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The sound of a knock at the door penetrates the shield of blankets Aster put up over their head. They’d tell whoever it is to go away, but they don’t have the strength. All they can do is hope whoever is there gets the hint and leaves. Chris and Elliot know to leave them alone when they feel like this, but Zeke isn’t quite old enough to understand what’s wrong with them, why sometimes they can’t get out of bed for days at a time. It breaks their heart a little every time Zeke tries to get them up on the bad days, his little face filled with disappointment when nothing he tries can get his older sibling to come play with him.

The person at the door isn’t getting the hint. They open the door, slipping in and quietly shutting it behind them.

“Hey.” Ren. What is he doing here? Aster’s pretty sure Homecoming has started already, but they haven’t pulled their blanket back to check the time in a what must be a few hours. Their phone lies on their bedside table, face down, ignored. The light from the screen only makes their headache worse. Chris had let Ren know that they wouldn’t make it to homecoming, and that was that. There’s nothing they can do about it. No amount of painkillers can fix, or even manage, the pain they’re in tonight.

They can’t bear to lift the blanket, filled with shame and crippling chronic pain that holds their arms and hands hostage. The blanket moves anyway, and Ren comes into view, although still partially blocked by sheet. The sight would make them cry if crying didn’t hurt.

Ren is kneeling by the side of the bed wearing a suit and the most concerned expression they think they’ve ever seen. Aster can see the light green shoulders of his suit, the top of his matching tie, the tips of a few petals of the flowers in his breast pocket. His hair is slicked back, a few pieces falling in his face, the tips of the strands brushing furrowed brows.

“That bad, huh?” He says gently, no anger in his voice. Aster doesn’t understand it. They’ve had to cancel or change plans a million times before and it’s never been a problem, but this was Homecoming. His first dance at his new school. A chance to introduce Aster to the world he’d started at just a few months ago. He’d been so excited to introduce them to his new friends, and they’d been excited to see what he was making of himself on his own. He had every right to be angry that they’d ditched him.

And yet here he is, the only emotion on his face concern. When they nod, a stuttering shaky movement, he reaches out, fingers brushing over the back of their hand lightly. Even the slightest touch lights up the nerve pain just under their skin, and when they recoil he doesn’t hold on tighter, but lets them retreat further into their cocoon.

Ren sets a tattered looking book down on the bed, but Aster can’t see what the title is, “I brought reading. Figured you might need a distraction.” He offers them a comforting smile and stands to grab the chair from their desk. He drags it over quietly so as not to agitate the headache he rightfully assumes they’re dealing with and sits next to their bed, where Aster can see him through the crack in their armor, an ally in the fight against the despair days like this cause. He’s a ray of light shining down to the bottom of the dark well they’ve been tossed into.

The energy it would take to tell Ren they don’t have the strength to read costs too much right now, but he seems to know already. He doesn’t hand them the book like they expect him to. Instead, he picks it up, opens it to its bookmarked page, and starts to read.

His tone is soft, the scratch of a voice adjusting to the changes testosterone brings, yet so familiar it puts a new ache in their chest. He’s brought an old favorite of theirs, a book worn down by love and many rereads. And he’s skipped to Aster’s favorite part. They can’t see it, but they know some of the words have started to fade on the all-too-familiar pages of the book in Ren’s hands from years of fingers running over them as they were read.

Ren reads to them gently. He’s in no rush, the story isn’t running away from him, and he knows he has all the time in the world to give Aster the lines he knows they love so much. They have all night, and he’s perfectly happy to be their tether to reality as they drown in wave after wave of some of the most debilitating pain they’ve ever faced. He’ll stay for as long as they need.

Aster has never felt more loved than they do as they listen to Ren read and hold onto the offered foothold, the only thing keeping them from slipping off the edge of a cliff. They never would have blamed him had he gone to Homecoming without them. They knew he’d been excited to spend time with his new friends, in his new school, surrounded by his new peers. They didn’t want to hold him back with their old problems, the same problems that had ruined so many days for them. As Aster thinks back to other bad days though, they can’t really say that they were ruined. All they can remember is Ren being there, modifying plans, forgetting about paid-for movie tickets entirely to spend the day at Aster’s and watch their same old favorite show on their tiny tv in the living room, spending the night when they didn’t want to be alone no matter how early school started the next morning.

As he reads on, Aster focuses on nothing but the steady tone of his speech, the familiar words they’ve read and reread a thousand times. Hearing them coming from Ren feels like reading them for the first time again. There’s something in his voice, something so kind and welcoming. The book he’s reading from is a romance, and the chapter contains the scene where the main character confesses their love for their long-held crush. Somewhere in the back of Aster’s mind, they think idly that his voice is perfect for romance, that the words roll off his tongue like a native language. The thought passes quickly, carried away in the riptide of their swirling subconscious.

Ren reads for as long as he can, glancing up at Aster occasionally. When their breathing has slowed and their tight joints have loosened slightly as they start to fall asleep, not really listening to the words anymore but finding comfort in the rhythm of his voice, he slows to a stop at the end of the chapter. They hear the light thump of a book being set on a bedside table, the dull scrape of a chair being put back in place, and the soft click of an opening closet door. They know Ren is grabbing the extra pillows and blankets stashed there, used by no one but him. Had they been more awake, they would have wondered where he was going to sleep. Their usual arrangement of sharing the bed is not possible tonight, not with the pain that surges through their joints with every slight movement. Had they been more awake, they would have known that he simply laid out his bed on the floor next to theirs, unwilling to leave his best friend alone on a night like this.

As Ren follows them into sleep, still in his Homecoming outfit that Aster had planned to match to, he doesn’t think about the night he missed, the one filled with loud music and dancing and new friends. He thinks of the story he read, the words he’s wanted to say to Aster for months now, and how lucky he is that he got to say them through it, even though they don’t know just how much he truly means them.