'i don't have anywhere else to go.' - a sleepy boys inc story

quatorze

The teen steps clumsily off the ladder, missing one of the closest candles by inches and making Wilbur yelp in chagrin. Tommy waves his caution off, laughing, a sliver of light shining through the shadow of who he usually is.

Wilbur pats the floor beside him softly. "Come sit. Don't- Tommy, look out for the candles-"

"It's fine, it's fine. Don't worry about it." Tommy flops down next to his friend, leaning the end of his legs on Wilbur's lap. "Oof."

"You'll burn the bloody house down."

"Arson pog."

Wilbur laughs. "Arson is poggers. Just- you burn the house down and all you say is 'arson is poggers'." Tommy joins his friend, guffawing loudly, but it soon recedes into silence.

"You wouldn't... um. You wouldn't leave me, would you?"

Wilbur has to do a double take at the quiet, insecure tone of his usually loud and confident friend, looking down at the top of his golden head. "Of course I wouldn't, Tommy. What's this about?"

"I had a nightmare. There was like- smoke. And then the smoke cleared, and you were there. And I tried to walk towards you, but my feet were like, stuck in the ground, so I called to you, and then you walked away. And then I like- fell. And I think I died? I dunno. 'Cause I woke up like, immediately after that." Wilbur has been looking down at his hands until this point, listening intently. "It- it was scary." Tommy's voice is small.

"Yeah. I get that. It must have been terrifying." Wilbur reaches an arm to pull the boy closer until Tommy wraps his arms around his friend's torso in a sideways hug. "I love you, Tommy. Don't ever think otherwise."

Tommy sniffs. "Yeah, yeah, yeah." He's visibly beginning to get embarrassed, blushing at the amount of vulnerability he just showed and attempts to change the subject, gesturing idly at the brown guitar resting against the slanted wall. "Play me something."

As Wilbur gets up and grabs the neck of his guitar, he asks, "Um, okay. What d'you want me to play?"

"I dunno, um. I really like the one from Your City Gave Me Asthma, um- it goes like hmm horizon hmm hmm hmm target-"

Wilbur looks at him blankly. "What?"

"It's all guitar-y." Tommy holds his hands up in a guitar holding position and mimes playing, humming. "Deedle-deedle-deedle-" There still isn't an ounce of recognition in Wilbur's eyes. "Something about hiking boots? I'll pick up my hiking boots when I am ready-"

"Oh my god, you mean Since I Saw Vienna?"

Tommy slaps himself in the forehead. "YES! Jesus fuck, I can't believe I forgot- yes, I meant Since I Saw Vienna."

"I mean yeah, okay. I can do that." The musician begins to play after a minute of tuning and Tommy closes his eyes. Wilbur clears his throat and begins to sing.

The cute bomber jacket you've had since sixth form, adorned with patches of places you've been, is nothing on my khaki coat I got from a roadside when I was sixteen

He's drawn in by the lilting melody of the guitar, accompanied by a voice dripping with honey and laced with a smile, easily heard through the soft, caring notes that ring out and hold him in a hypnotic stupor of serenity.

My boots are from airports, my backpack's from friends, I'm not a man of substance, and so I'll pretend to be a wanderer, wondering, leaving ascetic belongings in hostels and restaurant bins

Wilbur's deep voice sets hands around his heart and stills the seemingly never-ending traffic in his mind. All he can think about is the notes ringing out in front of him.

The roads are my home, horizon's my target, if I keep on moving, never lose sight of it, treating my memory of you like a fire, let it burn out, don't fight it, and try to move on

The late time begins to creep up on Tommy, a blanket of sleep slowly being pulled over him.

It's been sixty weeks since I saw Vienna, a bandage and a wide smile slapped across my face, I'll pick up my hiking boots when I am ready and I'll put down my roots when I'm dead

He slips down, under the thick doona and pillows. They hold the familiar smell of vanilla.

The distance is futile, come on, don't be hasty, you'll get that feeling deep inside your bones

Vanilla is my favourite smell, he decides.

I'll be gone then, for when you must be alone

---

Specks of golden dust float in the air, illuminated by the sunlight streaming through the circular window in the attic wall. Wilbur smiles at his familiar surroundings and puts his hands down to go to sit up but is stopped by a weight on his stomach. He snaps his eyes down to his torso, where he sees two sock-clad feet resting. He lifts Tommy's legs up and off his midriff as gently as possible, but his friend must be a light sleeper because he stirs, blearily opening his eyes after a moment. "Morning."

Tommy groans aggressively. "Why the fuck is it so bright for?"

Wilbur laughs. "Nice socks." Tommy squints at him grumpily, then kicks him in the legs - not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to hurt. "Ah-"

"I like them, arsehole."

Wilbur snorts. "No, so do I. That's what I'm saying."

"Sure, sure. No, but look!" The blond points at his feet, the cartoon of Dachshunds dressed up in hot dog costumes knitted into his grey socks. "They're sausage dogs. Get it?"

"Yes, Tommy. They're very nice." He speaks with the air of someone talking to a senile relative.

"You know something - I hate you, Wilbur. So mu-" Tommy's rant is cut off by the monotone sound of Techno's voice calling up the ladder. "Will? Is Tommy there with you? Phil went into your room and he's not there, and he's freaking out."

Wilbur smirks at Tommy while he calls out, "Yeah, he's-"

"I'M UP HERE WITH WILBUR! HE LET ME UP HERE!"

Wilbur winces at the shouting and softly hits Tommy. "Yeah, and I'm kinda regretting that decision. Oh, also, Tommy's wearing really dumb socks, they have stupid dogs with-" The rest of his sentence comes out muffled due to the hands being slapped over his mouth and the wind being knocked out of him - Tommy had full-on tackled him to get him to stop talking.

"I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT MY SOCKS ARE NOT AT ALL DUMB OR STUPID THEY HAVE SAUSAGE DOGS ON AND ARE VERY COOL AND POGGER- ew! Did you just lick my hand? Wilbur- Techno, your brother is fuckin' weird, tell him off or something."

Wilbur turns to him. "You do know I'm older than him, right?"

"Yeah, but he's more poggers than you so- is Techno even still there? Techno? Big T?" Silence comes from the bottom of the ladder. "Techno?"

Silence again. "He's gone! You scared him off, Tommy!"

"Me? I did not! You're the one who licked my fuckin' hand, you fuckin'... fuckin' twat. Loser weird twat man. That's you."

1,815 words