Like We Used To || Manuel Neuer

12

            It's a few minutes past midnight and Asher when I are lying on our stomachs, eating popcorn and watching reruns of Sons of Anarchy with German subtitles. As the wind from Asher's halfway opened windows caresses my face, I close my eyes. There is rainwater clashing against Asher's highest window, the only window fully shut, and it brings my mind solace.

"You sleepy?" Asher asks, and when I open my eyes, I see him looking at me.

I shake my head. "No."

"I'll grab some sheets and make a spot for you on the bed if you want."

"It's fine, Asher," I assure, smiling.

"Are you sure?" Asher asks, unconvinced.

I nod, and we go back to watching the show. I've never watched it before, but Asher's gleaming eyes are glued to the television so I don't object. He looks so consumed in the story unraveling before us; there is no way I can keep in him so much suspense and ruin his marathon by telling him to turn it off. The story is interesting too, I guess, and Charlie Hunnam is too gorgeous to turn off.

A little later, just as I am fully engrossd in the show, Asher and I are interrupted by the consistent buzzing of my cellphone on Asher's carpet. Though embarrassingly startled, I reach for the mechanic device, picking it up immediately.

"Hello?"

"Azelie."

I stare at Asher—who is now attempting to pause Netflix—and mouth, It's Manuel.

He raises his eyebrows in response, twitching his lips to form a smirk as he presses the pause button on his remote.

"What's up, Manuel?" I say, rolling my eyes at Ash.

"I just wanted to know how you were doing," he replies coolly. 

"Manuel, it's almost one in the morning," I tell him, laughing.

He chuckles back. "Yeah, I know."

"What are you doing calling me at this hour?"

"I just wanted to make sure that you hadn't changed your number and run back to Germany."

"Don't worry. That's your job," I blurt out.

The words escape my lips before I can slowly process them, transforming the previous humorous atmosphere into one that is solemn. For a brief moment, the humid air becomes thick with unsettling silence, the silence descending over the confines of Asher's living room, settling in like a third presence.

Awkward, Asher mouths, and I forget how to breathe.

"Manuel—I—I didn't mean it like that," I stutter, floundering for words. "I'm s—"

"It's fine, liebe."

"Where are you?" I squeak, a futile attempt to lighten up the mood.

"Just here and there," he replies offhandedly.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, closing my eyes. "Fuck, I just ruined this conversation, didn't I?"

"It's okay, really. Are you in the Villa, by any chance?"

"The Villa?" I question, baffled. "How do you know about the Villa?"

"I was having dinner with Mama and she told me you're staying in the Villa on the corner of El Calle de Amsterdam. I just randomly decided to come and visit you."

I sighed. "At one in the morning?"

"Yeah. So, are you going to come dow—" Manu begins, but I interrupt him. 

"Manuel, I'm not at the Villa."

"Did Mama lie to me again? I swear, she always does something like this—" he trails off, and I have to interject once more. 

"No, no, no. I am staying at the Villa," I correct. "I'm just not there at this very moment."

"Oh."

I bite my lip. "Yeah."

"Where are you then?" Manuel probes. 

"With Asher," I answer softly.

"With Asher?" Manuel questions—as if needing verification—his voice cracking slightly.

"Yeah. With Asher." 

"Wow. So, he's there? As in he's right next to you?"

I rest the side of my head on my palms, which are currently standing on my elbow, as I twist my body to face Asher. "Yeah," I protract, examining Asher's messily tousled hair, highlighting the prominent darkness of it. "That's usually how it works."

"Oh."

"I can come and meet you if you somewhere in between if you want," I say.

"No. Forget it."

"Manuel—"

"I just realized that I have to go," Manuel pronounces hastily. "Sleep well, okay?"

"Don't you dare hang up on me, Manuel Peter Neuer," I dictate sternly, knowing exactly that he is about to. "Don't you fucking dare."

"I'm just—"

"You can't just call me up at one in the morning and hang up before two minutes have passed, okay? Tell me why you went to the Villa."

"No reason."

"Manuel," I say patronizingly.

"Fine," he huffs. "I just wanted to talk to you. Happy?"

"About what?"

"Tomorrow's our game against Ghana," he explains mellowly, "and I—well, I guess I was just wondering if you'd be interested in cheering us on." 

"Idiot," I criticize, shaking my head. "Of course I want to go!"

"But what about Asher?" Manuel presses. "Would he be okay with it?"

I stare at Asher—who is profusely nodding his head with a genuine smile plastered on his face—and, extracting masses of amused laughter, say to Manuel: "I'm sure he'll be okay with it."

"Great! I'll leave the tickets with Mama, okay? You go and pick them first thing tomorrow."

"Alright, Manu."

"You promise to be there?"

I roll my eyes. "I promise." 

He laughs. "Okay, okay. I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Okay," I say, and then the line goes dead.