The house at the Crossroads (BxB)

Souls, Smoke and Silhouettes

For the first time, Gabriel found the room empty, void of the warmth and radiance that always awaits his arrival in the morning. Instead, there was a faint smell of cigarettes hanging in the air. A guitar was inclined crookedly on a corner, holding on the wall for its dear life. He padded towards the instrument, adjusting it to a better and more secure position. As his fingers made contact with the smooth wood, he found that specks of dust had settled to its surface. While he was tempted to wipe it clean, he thought better and leave the instrument to its solace. Thus, he headed to the bathroom and continued with his work.

From then on, the silence and emptiness of the room stretched for days. He covered the silence with the sounds of hammering and breaking and sometimes, of curses. But the sound of a boy commenting on his every movement never came back. Once or twice, the bedroom door would open, and then sounds of heavy footsteps would emerge, but the presence never stayed, never lingers even for minutes. Instead of flopping on his bed and watching Gabriel work, he would do whatever he came for, take whatever he needed, and disappear as random as he came. Gabriel worked peacefully, and ultimately, he became more productive. Ultimately, he finished the bathroom quicker than he'd like to.

The scent of cigarettes became stronger as days went on, and the dust on the guitar had thickened. He was on his second day of fixing the bedroom's ceiling when the boy who quietly comes in and out of the room, made use of his mouth.

"You haven't been staying in the study room these nights," he broke the stomach-wrenching awkwardness. It was not a question, just a statement of fact.

Gabriel thought of something sarcastic to respond, but he bit his tongue out of it.

"I've been busy," he replied instead.

He was cutting plywood and the sound of it replaced the silence. His sweat was dripping from his forehead, but at this point, he was not certain whether it was due to his movements or due to the abnormal pump in his heart.

Karlos heaved a sigh. "Take the room. I won't get in your way."

Karlos's voice was stern, with no hint of his usual playfulness. It was rough, too, and Gabriel could have guessed what made it sound like that.

"I don't need it."

"Your father-" he started, but then changed his thoughts, "You're not safe in your house. Just take the room. I won't bother you when you're here."

He hadn't been for almost two weeks, and Gabriel, even though he convinces himself it was better that way, had his chest clench at his words. His hand halted from sawing the wood, but just as he was about to turn to Karlos, he heard the sound of the door slamming shut. He was left staring at the carved wood, the room quiet once again. He released the breath he was holding. There was electricity running to his feet, and he was not too fond of the feeling.

Gabriel finished his shift at the pub two hours past midnight. He was rolling his shoulder as he walked through the crossroads, massaging the part where it ached. He couldn't wait to get to his bed and lay on it, ignoring the constant moans and groans coming from his father's room. But as his eyes wandered up the house, he remembered Karlos, and the study room, and the soft futon and velvet blanket, of the quiet walls that made sure he slept well. The thought made him dragged himself to the wired fence and hopped over the corner that had collapsed.

As he strolled towards the dark but familiar yard, a spark of light coming from the balcony caught his sight. The moon that night was crescent and failed to provide enough illumination for the place. He squinted his eyes to where the light was, and he made out a smoke twirling from it. The light moved, intensified, and cast an orange glow to a face; sharp nose, bowed upper lip, and chiseled jaws. A cloud of smoke puffed out from the pair of lips. Karlos' lips.