Would You Believe Me?

Asher gripped the crumpled papers tightly in his hands, both palms sticky with nervous sweat. He was nearing the front of the line now, and the thought of what came next made his insides painfully twist into an anxious pretzel. He'd been waiting in the seemingly never-ending line for a good three hours, and although his feet ached and his throat was dry with thirst, Asher decided he'd gladly wait another three hours just to prolong the inevitable. Only about a hundred people were in front of him now.

"Scared?" the person behind him hissed. Asher turned his head slightly so he could catch a glimpse of the guy out of the corner of his eye. He was tall and skinny with a pointed nose and a wild mop of sandy hair. He wasn't entirely unattractive, but whoever was paired with him wouldn't be overly thrilled.

"No," Asher lied, turning back to face the front of the line.

"I hope I get a girl with great tits," the guy continued, shuffling forward so that he was just a bit too close for Asher's liking. Asher rolled his eyes. He was tired of hearing every guy talk about the assets they hoped for in their future match. They would get what they got, so it was pointless to sit around fretting about breast size and other physical traits.

Ever since he was young Asher could remember the other boys in his class talking about this day, the day they'd all be matched with their true mates. Everyone was excited and eager, but also worried they'd get someone who didn't meet their expectations. All the apprehension was useless, Asher thought darkly. If one filled out the questionnaires accurately, then the matching was downright predictable. Intelligent boys were matched with intelligent girls, attractive boys with attractive girls, creative boys with creative girls, and so on. All imaginable aspects of a person were recorded and the match-finding supercomputer spat out the name of the person they'd be paired with. It was logical, mathematical, and precise.

Asher stepped forward a pace or two as the line in front of him gave way. He could see the supercomputer now. The massive metal machine perched intimidatingly on a stage, more lights than necessary flashing on and off simply for theatrical effect.

He glanced down at the papers in his hands. It had taken weeks to complete the tiresome questionnaires with his work ethic. They had arrived in the mail months ago, sent by the government to all nineteen-year-olds in the registry. Asher had toiled over the papers, filling in questions so personal that he'd taken to locking the forms in his desk drawer for fear his parents would look at his responses.

He'd heard of some people who refused to fill out the forms and never showed up for the day they'd be matched. It was uncommon for that to happen, but it still occurred. People had the freedom to refuse finding a match, although that meant they'd never be legally married or legally allowed to procreate. Those people who refused to become matched—those unmatched people—they were considered to be thorns in an otherwise productive society. What man didn't want to meet the woman of his dreams and produce the allotted two children per family?

Asher took another few steps forward as the line shrunk even further. How many were left in the queue in front of him? Seventy people? Sixty?

"Check out that fox," the aggravating raspy voice behind him remarked. Asher looked up to see a gorgeous leggy blonde stepping across the stage to stand next to her match. The two looked perfect next to each other, tall, blonde, and attractive. They smiled at one another and held hands, clearly happy with their computed soulmate. Asher snorted in disgust. He didn't want some brainless overly tanned blonde for a match. He wanted... His mind drew a blank. What did he want?

Asher felt a bead of sweat on his forehead. He couldn't go through with this, it was too much! The line was shrinking again, and numbly he stepped forward. Fifty people left.

Soon there were forty.

And then thirty.

After wiping the sweat from his forehead, Asher tried to smooth out his papers without much success.

Twenty.

He ran a hand through his hair, unknowingly causing the straight black strands to stick out messily, defying gravity and the product he'd used earlier that morning to slick his hair neatly into place.

Ten.

Asher's nerves were getting the better of him, and he shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, eyes glued to the stage. Another happy couple stepped down from the platform causing his stomach to flip nauseatingly as his turn approached.

As the man in the lab coat called out the next girl's name, Asher shut his eyes. He tried to block out the scene before him and imagined he was back at home eating pancakes in bed and watching Saturday morning cartoons. His whole life would change the second his match was called. It wouldn't simply be 'Asher' any longer; it would be 'Asher and Amy' or 'Asher and Cheryl.' He would henceforth be known as only half of a perfect whole.

"Move up will ya?" the tall guy behind him elbowed him in the back and Asher's eyes flew open, his hand jerking reflexively as he hastily scrambled forward. Looking down at his papers, he realised with some amount of horror that he'd accidentally ripped the corner of one of the pages.

It's just the corner, it doesn't matter! But Asher couldn't entirely convince himself that it was okay. What if his forms were ruined now? He'd spent weeks working on them! He peered down at the neatly filled in circles and confirmed that none had been marred by the slight tear in the corner. It'll be okay, It'll be okay...

There were only two people in front of him now, and Asher's hands began to shake as trepidation ate at his gut. Did the other guys feel this way? Was he the only one? He tried to swallow the lump in his throat but his mouth was too dry and the lump remained lodged in his esophagus.

He was up next. Asher watched as the guy who had stood in front of him for the last five and a half hours climbed the stairs of the stage and handed the man in the lab coat his papers. The seconds seemed to trickle by as if they were individual grains of sand in an hourglass. They fell too fast, everything was happening too quickly!

The newly matched couple walked off the stage and at last it was his turn. Asher stood, frozen to the spot as all eyes turned to him.

"Move," the guy behind him gave him a shove and for the first time Asher was thankful he'd been stuck in front of him. He stumbled forward, somehow managing to stay on his feet, and then slowly made his way up the stairs and onto the stage.

The overhead lights were bright and hot, and he stood blinded for a moment before remembering what he had to do. His hands shook as he gave his papers to the man in the lab coat, who smiled at Asher as if to say "I understand you're nervous, but it'll be okay." Even if he was a fake doctor, Asher was glad the man was there to give him that smile, that small amount of comfort.

His papers were fed one by one into the machine, and there was no turning back now. He held his breath, hands clenched at his sides.

When the little receipt popped out of the supercomputer, Asher thought he might die of anticipation. Was that possible? No, likely not. That little piece of paper held the name of his entire future, his entire life. The man in the lab coat was staring at the paper, reading the name. He couldn't look, he decided, and instead tried to focus on the crowd of females seated on the left side of the amphitheatre. It was hard to see past the blinding lights, but he could make out the girls in their pretty dresses, each one watching him and wondering if he was their match.

After a minute of silence Asher let his eyes wander back to the man on stage with him. He seemed to be confused, thick dark eyebrows knitted together as he stared at the receipt. The tension in the air was palpable, and everyone seemed to be holding their breath wondering why a name hadn't yet been read aloud.

"Uh..." the man stepped forward and grasped the microphone, which screeched painfully. He looked momentarily back at Asher, his expression a mix between confusion and anger.

"Cameron Stephan Harrison?"

There was a moment of utter silence before the entire amphitheatre burst into a synchronized gasp followed by the deafening roar of confused murmurs. Asher stood, equally confused as everyone else. Wasn't Cameron a guy's name? The supercomputer didn't match two males together. That just wasn't possible. It hadn't happened ever, to Asher's knowledge, in the centuries the computer had been used. The man in the coat was attempting to get everyone's attention again, and after an ear splitting squawk of the microphone everyone quieted down.

"Is Cameron here?" there was a commotion in the line as someone pushed forward.

Asher watched, apprehensive, as a young man stepped up and onto the stage. He was taller than Asher, slender with dark brown hair and intense dark eyes that tilted slightly upwards at both corners. How exotic, Asher thought to himself as he admired the young man before him. Cameron, he recalled. Cameron was very pleasant to look at, despite the fact that his lips were currently turned downwards in a frown and his eyes kept avoiding Asher's.

"This is not right," Asher could hear the man in the lab coat muttering. People in the audience were starting to talk again, and the noise level quickly rose to a dull roar.

The man grabbed Cameron's forms and fed them into the supercomputer, not bothering with the showy shuffling of pages. When the little receipt popped out the man's expression took on disbelief and then anger as he read the name.

"Asher Eric Westman?" the man yelled in his ear in order to be heard over the crowd. Asher nodded.

"Asher?" he saw Cameron silently mouth, eyebrow raised. Asher scowled and looked back to the fake doctor.

"There must be some mistake in your questionnaires," the man yelled into his ear again. "Dr. Philips will take you two back to the lab so we can sort out what's wrong."

As if on cue, Asher noticed another man in a lab coat standing near the stage's far exit. Dr. Philips? He was shoved along, hardly aware of what was happening. The crowd was thunderous, the situation confusing. As he stepped off the stage he could sense everyone refocus their attention on the next available match. They were understandably more concerned over their own match than with the strange glitch in the matching process that had paired him with a boy. It was human error, of course. The supercomputer didn't make errors.

"Follow me, please," Dr. Philips turned and walked ahead, and Asher was forced to practically jog to keep up with the man's long strides. He soon realised that Cameron was walking beside him, also following the doctor.

"Strange, huh?" Asher commented, looking over at Cameron. He thought he saw the brunette tense. "Imagine the computer matching two guys. This is so crazy! I wonder what we did wrong on the forms? I was sure I had everything right..." Asher lapsed into an awkward silence for a moment, observing Cameron while he waited for a response. The guy sure was quiet. "I mean, I don't even like boys!" he attempted a pitiful laugh and wished he hadn't immediately afterwards.

"Just shut up," Cameron growled, staring ahead. Asher frowned, hurt. He understood that Cameron had probably looked forward to today as the day he'd meet his perfect match, but it wasn't like it was his fault that their results had come back flawed. Cameron's forms had produced his name so they'd clearly both messed up. He shut his mouth, glaring at the back of Dr. Philips' head.

It took ten minutes for them to reach their destination, and at the sight of the water cooler Asher immediately brightened. The room looked like a typical waiting room for any doctor's office. The walls were a stylish olive colour, the carpet a deep forest green. The chairs lined up along the walls looked comfortable enough, and there were magazines scattered on the low table in the middle of the room.

"Wait here," Dr. Philips ordered before walking past the reception desk and disappearing.

Asher watched the man leave then instantly stepped over to the water cooler and grabbed a paper cup. He was downing his second cup of water when he heard Cameron loudly clear his throat.

"What?" Asher asked, turning around to look at the young man. Cameron stood by the doorway, leaning lightly against the frame. He's gorgeous, Asher thought, running a self-conscious hand through his own mussed hair. He wasn't muscular and tall like Cameron, and his blatant inadequacy only confirmed his suspicions of the match being horribly wrong... Even if it were possible for two guys to be matched—which it wasn't.

"What?" Asher repeated when Cameron simply stared.

"What if the computer is right?" Cameron finally responded, regarding Asher with a sombre look.

"You're kidding?" Asher laughed and threw the cup in the trash then flopped down on one of the chairs. Cameron's eyes followed him and something in his gaze told Asher that he wasn't joking around.

"Look, the forms must've been filled out wrong. The computer is always right and the computer always matches females with males. The whole point of the matching process is procreation," Asher was adamant. "Have you ever, in your entire life, heard about two guys being matched together?" Cameron shook his head, his eyes narrowing at the black haired boy.

"Well there you go. Human error," Asher smiled and picked up a magazine. He was feeling much better now that he wasn't standing in that god awful line.

"There's a first time for everything," Cameron muttered, stepping into the room and taking a seat a few chairs away from the other young man.

"I'm sure the doctor will fix the problem. I mean it's not like you'd want to be stuck with me as a match," Asher chuckled then shifted his gaze to the magazine, completely missing the longing look that passed over Cameron's face.

A good fifteen minutes passed before Cameron spoke again, regarding Asher with the same careful expression as before, "What if I do want to be matched with you?"

Asher looked up for the magazine to stare at Cameron, completely shocked by the brunette. Is he serious? He can't be. Cameron was surely way out of his league... Besides, I don't like guys! Even if the guy happens to be extremely attractive.

His response, if he had ever managed to gather enough coherent brain cells to formulate one, was forgotten as Dr. Philips returned to the waiting room.

"You're both going to fill out the forms again," the man stated firmly, holding two very familiar looking booklets in his hands. "If you'll follow me I'll direct you to separate rooms."

"Doctor..." Asher began, causing the man to pause and send him an annoyed look. "Those forms take hours to fill out."

"I'm well aware. Do you have somewhere else you need to be, young man? This is only your future at stake, but I’ll understand if you want to go play baseball or something." the doctor shifted the booklets so that they were lodged under one arm. He adjusted his wire rimmed spectacles as he watched Asher shift uncomfortably under his gaze.

"No, but-"

"We're hungry," Cameron supplied, his tone irritated as he slouched in his chair.

The doctor made a grumbling sound in the back of his throat. Asher was sure that he could literally see the gears turning in the man's head as he mulled over Cameron's complaint. Finally, he ceded.

"Fine. I'll have someone send lunch in momentarily. Let's just get this started so you two aren't here all night."

The doctor turned away and began walking down a short hallway behind the reception desk. Cameron and Asher quickly stood and followed the man, neither looking forward to filling out the questionnaires again, but both eager to get it over and done with.

Dr. Philips practically shoved the young men into two separate rooms, one directly across the hall from the other. Asher was given the questionnaire booklet and the response forms, as well as a viciously sharpened pencil. The door promptly closed and Asher slowly blinked before turning around to stare at the claustrophobic space.

The walls and floor were blindingly white and the fluorescent lights overhead didn't help with the clinical atmosphere. There was nothing else in the room besides a desk and a chair that seemed as if they had been hastily shoved into one corner. With a dour expression he sat down at the desk and opened the booklet, pencil ready. Asher cringed when he realised he was only on the first of two hundred and eight glorious question-filled pages. This was going to take a while.