o9 | proximity (part three)
WHEN WE ARRIVE AT THE Chain, the party is stirring to life.
Without the suffocating sprawl of bodies that marked my last visit, it is significantly quieter and easier to breathe. Archer's presence beside me no longer feels so overbearing, just gentle, his arm brushing against mine with each step.
His version of party clothes is a beanie, and a burgundy shirt tucked into his worn jeans, edges fraying and small tears littering the denim, giving way to a gaping hole carved out below the knee. It's a different pair of jeans to his usual ones, less Tippex and my no nowhere to be seen on their surface. The words and drawings are little notes revealing his charm, wild and defiant and untamed.
Though his body radiates heat, a certain chill pervades my senses. In contrast to his quiet but impacting drive, my clothes feel edgy and revealing. A tight red top cuts off above my belly button and black shorts hug my hips, fishnets grazing my skin from my waist down to the lips of my black combat boots. When I'd gotten dressed, it'd been Archer who had found my wire-framed glasses, the circular lenses dyed an unforgiving blood-red. They fit on the crown of my head, but did nothing to make me feel more covered up.
"Are you still worried about what you're wearing? You look fantastic," Archer says encouragingly, his hand falling to my wrist. "Now, come on, I want to hear JJ play."
I nod in spite of myself, rolling my eyes at his remark before following after him.
Soon enough, the sound of JJ's music is kissing the air in soft melodies, drowning out the sound of our arrhythmic footsteps as we lean against the piano.
He presses his last key and beams, adjusting the sunglasses shading his eyes.
"Hey, JJ," Archer greet, shifting a hand through his wavy black hair.
"Hi, JJ," I say in more of a mumble, tracing the casing of the instrument.
"Hi Archer, Ivory," JJ replies, letting the lid fall on his piano. "Nice to see you guys again."
Archer barks out a laugh at this, eyes―the bewitching colour of lead the moment it becomes whisky-washed and molten, fading into the obsidian depths of the river Styx―lighting up with amusement in the form of a sparkle in his eye.
My mouth falls open a touch, unsure whether to laugh or not. I shift uncomfortably in place, until my silence catches Archer's attention.
"You need to stop making jokes like that, it's making Ivory uncomfortable." Archer cracks a grin, half-laughing at me.
"Sorry Ivory." JJ is grinning too, a flash of white against his copper skin. "You get used to it after a while."
"I'm sure," I say, tucking my thumbs into the pockets of my shorts. "Great playing, by the way."
"I can't help but notice you didn't sing," he replies, adjusting his cap. I nod, then check myself, blurting out a yes. "Didn't you know the song?"
"No, not this time," I murmur, "but I loved hearing it anyway."
"I'm glad." He smiles, and it reaches from ear to ear. "That reminds me, I have something to ask. On Saturday, I'm performing, and I was wondering if you'd want to accompany me by singing?"
"Performing?" I frown, but Archer is there to catch my confusion.
"This place isn't just an ongoing party. Saturdays are the days we get together a bit more as a community, and we all bring our own food to the buffet and watch each other perform," he explains, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.
"And you want me to sing with you?" I turn back to JJ. "I―wow, that'd be really cool. I'd love to! What time?"
"I have the second slot, at half-past six," he says. "If you give me or Archer your number, I can send you the setlist."
"Yeah, sure." I take the phones offered to me and tap my number in in a hurry, my thumbs racing across the keyboard to the flurry of my heart-rate. "I can't wait."
"Yeah." He lifts the lid of his piano, his fingers resting on the keys. "Me neither."
I grin as I set his phone on the piano, and hand Archer's back to him. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, trying to stifle the excitement running rampant in my chest, stirring up a twister of nerves.
They're volatile and acidic in the pit of my stomach―the thought of performing sending a bout of nerves surging through my body. An artist, who belongs in the shadows, but JJ's offer has shone a shaft of sun―a spotlight―ready for me to step into.
"Do you still think art is your calling?" Archer asks, adjusting the beanie sat upon his dark hair. He's adjusted it several times by now, a compulsive habit.
I shake my head. "It's too late to change at school"―I don't want to lose this part of Rebel too―"but maybe I'll take some lessons, or something. I really don't want to let JJ down."
And I want to do this for myself, too.
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