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CHAPTER SEVEN. . . My Name is Nobody
"Living systems are never in equilibrium. They are inherently unstable. They may seem stable, but they're not. Everything is moving and changing. In a sense, everything is on the edge of collapse." Michael Crichton, Jurassic Park
The next morning, August wakes to find Sirius staring into the fire; a brown parchment letter of his own clutched so tightly that his knuckles are white-the skin almost seeming to split at the seams. He was careful not to place too much weight on Sirius' legs as he rose, moving closer to look over his shoulder, chin notching itself over his shoulder. August doesn't let his eyes settle over the words of the letter; he knows what it's like to have his privacy intruded on. Instead, he carefully takes the parchment from Sirius' furled hands and placed it onto the coffee table.
"Are you okay?" He asks. "Do you want to talk about it?"
When Sirius shakes his head, August doesn't press. The early morning birds could be heard out the window of the tower, flickers of brown, white and black feathers flitting through the air, swiftly flying towards the the Owlery for morning deliveries as a silence falls over the two teenage boys. August moves back slowly, giving Sirius the space that he thinks he requires. August aches to break the silence, searching, combing through his mind for the right words to say.
"Can I do anything to help?"August questions softly. He's desperate to erase the look of pure despair that paints Sirius' fallen expression; the feeling itself one that he is all too familiar with.
Sirius doesn't say anything at first; opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, gulping for air, before he closes it fully and succumbs to the empty feeling echoing within his chest. But then he moves- surging forward, his arms clasping around August's waist without warning.
And for a moment all August can do is be still as his breath is knocked out of his chest, and his heart constricts. He has always been sure, confident in his movements and his actions. While not everything he did was carefully calculated-even just to the first step-August Darlington has always known where his heart lands. But now as his body tingles and his knuckles turn white, holding the boy that clings to him for dear life, he is unsure. He has never been a stranger to stolen moments. A boy of mouths slanted against each other in a passionate show of romanticised infatuation, leaving purple and yellow bruises as parting gifts in stolen moments where he can find himself drawn out of his painstaking head.
