Monty gestured to the spare bedroom. Granted, the rest of the cluttered apartment had me second-guessing what type of roommate he would be, but the promise of housing right in downtown Toronto glowed. "Been looking for a roommate to split the costs. It's functional, the residents are polite and the management is competent."

"But why would you rent an....apartment if you'll barely use it?" I said, wincing as I spelled the words I didn't know. I needed to practice more of my ASL, because surprise—life occasionally allowed you to apply the crap you learned in school to day-to-day life.

"My stupid uni roomates didn't decide until too late, and by then I'd signed a contract with the landlord," he said. "But you know, I was thinking this apartment could be an escape for me when things get rowdy. We can split the rent in half. Besides, you said you needed a place to crash, and I have one," he shrugged.

Our friendship grew by playing catch up to each other: him helping me as I was perpetually late for anything, and me turning food in the fridge into something edible when schoolwork made him cranky. We bonded over consumer content and talked about where our disabilities intersected. It didn't get much deeper until that. I didn't have to justify my peculiarities or preferences. When Monty would stumble in the early hours of morning, neither drunk nor completely oriented, I'd fix him pancakes and head out to breathe in the last moments of twilight.

Sharp knocking shattered the few hours of sleep I'd managed to get. Sitting up caused a wave of cloudiness to swallow my thoughts like vaporized spoiled milk. Through the pounding grogginess, I struggled to string what I heard into words I understood.

The faintest voice, both angry and almost afraid of being loud.

"Monty, let me in!"

I switched on Tienne's lava lamp, casting the room in purple light and geometric shadows. Stumbling around the sheets of music, my phone charger and the stuffed Charmander Pokemon that had fallen to the floor while I was sleeping, I picked up the latter and put it back on my nightstand. It was too itchy to sleep with and it was collecting dust, but I liked having the fire dinosaur plushie as a companion on lonely nights.

I made my way to the apartment door, turning on the lights that burned my eyes. The cold linoleum floor of the kitchen beneath my bare feet, compounded with the frantic knocking, kicked my heart from sleepiness to a jittery gallop.

Had Monty rubbed someone the wrong way? But what if they were like, a robber or something? Answering the door at this hour felt like a bad omen, and I had better luck seeing through a wall than through our door's peephole. Literally.

Huh.

If I could do it accidentally, I should do it purposefully. First, turn invisible. Now, how does one become intangible without falling through the floor? Should I focus on just my head and neck? What emotions to channel? Annoyance? Fear?

Being invisible was like curling up in the most comfortable mattress known to man, and other times it was like drowning. Nothing to fear, Tai. You have the keys to this apartment, not them. I summoned imagery of my nice, inviting bed and imagined falling asleep. Falling into the in-between state of the waking day and unconsciousness.

I carefully stuck my now-not-solid head through the wall and into the hallway...and saw the short teenager just as--he? She?--turned to walk away. Analyzing the lack of threat, I called, "Who are you?"

They spun around, alarmed, and stared past me. "Shan. Monty's...brother. He said I could crash here whenever I need."

Monty never said he had a brother.

I removed my head from the hallway and gave myself time to resolidify. Then I slid the upper metal chain and unlocked the door. The teenager on the other side shifted warily, as if I was a threat in my old Pokemon pajamas. If anything, Shan looked more intimidating with his combat boots and a backpack that no doubt weighed like bricks.

He ducked his head so his long black bangs covered his eyes, fiddling with a green Presto card. Did he commute all the way here? Vaguely I remembered Monty mentioning he lived in Brampton, which was at least an hour and half by transit, and probably longer in winter.

Inside the apartment, Shan announced he was going to "look for things and stuff," and did exactly that. He rummaged through the kitchen cupboards until he found a certain mug wrapped in plastic to protect it from dust. Filling it with water, he then took it to the small dining table.

After firing a round of heated messages to Monty, which was unsuccessful in eliciting a response, I threw my hands up and asked Shan the obvious. "Why are you here?"

"It's...personal business."

"It's my business too," I insisted. "Monty isn't telling me anything, and I need to know what's happening, so I know what to do!"

He flinched when I raised my voice. To calm myself, I outlined all the ground rules, trying to establish some sense of normalcy in the unknown: No touching my belongings, put everything that wasn't in Monty's living room back where it was--even if it wasn't my stuff, and no auditory distractions or loud noises. "I'm telling you this because--"

"I get it."

What? "But--"

"I get it," Shan said, and shrunk lower in his seat.

A memory floated back to me. "Also, please don't raise your voice like that, okay? Loud voices make me anxious."

I grunted. "Sorry." It took all my pride to force it out.

I felt his skeptical gaze on me. "Fine. My big brother can be a lot of things but he doesn't tend to make friends with the wrong sort of people. I know I'll be safe."

I shook my head. Once Monty returned, he'd sort out whatever issues with his brother, and then we'd have a talk about leaving me out of the loop. Having his unpredictability extend to the dead of the night was crossing the line.

Sleep wasn't coming with another human being in the apartment, shaking up the order of things. To kill time, I brainstormed more songs, my creativity running like water from an old leaking pipe. Shan used the bathroom, dug through Monty's stuff, and took a picture of the fridge before looking through it. He put everything exactly back in place afterwards.

When the clock struck two in the morning and Shan started pacing around, I said, "Can't you sort it out with Monty? What did you put in your backpack?"

"He really didn't tell you?"

"No," I groaned.

Shan debated. "It's an emergency kit. With everything I need for the next couple days until I can go back without possibly getting hit."

Oh.

"It's not fists or anything," he said, and his tone reminded me of a nature documentary. Injected with just enough energy, but analytically distant to give it a tranquil quality. "Just...chairs. Things. I prefer to stay at a friend's house or something, but then I'd get asked about what's in my backpack and there's a good chance my night would become actual hell. Are you going to ask me more questions, because usually this is the time, where you know, 'It can't be that bad--'"

"Nope," I said, and got up. "I'm still pissed you're here."

He exhaled through his nose in a puff. His and Monty's version of a laugh.

My arms swung in and out in an attempt to ground my anger in the present instead of unleashing it. I closed my eyes and hummed, searching for clarity among the turmoil that my meltdown was a product of. Finding my way to my bedroom, I shut the door and stimmed until Shan's emotions separated from my own like oil from water.

The most Monty had ever talked about his dad was the night he had texted me a string of incoherent messages about how he wondered if he was a good son for leaving his parents and if he was becoming as selfish as his dad. I blinked and the text messages vanished. The next day he vehemently denied what he'd sent. I had let it go because there was no point arguing when alcohol had probably muddled his memories.

But he had been afraid.

I had heard enough from Nora to know being alone while handling this was a sure-fire way for things to go unchecked. Monty was playing the role of the big brother, a job I didn't envy. Popping my head out the bedroom door, I said, "I'm calling Joachim."

"Hell no," said Shan.

"Why?"

"Why would you want to expose the guy you love to the jerk who played a part in conceiving you?" he snapped, storming to the bathroom and at the lost moment stopped the door before it slammed. It clicked gently as I sent a text to Rajathiran's profile, who was online.

It was like people expected me to read their minds.

RAJETHIRAN: I'm coming right away

TAI: No he's not with us, idk where !!

RAJETHIRAN: I'll look for his location on Snapchat

RAJETHIRAN: Will update you later, gtg

Monty always had everything under control, and when he didn't, he'd laugh and assure me it was fine.

The instinct to puke was strong, but it was only emotional burnout. I had to trust myself even if I didn't understand the ice shooting through my veins, sharpening into painful unease. I got out of the apartment and paced around in the hallway, distancing myself from Shan's gasping sobs that the roaring shower failed to bury.

—

When keys clacked against metal and the apartment door groaned open, Shan sent the chair clattering to the ground. I winced, covering my ears until the ringing faded. The door shut again as the Lau brothers hashed it out, their voices echoing in the hallway.

Someone knocked and opened the door. "Can I get a coffee?" Rajethiran said through a yawn.

I brought the steaming mug wrapped in a towel to Rajethiran and sat across from them on the couch. "What happened? Send it through text, please. And try not to make it..."

"Heavy? I'll try."

As the caffeinated aroma tickled my nostrils, they texted me the breakdown. I wasn't sure what to feel. Fighting was such a waste of time, and in the end nobody ever won.

RAJETHIRAN: The abridged version is that because of home drama, Shan needed to get out of his home and so traveled to your apartment. Things were bad the past few days but things got WORSE and well--I knew Shan because of reasons, and let me tell you coming here was THE last thing he ever wanted to do, even if he was in danger.

RAJETHIRAN: He's actually a big scaredy cat and is scared of people in general but anyway

RAJETHIRAN: But you know when you just NEED to get somewhere else otherwise you'll drown inside? It was like that.

RAJETHIRAN: Monty was talking with his dad when I found him.

RAJETHIRAN: I'm glad you called me, I wouldn't want him to be alone

RAJETHIRAN: Even if I kind of hate his guts

TAI: It was that dangerous?

RAJETHIRAN: Better safe than sorry. Always hard to tell with these things

RAJETHIRAN: I hope Monty doesn't hate me for being there since we don't get along

TAI: Oh

That surprised me, since he pushed me to meet Rajethiran. It didn't right a wrong, but I'd assumed Monty did what he did because it was easy for him.

RAJETHIRAN: It's okay, you didn't know

RAJETHIRAN: Tell him to get some sleep

RAJETHIRAN: Off topic but are you coming to R4E?

TAI: Wait, you're coming?

And with everything that happened? I didn't know if I'd have the energy for meeting so many people. I looked at them and shrugged.

—

Per the temporary arrangement, Shan slept in his brother's room while Monty slept in the living room on a cot. Monty skipped a day of exams to sort out things with Shan, though from the snippets I overheard they definitely needed more time to put a bandage on an impossible problem. After telling them that their bickering was affecting me—mindfulness advice from therapy didn't change how negative emotions carved out my insides—it was reduced to tepid interactions. Thankfully Shan was quiet and my routine didn't have to change drastically. Despite his size though, his presence occupied considerable space in the apartment and my consciousness.

MONTY: My gut tells me you're annoyed at best and think less of me at worst

MONTY: Both are valid since I should've been more honest at the start

Saving my drafted email to Phiona, I switched to my Instagram direct messages and tried to tame the trepidation that seized me out of nowhere.

TAI: You're right

TAI: Monty, you started a fight and worried your brother when you're acting brave and putting yourself in unnecessary harm. You don't need to do that. It makes things worse for everyone, solving a problem you can't fix only for it to unravel later on. So why do you like picking fights? I refuse to believe it's because of ego.

I dreaded discovering I'd befriended someone I shouldn't have. It felt horrible to think that but it was difficult to pinpoint what in life was worth keeping and what was worth letting go. Which boundaries should I cross because it'd help me grow as a better person? Which boundaries should I stay within for my own well being, regardless of others' relative baselines?

MONTY: I didn't have a choice. I can't fix what generations of family trauma have done, but that's no excuse to stay complacent when I have the means to do more. Problems aren't going to resolve themselves. Someone is going to get hurt, and if I hurt Shan, that's on me, but I rather have that than have him chafe under our sperm donor's thumb for another eighteen years, if not more

MONTY: How did you tell your parents you wanted to quit architecture?

TAI: I didn't. My older sister told them and it ended up in a shouting match. My parents were so adamant on keeping me in the program though, so I made everyone in the faculty think I was a slacker so I'd have no choice but to drop out

That was a lie. In a last-ditch effort, I had tried really hard to lift my marks by sitting in lectures. But no matter how smart I might have been, my heart wasn't in it. Once you were invisible to others, you become invisible to yourself. Blind to the thoughts and feelings that had been desperately trying to pull you in the right direction.

TAI: But that's not the point. The fighting was pointless and hurt everyone. The answer's already there. I caused a storm for nothing.

MONTY: We're different

Were we really? I sat under my hands and thought about it hard.

How Nora swiped away voicemails from her mom who begged for money for her health problems outside of the lawsuit without batting an eye.

How, the other day, I'd gone off on a bar owner for telling me I should've dealt with the lack of accommodations because shouldn't I be the one working hard? They said complaining was the lazy road to failure, and while I refused to believe that, it was certainly a way to reap enemies in an industry where you are the star of the show, but only because of everyone who helped you reach that point--whether it was in your best interest or theirs.

How Monty used to assume every antagonistic action made by my parents was because they were controlling, not because they were doing their best for me. No wonder he'd kept this side of his life hidden, because I did the same.

"Lucky" was how my parents described themselves. Lucky their boat hadn't been raided by pirates, lucky they were approved to move here from the Malaysian refugee camp without waiting for years. But snooping around the house told a different story. It had always been like that; objects and physical evidence told the truth. Aged family photos of relatives whose faces I've never seen once during our Whatsapp calls to Vietnam. (My mom made sure we knew everyone's names and honorifics on her side of the family there.) Journals from Kimmy and Liam in big handwriting, ranting something about our parents and sometimes about us younger siblings.

I didn't like to think of my parents as bad people. But it made me wonder how my dad knew to have a "man-to-man" talk with me about gender and entitlement and the difference between standing up for yourself and leaving a trail of toxic destruction in your wake.

If you weren't likable, you ended up alone. But when you were that person in someone's life, it was a sure-fire way to end up lonely and miserable.

I was neither, not anymore, but I was in the eye of everyone else's storms. Their secrets and fears swirled around me. That was the mark of a good friend, wasn't it?

I broke down crying.

Was this what it meant to have friends? Not just enjoy common activities but carry their heart for them. It was so different from "networking." Because in the industry, you exist in a paradoxical state between total exposure and being no more than a fly in a sea of talent. Being a friend, though? That felt like holding another person's world on your shoulders. Some people might find strength in that. I didn't know if I could be that person for others.

I'd rather keep myself at a distance and not feel these things sometimes. But if you weren't close enough, would you repel completely like magnets?

These questions kept me up at night while I drafted my email to Phiona. I asked for tips on branding, if Radio for Equality was okay with me leaving early, and if she had time to answer some questions. Just get in there, perform, and get out. Simple.