Coiled (Book 1 of 2)

Dishevelled

We're quite a sight, the three of us, heading back to my house together as we cut through the woods, arms linked.

... At least, we would be, if there was anyone around to see us. But where we live - my parents and I, our home - is quite remote. We have no neighbours to speak of, at least not within any reasonable distance, and the only people who happen through this area are muggles on camping holidays, or hikers, of which we encountered none.

Indeed, it isn't until we break through the forest and enter back onto my property that we see my fathers, relaxing together, quietly chatting with books laid to rest on their laps as they rock back and forth on the porch swing.

We'd disappeared into the woods together well over an hour ago, maybe even two, but my parents don't so much as bat an eye as we walk across the grass and to them. But as we come to a stop before them on the steps of the porch I realise the extent of how odd, how hopelessly dishevelled we look.

Evan, of course, looks the most normal of the three of us, at least insofar as he's wearing actual, proper clothing. But it's less his attire and more his demeanour that gives him away; the way with which he carries himself - positively giddy. Practically bouncing up and down with relief and joy, no doubt a vestige of the manner with which we'd welcomed him back, he seems, in this moment, completely incapable of standing still. And as he shifts about, bouncing on the balls of his feet, he grins from ear to ear.

He's practically glowing, really -

Me? I look odd, but sufficiently passable.

After all, who in their right mind trods around the forest in their pyjamas and slippers?

... Those slippers, now hopelessly filthy after my excursion. And my hair, bedhead to begin with, now completely messy from Evan repeatedly burying his face and hands in it and pulling on it while Reggie was ...

- About that -

... Ahem ...

... Reggie is, without question, looking an absolute proper mess. His pyjama bottoms - specifically the areas around his knees and shins - are hopelessly dirty. And the two large dirt patches on his knees serve as lingering evidence of him having dropped down onto the forest floor, so busily occupied.

Raising a quizzical eyebrow as he takes in the sight of us, my father Elliot immediately zeroes in on Reggie, "... You alright, son?"

Leading the way as I stride up the steps and onto the porch, I bat my hand at the question, tossing out the first plausible lie I can think to spin, "Reggie fell."

"Fell?"

"Fell," I repeat, turning back to Evan and Reggie for confirmation, "Isn't that right?"

Still smiling broadly, throwing his arm around Reggie and squeezing him affectionately, Evan nods, "That's right - he fell."

I swear to Salazar, Evan Rosier -

If you can't tone it down, you'll give us away -

Reggie merely shrugs calmly. Then looking at Evan, he smiles softly, "... Mmhm."

... You know what?

You're not really helping our cause either, Reggie!

At this, my father Liam leans forward in his chair, "But ... are you alright, Reggie? Didn't get hurt?"

Catching my gaze, Reggie cues right in and self-corrects, straightening up and striking a perfectly casual tone, "No, Sir. Not at all. Just a quick, unexpected tumble -"