THOUGH IT'S LONG PAST MIDNIGHT, Archer stands at the door, shaking his head in refusal at my offer to come in.
His white-knuckled grip curls around the iron banister sloping the length of the back staircase: a mesh metal matrix with small platforms and a steep incline; the definition of having your heart in your throat at each step, hugging yourself and balancing on tiptoe while the world is surrendering beneath your heels and you don't know whether you're moments from falling or flying.
Moonlight endows him. Silver spins his outline, a spindled fabric made of stardust. Archer Finley looks at home in the night, his irises a reflection of storm clouds; of volcanic ash building in the heart of the volcano.
He shoves his hands in his pockets. Wind whips through his charcoal hair, while the beanie is fisted in his fingers, grey folds of fabric escaping his grip, escaping the denim confines of his pocket.
"I don't want to intrude," he finally says. Jutting out his chin in some semblance of a nod, he continues, "Yeah, that's it. No intrusion. It's late, and your mum's home…"
"She's not," I say. "And even if she was, you're a friend. I think Eb and I would both prefer if you slept here instead of driving back to yours; it's pretty far, isn't it?"
"Yeah. And cheers, Ivory, but even if you want me here...Eb doesn't." He swallows, shifting a hand through his hair before cramming the beanie back on. "Better if I just go."
"What do you mean? I thought you and Eb were friends."
"Friends?" He releases a chuckle, but it sounds bitter-tasting on his tongue. "We've only even been able to look at each other in the past couple of weeks because of you. But I think you should be hearing this from him, not from me. I gotta go."
"Wait." The plea dies on my lips as Archer zips down the stairs, paying no heed to the rush of white noise in his ears and the threat of falling at every moment. "Damn it."
The sudden release into the warmth of the house is a sucker-punch in the gut. I rub my hands together, hoping the friction will reignite the fire in my blood as I search for Ebony to satiate the answers to my questions.
I would be lying if I haven't noticed the way the boys seem to repel each other; even in my most oblivious, self-absorbed moments, I have picked up on it in my peripheral vision and in the depths of my mind.
Like Rebel and I, two best friends fell and shattered so quickly. Unlike Rebel and I, my brother and Archer deserve to pick up the pieces.
"Ebony," I call his name as I climb the stairs, pausing outside my room to wait for him. When there's no response, I sigh, flattening a hand against the pale, chilled wood and letting myself in.
My pyjamas feel soft, deeply warm and inviting against my skin as I insert my arms into my dressing-gown, tying a lazy knot around my waist. My hair falls in dreary locks; the evening's curls half-flattened by the wind.
I call his name again, this time with my fingers around the door handle. "Ebony?"
"I'm in my room," he replies, and I take it as an invitation to come and find him.
My brother is sprawled on his bed, his hands tucked beneath his head and one leg bent, whilst the other kicks out into the set of drawers opposite. He too has shed himself of the remnants of the night on his skin, only wearing grey tracksuit bottoms and a thin white t-shirt to conserve his body temperature.
With our presence ghost-like throughout the day, the chill permeates the house. Though the heaters are on, the warmth has yet to run rampant and restore the comfort stolen by each withering breath.
"Hi." I take a seat on his desk-chair, hanging my legs over the arm.
"Hi," he says, hardly acknowledging my presence. "I thought you'd want to get some sleep."
"I want to talk to you first," I dredge out. Then I say Archer's name and pause, gauging his reaction.
He fights to hide it, but I see his face change; a deepening to his frown and the first signs of fear settling on his features.
"What about him?" He asks, his composure shaken in the most minute way possible.
"I just want to know what's up. He didn't come in because something happened between you two, but you guys were good friends before," I say. "It's weird that you're just...trying to avoid each other. Archer told me you guys have only been speaking through me."
"It's nothing." Ebony sits up and drags an annoyed hand through his hair. "But it's something. We weren't meant to―and maybe it'd be fine if we actually spoke about it, but...I think he's afraid to talk about it with me. Because I'm younger, and he's so sure, and I had no idea―,"
"Ebony," I interject. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Look." He releases a withering sigh. "When you were with Rebel, that night, the one with Levi...Arch and I kissed. Well―no. I kissed him. He didn't kiss me back."
The last thing I need is for my brother to register my sudden shock and misinterpret it as something darker. Sure, it's unexpected, but...I think my brother needs me.
"Well, Eb, some people just don't feel that way," I say, simultaneously knowing how weak it is, but also that I don't know what to say to make him feel better. "You know. It's not your fault or his, it's just the way things are. It's nothing personal."
"But it is," he insists, and for the first time, hurt flashes in Ebony's eyes. "Because before that, we were talking about it. He was talking about the stuff he's done with boys―it was just casual conversation, 'cause I mean, he's bi as hell―but then I just, I wasn't really thinking, I just leant over and kissed him. And then he started apologising for leading me on, and involuntarily hinting, and all this time I'm thinking that he didn't really do any of that stuff, it was me just realising I wanted to kiss him, but I didn't get to say anything because I realised that more than making him feel awkwardness, I made him feel regret. It just felt...a hundred times worse."
"Eb…" I exhale. "That sucks, I'm really sorry."
"It's fine, I just wish he'd stop acting like he's done something wrong." He crashes back against the wall, wincing at the collision of his shoulder and the plaster. "Maybe if he weren't so scared to talk to me...then I wouldn't be explaining the details of my love life to my older sister."
It coaxes a smile out of me, at least.
"I know that's the worst," I sympathise, slipping off of the chair to perch on the bed beside him. "But you're right, you guys need to talk. Because, you know, as much as Archer might hate the world...there are some people in it he'd never want to hurt."
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