scratch his throat. Being locked away in his room all day meant that he didn't talk a lot, and it felt weird using his voice. "I'm just tired."

"Well, go to bed."

Adam's eye twitched.

"I would," he started, feeling his patience wear thin. "But the noise from your apartment keeps me awake."

Assad looked confused. "Are you a light sleeper?"

"It's more of the fact that your music is too loud, don't you think?" Adam countered, and Assad seemed to think for a bit when his eyes narrowed.

"When do you go to bed?" he asked, making Adam raise a brow at him.

"Why does that matter?"

"I could schedule playing music I think." The boy said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Adam frowned. "Wouldn't it be easier to not just have parties every single day?" The washing machine beeped, telling Adam that his clothes were done washing, but the man was too busy to pay attention to it.

Assad rolled his eyes. "You're in college, you should know how parties are like. I won't have them during midterms and exams," Assad seemed to promise, but that was far from a fair deal to Adam.

"I don't go to college, I graduated a few years ago," Adam said, feeling a bit old admitting the fact to himself. He was only twenty-four, and he had gotten his diploma just before he became twenty-one.

Assad frowned. "Oh."

"Why do you look surprised?" Adam knew it had nothing to do with how he looked. He was wasting away from the inside. Most people would think he was at least thirty, and that was being generous. "I don't look your age, do I?"

"No, of course, you don't," Assad said, looking past Adam and not wanting to meet his eyes. "I just assumed you had like a class a day because you don't go out a lot," he said, and Adam finally understood.

Most people worked nine to fives and weren't home until later in the evening while he was home all day and could stay indoors without stepping out of the apartment complex for weeks—months even.

"Oh," Adam muttered under his breath feeling his cheeks warm up. He wasn't sure why he was feeling embarrassed. He always told himself that there was nothing wrong with being self-employed—so why was he fidgeting and finding a hard time explaining that simple fact to Assad?

"I'm an artist. I work freelance and from home," he finally got out, waiting for Assad to give him that weird look most people did when he told them what he was, but he never did. Instead, the younger man grinned. It was a large smile. Adam narrowed his eyes at him, wondering why he seemed so excited. 

The taller man looked ridiculous trying to hold his excitement. "You work as an artist? No way!"

"I—" Adam started but paused, still dumbstruck by the reaction. "I do both commission work and I serialize my own comic book," he muttered, looking down at his toes that were peeping from his slides.

"I do designs for posters, websites, and covers. I wanted to go into animation, but I don't think I have the skills for that," Assad rambled, making Adam narrow his eyes at him. He wondered what he was going on about. The younger man's lips were moving faster than his tired ears could hear.

The younger man continued to ramble. "I've started a comic, but I don't know if it's any good. It's quite complicated."

"Sorry, you must be confused." he laughed, pushing back a loc of his dreads. "I'm in college for arts and designs," Assad explained, making Adam lookup.

"Oh, that's what I went to school for too," Adam mumbled. When he had been in college that was something he didn't admit very often. His major wasn't very respected, especially when you got a diploma from an unknown place. It wasn't Cali Arts. No one was going to ask him to join an animation project or join Twitter as their lead designer. His diploma was just a piece of paper for a lot of things he could have taught himself through YouTube videos—and that was what he had done when he fell into a deep depression and couldn't manage to go outside for the last year of his program. He stayed at home. Did his projects and went to submit them and write his final exams.

He passed somehow, but what did that matter? It wasn't going to get him anywhere in life.

"Hey, do you still have your old textbooks?" Assad asked, making Adam come out from his thoughts. Textbooks? Adam wondered what the boy was talking about. Didn't he know how to pirate eBooks?

Leave me alone. He wanted to say out loud, but he didn't want to escalate. He didn't want to have one of his fits in front of a neighbor—a younger one at that.

He opened his mouth, but closed it, suddenly feeling too tired to engage—too tired to talk. Adam shrugged before looking at his clothes through the washing machine door. I should take them to the drier. He said to himself as he nibbled on his bottom lip.

"Is that a yes or a no?" Assad was still pressing.

Adam shrugged again before squatting down to open the washing machine's door. He took out his clothes and kept his eyes facing forward in other not to deal with the overwhelming presence of the younger man behind him.

The younger man let out a frustrated grunt. "So, you're not just going to answer?"

Adam kept quiet, moving his clothes to the dryer sitting above the washing machine before putting it on.

"Okay." The younger man's voice was small. It sounded... defeated.

Adam could hear some sounds in the background. Assad offloading his laundry, Assad starting the washing machine, and Assad walking away.

Adam only relaxed when the young man's footsteps were out of earshot.

"Teenagers," Adam muttered under his breath, hugging his shoulders as he let himself take in deep breaths.

He didn't like remembering his time in college. Assad had ruined his mood, and they still hadn't sorted out the noise complaint Adam had.