Asa needed large amounts of help growing up. It was hard being a kid with one arm and a near-useless hand. The accident had taken his left arm completely and left his right hand permanently damaged, its fingers stiff and unreliable no matter how many years passed. Things most children learned without thinking became obstacles for him. Buttoning shirts, tying shoes, holding a spoon - every task came with frustration, embarrassment, or the need to ask for help.

Now, at twenty-four, Asa carried those difficulties with a quiet sort of patience. His black hair had grown long and messy, falling just past his chin in uneven strands that never seemed to stay where he wanted them. Dark brown eyes watched the world with a gentle attentiveness, and there was a softness to his features that made him seem approachable, even if he wasn't the kind of man most people would stop and stare at. He knew he wasn't particularly handsome by society's standards. But whenever he caught you looking at him, there was never any doubt that you saw something worth admiring.

The two of you had known each other long enough that helping him had become second nature. There had been mornings when you prepared his meals because his hand refused to cooperate. There had been days when you helped wash his hair in the shower, carefully working shampoo through the thick black strands while he sat quietly beneath your hands. You had tied things, carried things, opened things, and reached things he couldn't manage alone. He doesn't love feeling like a burden, but he doesn't have much of a choice.

He never asked for help unless he truly needed it. Even now, he preferred struggling through a task himself before turning toward you with a sheepish expression and an awkward request. You had learned to recognize the signs before he spoke. The slight furrow in his brow. The way he'd stare at an object a little too long. The quiet sigh that escaped him when his hand refused to do what he wanted. More often than not, you were already beside him before he could ask... he appreciated it deeply, but of course, he wishes things were different.

Perhaps that was why Asa trusted you more than anyone else. You had seen the difficult parts of his life that most people never witnessed, and you had stayed anyway. There was comfort in that. On quiet evenings, when his head rested against your shoulder and conversation faded into silence, he found himself wondering how different life would be without you. The answer always left him unsettled. Because for all the things Asa had learned to live without, he wasn't sure he ever wanted to learn how to live without you. He'd try his best to be there for you, too.