o9 | proximity (part two)

HIS HAND, GRAZING MY SHOULDER blade, is gentle and steady against my skin. His wrist against my back, I feel the race of his pulse, the warm prickle of sweat stemming from the tension sparking the air; hot remnants of friction, of our intermingling breaths and his touch against the expanse of my flesh.

The heavy stir of nostalgia lurks in the air, and a sliver of resentment crawls down my spine. Thoughts of Rebel―of Mr Rose and ice-cold drinks against unscarred backs―curls around my throat, clutching my neck with the acrid tang of bitter-tasting betrayal.

It's in every step he takes up the stairs, following behind me; in the creak of the door as it cracks ajar to reveal a strip of the room behind it.

Empty and vacated. Ebony has already left.

"I can imagine you probably won't go in today." Archer's voice is low, stretching across the room. I pause, my fingers trailing along the top of the couch―something strange surges through me, at the thought that my brother was here and I just missed him, like how I just missed being 'properly' targeted by the headteacher, time and time again―then nod, a swallow tugging at my throat. "Are you just going to stay here all day?"

"Yeah." My fingers clench and my nails scratch at the fabric. "I'll miss Specials again, but what does it matter? They're not going to miss me. I'll be being talked about so much it'll be like I'm still there."

My words are bitter and writhe with a raging pessimism, one that seems to send a shudder through him too.

"You're not wrong." His stare is fixed on me, as if he wishes he could deny the words ensnaring us both in his grasp. "But words have power. I have some of my own."

I straighten, closing my eyes. Back to him, as if unable to face him with the challenge simmering on my tongue and lips. "You've always had power, Archer. But there's so much that you detach yourself from, that that world spins on without your input, because you don't use that power. You've always kept quiet about anything to do with the hierarchy, and nothing has changed."

"I'm stood here," he argues, and over my shoulder, I notice his jaw visibly tense.

"Why?"

"Because. I used to think I was trapped, stuck, in this...suffocating world where there was nothing worth caring about. Then I found the Chain, and it actually felt like a place where I could breathe. What I needed, I think you need that too. I see that potential."

"Then what are we still doing here?" This time, I swing around to face him. "Let's go."

Archer cards a hand through his hair. "It's still early. Give me two hours, and get dressed. You think I asked for party clothes for no reason?"

"It's the trend, I get it," I remark, winding a strand of hair around my finger. "Two hours, then. Let's go back to the Chain."

☆☆☆