illuminated [myles&finn]

There is nothing to call normal about taking up residence in the Krigel household, and though I try for a day or two to find it, saying hello to Arissa when we pass in the halls or ruffling Nat’s hair when he comes up to our room to make dinner announcements or something of the sort, I cannot bring it to pass. Instead, I find myself spending much of my time curled in Leon’s bed, counting the specks on the ceiling or the books on his shelf. He had done little prying (which I was more than thankful for), but I perceived most of this was due to his shock at the matter, for I had taken one step too far from the edge of what was deemed normal for Finnegan Hood, and Leon Krigel knew this as well as I.

He had made me return home, though.

And though he had made me stay no longer than the five minutes it took to gather my belongings and shove them messily into a duffel, I could feel the uncomfortable silence settling over the household at the sight of my parents, and I quite matched the air that had enveloped me the day I had been asked to leave. We did not speak to each other, Leon taking up lead for once in his lifetime as he pushed me up the stairs, and I could hear his voice lingering in the air as I turned at the top step to listen.

“I’ll make sure he’s okay.”

But what Leon Krigel did not know was that this was a task too heavy for even those who meant well, and for the first time a small smile had tugged at the corners of my mouth, though it was quick to disappear at the sight of my room, left just the way I left it the week before. After a moment or two of dumbfounded standing I could feel Krigel’s gentle hand upon my shoulder, and subconsciously I leaned into his touch before breaking contact completely to shove miscellaneous items of clothing into the few bags left high on the closet shelf.

I do not speak to my parents on the way out, and I do not speak to Leon Krigel until the door has shut behind us.

“What if I never come home?”

But laying here now, with my back pressed against the sheets, I can almost convince myself that I don’t need to.

And though I’d be content to count the minutes as they pass, the older boy decides this is not the fate for either of us, and after several minutes of repetitive asking and quiet prodding, I give in with the simple conclusion that he wouldn’t ask again.

I should have specified.

For on the way we stay mostly silent, taking in the quiet of a shoreline brushed by wind and the simplicity of one another, until I can take the emptiness no longer and blurt out and speak, though the volume is lost on the wind and any hopes of answer are lost as Leon Krigel’s morale returns with the high tide. Yet still I ask, “How long can I stay with you?”

I record his response in the way he runs his hands through the grains of sand, in the way he lifts eyes to a sky darkened by the troubles of an entire district, even in the hearts of simple people and simple problems, even in the trivial occasions in Finnegan Hood’s way. He does not pay me attention for a moment, and in the time I’m given I watch the shoreline, almost in a state of regret, for though four had been home for eighteen years its waves had never been the same, and though the people here would confess their undying love for the ocean tides I simply could not do the same, and as he wades into the water goosebumps scatter across my skin, travelling up my arms and across the back of my neck as the lolling waves reach to his knees.

“Coming, Hood?”

And though my first instinct advises to shy away I take a step towards the tide, laying my shirt alongside his own before edging to the shore. The breeze whips across newly exposed skin, and I wrap my arms tightly around myself as I step in, the water lapping at my ankles. I watch the sand beneath my feet for a moment, watching my toes dig rivets into its surface through a pane of shifting glass before remembering the boy standing just feet away, and as I lift my gaze to catch his, I let out a small chuckle at the sight, two boys caught in the riptide of each other’s lack of sanity, yet finding solace in the winter waves that threaten to pull them under.

The smirk stays planted upon my face as I call out to him, feet determined to stay planted upon the spot, “Do I have to come out any further?”