Things I Wrote at One Time or Another

The Arcana; "Come September"

A/N: I don't really have a definite thing that happened to cause this but uh,,, it's based off "Come September" by Anais Mitchell. Asra and Luca are 14~15 here??

The door burst open and his legs carried him far from the shop, cutting across the afternoon crowd with his beaten up knees and scabbed elbows—his small body fumbling, stumbling, struggling through. His lungs heaved, desperate for a breath through the throng of strangers—his friend called to him, sick with worry, but he kept going.

He kept running until he reached the clearing, kicking through the old path and up the weedy grass until his chest tightened under the push of his legs up that hill. The image of the cottage appeared to him over the horizon— a ghost of love and happiness that haunted the memories of his childhood. In the past few months it's lost its glimmer and he could smell it rotting from the inside. But his heart itched for it, begged for its comfort.

Perhaps the tiniest part of him hoped he would be there, so suddenly, without a moment of time having passed. He'd be in the kitchen fixing himself some tea, he'd turn around from the stove with a eyebrow raised, asking his boy where he'd been. For a moment, he expected it.

His fingers scratched the frame of the doorway, watching as bits of old wood floated off in specks. The front door was left ajar, rodents scurried in and out—their smell the evidence.

The house was muggy, shrouded under a cloud of August heat that was slowly fading and would turn to chill come September. The furniture was covered in a veil of dust, objects stood still in time: an old mug of coffee on the counter, a story book tucked between the couch cushions. He left them alone, wandering towards the kitchen.

For a moment he imagined Issa's figure, his back black with shadow, his long legs waiting for a tune to make them move, his messy, dark hair luminous from the sunlight, highlighting the grey. But the apparition shattered with the sound of a rat running across the sink, disappearing into dust among the stream of light that poured into the room. Luca stood there, knuckles white and eyes stinging from the tears that fought out.

He'd always surprise himself with how many times he could cry—but be drained at odd periods. He never cried in front of Alma, he didn't cry the day they found out Issa was gone. But he cried whenever Alma disappeared to her room, he cried in the middle of the street, he cried whenever Asra stopped talking to distract him.

He was so tired of crying, but the tears came anyway.

"Don't cry, baby . ."

The voice wavered, a memory wafting in from the living room. He heard Issa's lullaby, humming through the stench of rotting flowers and wild animals. Luca followed it, like a ghost, through the house. Calling out for Papa, clamoring up the stairs to meet him.

"Come here, poppy . ." Issa whispered through the cracked door of Luca's bedroom. He pushed it open, eagerly, ready to fall into his father's arms.

But the light cut in through the porthole window, striking him almost blind as the sun met him. Issa disappeared, a group of rats and cockroaches rushing past his feet.

Luca felt his stomach turn, suddenly aware of the stench of feral leftovers and the overwhelming disappointment of remembering the impossibilities. He felt his lungs fill up with the stench, he doubled over, disgusted and terrified. He stumbled down the stairs, through the rotting house, and out the front door—fighting past the weeds and dead plants.

He was gasping for breath, struggling to keep right as he ran out—almost collapsing straight into Asra.

He was too busy coughing to register his friend's words, fighting his hands as he reached to settle him down. Asra was yelling at him, trying to catch his attention but Luca wouldn't look at him, his lungs still filled with the rot.

And then he heard something hit the ground hard. His eyes widened and turned to find Asra lying there on the ground, wincing. He pulled himself up into a sitting position, assessing the pain in his shoulder. Nothing serious, it seemed, but it shocked Luca.

For some reason, he couldn't say a thing.

"Didn't think you could hit that hard," he rubbed it, as if all it needed was a little pressure. He gave Luca a reassuring smile, helping himself up, "I'll let it slide, today." He joked.

Something in Luca was boiling, remnants of the rot stuck in his his rib cage. His jaw tightened, feeling something climbing up his throat. Asra's smile made him furious and he couldn't understand why.

He felt Asra's hand reach for his, tugging slightly, "Let's go home, okay?" He spoke softly—like you would to a child. Everyone was doing that—talking as if Luca couldn't understand otherwise.

When he didn't move Asra turned to face him, his eyes glancing over towards the cottage. His smile revealed the worry that quivered on his lips—his chest rose slightly, a burden he was trying to cover. "Alma warned you—she was just trying to protect you," Asra said, fixing his grip on Luca's hand, but Luca tore it away.

"Just like you were trying to protect me," he whispered, a hot, piercing threat climbing up through his throat. "When you lied about what you knew."

Asra knew what Lucio had been plotting, it had been the same with his parents. He wanted to argue, tell Luca that there was hardly anything he could've done—anything they've could've done—to save Issa. At most, they could've gotten themselves killed as well. But he knew Luca wouldn't listen, especially not now—not so soon.

"I lied," Asra confirmed, solemnly. "I know, but . . ."

"But what?" The spite hung off his tongue, tears welling up in Luca's eyes. "You can't think of another excuse?" He was practically barking, unable to control himself. He wanted Asra to tell him the truth, or at least, yell back. Fight back, he pleaded in his mind. Make the pain go away.

But his friend was silent, his eyes lost in deep contemplation, clouded over by a wall of patience. Luca felt his breath get caught in his chest, a sob daring to erupt. He clenched his teeth, too embarrassed to wipe his tears away. His shoulders shook as he struggled to speak:

"You're selfish . ." He said, "you just wanted to make me just like you."

This seemed to make Asra react, his eyes widening in shock. Luca kept going.

"I don't need you to come running after me— I don't want you."

Asra took a step back.

"I don't need you."