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"Well, well, well." Noah's smile bordered on vampiric—he'd been told his eye teeth were suspiciously pointy and he did believe in the power of a well placed bite—but it was difficult not to smile his broadest. The door of the coffee shop tinkled open and the bookworm (West, he corrected himself. It probably had a story behind it. Names like that usually did) and his endearing sister walked in. "We have to stop meeting like this." It was a trite line, but he didn't care. It had the desired effect. The sister giggled and flushed faintly pink. Noah decided that, yes, he liked her. She reminded him of a teddy bear come to life. She was small and a little chubby, with hair that floated on the winter wind like a cloud. It was hard not to like that.
West did not smile. If anything he got paler and stiffer looking. The chill from outside had turned his cheeks pink, but it looked washed out on him compared to his sister. He was all warm browns from his hair to his melted caramel eyes and yet he still managed to look cool whenever Noah saw him. Maybe it was a special skill of his. Or maybe it was the grudge he was (very effectively) holding.
"What are you doing here?" the sister asked. It might have been a rude question from anyone else.
"I live here."
It wasn't exactly untrue. Noah had put in countless hours behind the counter here through college—and after dropping out of college when it came to that. He had been an institution. Long shifts. The smell of coffee saturating his hair and clothes. There had been plenty of days when he saw more of the shop than his own apartment. The free caffeine had kept him running when exhaustion and stress threatened to drown him. And he still filled in whenever they needed an extra hand or he needed an extra paycheck. The shop wasn't home. He was too comfortable for it to be home.
"But today, I'm just visiting," he went on. "And collecting some work. It was time for the changing of the guard. Come. Join me."
Noah patted the seat of one of the empty chairs at his table. Only two of the four were taken up. One by his ass. The other by the cardboard box of his carefully packed prints. The owner of the coffee shop liked him so Noah had worked out a consignment deal back when he was first striking out on his own with photography. Once every few months Noah hung new photos on the shop walls and changed out the old ones and if any of his work sold, the owner got a commission and they made excited noises at each other. He wasn't sure who was happier about the occasional sales, him or the owner. It didn't happen often, but it was always a nice little bonus when they did. Never knew when an extra hundred bucks might be the difference between real food and living off the kindness of Chef Boyardee.
He had just finished making the swap and affixing the tags to the wall beneath each print. That was always his favorite part. They were only the size of business cards. Hell, they basically were business cards. Except instead of a Tom Smith, DDS they had the photo's name and most importantly the price. It was funny how special a few cents worth of paper stuck on a wall could make him feel. Living the dream. Selling his work—even rarely. It was what he'd wanted for so long and it always put him in a good mood.
The sister latched onto the chair furthest from Noah and sat down. He gave her a wry look. He knew from the store that she wasn't the least bit shy. So that left only one reason for that little tactical maneuver. Touching. But maybe a little misguided.
Noah eyed West as he in turn eyed the vacant seat. It was so obvious that he was trying to formulate an excuse that Noah could have laughed. He didn't. What he did do was wait. And stare. People hated staring and he knew the full force of his could be unnerving, but that was what he wanted. After the little showdown at the store, when he was at a disadvantage no less (fuck you, customer service), he was due a little payback. West already had him on his shit list; he might as well earn his spot the old fashioned way. With hard work and determination. Maybe a sprinkle of spite. Nothing less would do.
West didn't sit. Instead he retreated toward the counter. "Do you want your usual?" he asked over his shoulder. The question was presumably aimed at his sister since his eyes never went anywhere near Noah. He'd watched just to see if they did. The neglect was starting to hurt his feelings.
"He isn't usually this rude," said the sister.
Noah turned back to the welcome sight of a smile on her face. Clearly he wasn't going to be getting one of those from West anytime soon. "Oh? I feel so special."
"How do you know my brother?"
"Does anyone ever really know another person?" He chuckled at the stars in her eyes. "It's nothing all that dramatic, sorry. No rom-com meet cutes going on over here. He really holds a grudge though, doesn't he? It's Olympic level." Noah peeked at West still waiting at the counter and then let his eyes slide a little lower. It really was difficult to tell anything about his ass in those practical pants. "Wait. He's not straight, is he?" His voice held an edge of horror. He hadn't made that mistake in ages.
She giggled again. "Uh, no. Not last time I checked."
"Well thank fuck for that. That's a relief." He took a sip from his rapidly cooling mocha and checked the counter again. They were moving with their usual level of speed so it would be another minute before West returned to rain derision on him. Might as well make the most of it. "Did the supplies work out for you? You're what... high school?" He studied her for a minute, stroking his chin as he thought back to his own tour of duty. It was three lifetimes ago already. Most of those memories had been whitewashed over by time and tap dancing through bouts of depression. There was a vague recollection of hours spent drawing piles of knick knacks and fake fruit. "Still life drawing?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Even though they're really, really boring. Who wants to draw a bowl of fruit?"
"The masters for one. But they probably drank a hell of a lot more than you do. Unless you're a partier." He gave her another appraising look. "You don't strike me as a partier. Probably a good thing. Cheap beer tastes like piss. Don't inflict that on yourself."
"You're an adult. Aren't you supposed to tell me not to drink?"
Noah snorted and almost inhaled his coffee. "Yeah. Sure. That. Don't drink, don't do drugs, stay in school. Did I miss anything?" He took another swallow to soothe the ache in his throat from choking. After he'd regained control of his gag reflex, he dug a pen out of his box and pulled a clean napkin out of the nearest holder. He unfolded it and smoothed the worst of the creases out with his hand. Drawing on a napkin was always a fun exercise. He'd always had a firm touch, but a napkin would be torn to shit in no time if he wasn't careful. He had to force himself to tread lightly. "The thing with drawing is perspective. Everything is boring when you go at it straight on. You gotta come at it from an angle. It's about visual interest." He sketched out a few guide lines and scribbled in the ellipses and curves of his mug, ducking down in the chair to be sure he'd gotten the shapes right. They were close enough for napkin art. "Like this."
She switched chairs to sit beside him.
They bent their heads together, passing napkins back and forth so she could draw in lines for Noah to correct. She had potential. Interest was the most important part anyway. You could lead a horse to water but you couldn't make her drink. He remembered those days when everything seemed new and fascinating. He missed them. It was too easy to get bogged down by routine.
Noah barely noticed when West lowered his ass into the last open chair at the table. Fuck him. Noah bent even closer towards the latest napkin, concentrating on the lines he was drawing.
He reached for his mug without looking up. His eyes bulged after the first sip, but he held it together. That was a sugar rush he hadn't been expecting. All the chocolate syrup had settled to the bottom of his cup and he'd just drunk it straight. He shoved the mug away so he wouldn't be tempted to make the same mistake twice.
Before long the table was covered in used napkins. They clustered together in several mounds like wrinkly cities. Too late he remembered the notebook he'd stashed in the box to mark down which pieces he was collecting and which he was hanging.
Consignments were the one area of his life that Noah kept scrupulously organized. Unfortunately, the skill came at the expense of the half dozen prints he had lost thanks to the asshole manager of one of the places he used to hang. When the business changed hands unexpectedly Noah's work had disappeared along with it. Without good records to prove the prints were his, he had no recourse at all. That was a mistake he had no intention of repeating. The prints could be replaced. Frames, on the other hand, never got any less expensive. Now everything got numbered, dated, and signed off just the way it should. No exceptions.
"This is so much better than what we do in class," Charlotte said. A smile in her voice. She'd pulled her hair up into a messy bun with tendrils hanging everywhere and her face was a mask of concentration.
Noah met her eyes and smiled back. He felt... good. He'd never had a sister and definitely not one that was younger. He was the baby which meant he had always gotten to everything last, every experience already wrung out by two older brothers before he ever got there. Photo albums already full of his brothers' firsts. Parents too distracted to add one more set of memories when they already had such a nice even number. Art had been a way through all that. His new territory. Even if no one else understood. Even if no one else cared. This was the first time he'd gotten to share it like this. Too bad the little sister was only on loan.
Over her head, West caught his eye. Just for a moment.
Noah looked away fast.
He'd expected there to be daggers and sharp edges in that gaze. He didn't know how to deal with what he found instead or the way it made something tighten inside him. West definitely hated him. If it hadn't been obvious before, it was now. So why was he looking at Noah with poetry in his eyes? It wasn't fair to change the game like that.
*****
WEST WAS CURSED. IT was the only viable explanation.
Granted, if West had really wanted to avoid Noah and his terrible attitude, it might have helped if West stopped going to the coffee shop where he was known to lurk. There was mistake number one.
He didn't know what mistake number two had been but it probably involved that trip to the art supply store with Charlotte. It had been easier when he'd thought Noah was an anomaly that only existed in the confines of this one coffee shop. Knowing they could run into each other anywhere—at any time—without warning unsettled him. He wasn't sure why exactly. Noah was an asshole, but he hadn't tried anything beyond talking. He hadn't even tried to touch West. No accidental brushes of skin against skin. Only a few looks with those eyes that burned. There was nothing to be afraid of. He wasn't under attack, no matter how much it felt like it sometimes.
And now they'd run into Noah again. And he'd been pleasant (to Charlotte). And talkative (with Charlotte). And West was absolutely not jealous that he hadn't even rated a single look because he was not interested.
But he didn't love the idea of playing third wheel on a coffee date with his own sister.
It was just that they looked so... cheerful together.
When West had gotten back to the table with their drinks, the two of them were hard at work so he'd occupied himself with checking his schedule on his phone, replying to an email, looking up a few things. He had wanted some quiet time to himself anyway. This was the perfect chance. Charlotte was busy. Noah was ignoring him. West drank his coffee in silence and gazed out the window at the chilly grey sky and the people walking by on the sidewalk. His phone dinged with another notification, but it was only spam. He deleted it and went back to gazing serenely. A chill wrapped around his ankles as someone came in the door. The napkins scattered on the table fluttered. A few blew over the edge and onto the floor. West collected them and threw them away before returning to his seat.
His coffee cup emptied and they were still going strong with their art lesson. Charlotte glanced up once or twice to grin at him. That was enough to keep West silent. They all needed a little fun, especially right now. He might not be able to find his own, but he wasn't enough of a jerk to take away hers. He wasn't Reese.
No, that was mean.
But true.
West downed the last of his coffee. In one of his less brilliant moments, he had put a notification for Reese's flight into his phone and the green dot marking his brother's imminent arrival felt like an eye trained on him. Soon Reese would arrive. Once he had, West could start counting down to his departure. A mean little part of him exalted at that. Yes, his brother might be coming but he would also be leaving again. Thankfully Reese never stayed long, as though he was as ready to be rid of this place as West was to be rid of him. A few days and they could all go back to their lives. He only had to persevere until then. Suck up his feelings so they didn't slip out where Reese or his mother could see them. If they did it would only lead to trouble.
His mother had never understood. In her mind they were brothers—family—and there was nothing that couldn't be forgiven and forgotten, like they were a sitcom with problems wrapped up in a bow every half hour. Her words of wisdom always amounted to the same thing.
"He's just teasing. Don't be so sensitive."
"You know he only does it to get a reaction. Just ignore him."
"One of these days you're going to have to learn to take care of yourself."
When he entered a room and Reese laughed. When he threw a fit because West had gotten something he wanted. When his certificate for winning the spelling bee disappeared only to show up in the yard in pieces. It was ridiculous. He felt ridiculous. It was only a joke. It was only a piece of paper. Kid's games. Pranks. He didn't know that Reese was laughing at him, but he felt it, especially as they grew older and Reese's jokes turned meaner, his sarcasm more pointed. All of it honed over years to fold West down smaller and smaller like terrible origami into whatever shape Reese expected him to be.
There wasn't a single thing Reese could do that would change their mother's opinion of him. No matter what he did, he was right. They were a secret party of two and West wasn't invited. He was the leftover son. He was disposable until they needed him for something.
The only way to win the game was to play it the way they wanted and pretend like it never bothered him.
And West hated that decades later it still worked. He'd been chasing their approval so long he didn't know how to do anything else. He still missed the dream brother, the one he couldn't make real no matter how hard he tried.
West unlocked his phone and stared at the screen. His reflection stared back at him from between apps as he searched for something to take his mind off the new wave of tension floating through his veins. His attention settled on Charlotte and Noah's bowed heads instead. They still hadn't finished so he didn't hide his staring, hoping it might make them hurry a little. Apparently, nothing short of a miracle would do that though.
Charlotte took the notebook they were using to attempt her own versions of what Noah had drawn. More drawings of cups and chairs and some things that looked like scribbles. Half the words they were using made no sense to him. Their conversation was like a wall. There was no way to join it even if he wanted. Noah's eyes stayed lowered, his face focused. A small crease formed between his brows as he worked. He shoved his hair back off his forehead with mechanical annoyance and only straightened to take a drink from his mug before hunching over his doodling again. If Noah was doing all of this for West's attention, it was a strange tactic since he was now completely ignoring West.
Noah turned the page in the book. The pen scratched over paper as angled lines slowly coalesced into a drawing of a person.
West leaned forward despite himself. He had to admit, the drawing was good. He wasn't an expert and it was difficult to tell much from a sketch drawn in ballpoint pen, but it looked good. There was a sense of movement—possibility—in the sketchy lines. A sense of life. He noted it begrudgingly, the same way he noted everything about Noah.
"It's not fair when you make all my drawings look like crap," Charlotte said.
"I've got at least ten years on you. You'll get there." Noah's smile was small and special as a secret. He held the pen out to Charlotte. "Give it time."
"You have to say that."
"No, I don't. I'm not that nice." When Charlotte didn't take the pen, he poked her in the nose with the end of it. "Keep trying."
She did, head lowering back to her practice even while she grumbled under her breath. Her drink sat forgotten. Noah leaned an elbow on the table, chin cupped in one hand while he oversaw her work, back to making quiet comments and pointing out details. With Noah's attention elsewhere West was free to look as much as he wanted. Because he did want to. That was the worst part. Noah, careless terrible Noah, was still the best thing he had ever seen. With those smiling eyes and that wicked mouth and hair that looked like West had already been running his hands through it.
Noah glanced up and their eyes caught. For that brief second, West would have agreed to anything he said. He would have done anything. Whatever he asked, West would give it without question. The suddenness of it scared him. But Noah looked away just as fast. Back to ignoring him. He didn't raise his eyes again unless he was turned the opposite direction. Ouch.
After another few tense minutes, Noah excused himself to order another drink.
West watched his retreating back. He had to break this spell. "Time to go."
"What? But we're not done," Charlotte said. She held up the drawing she was working on: a sketch of the fake potted flower on the center of the table. He'd only seen a few of Charlotte's drawings in the past since she usually hid them away. Actually... he couldn't remember the last time she'd voluntarily shown him anything at all.
"You've been at it for an hour already. He must have things to do. And so do we." West glanced at the clock on the wall. It wasn't a complete lie. He had to buy groceries for dinner since Charlotte had eaten her way through most of his supplies in the last week and she didn't like the remnants left in his fridge. If she had her way, they would be eating pizza every night. His stomach couldn't take anymore.
Charlotte slumped. "Fine."
"Leaving so soon?" Noah paused a few feet from the table, a new mug of coffee in his hand. Questions danced through his expression as his green eyes bounced between them.
Guilt surged into West's throat like bile. It was just as bitter. And he swallowed it back down just the same. Funny how much practice he'd gotten at that over the years.
"Yeah. Grumpy has important places to be so I'm back to lock down in the apartment. Alone," she said, injecting it with the necessary amount of pathos. "And there's that assignment to finish."
Noah laughed. "Ah. Good luck with that." His phone gave a warning rattle from the table and his smile faltered, all the cheer of a second ago erased. His face went perfectly still. Charlotte's repeated thank yous barely registered. He waved back mechanically. "Let me know if you need any more help."
Out on the street, once the door had jingled closed behind them, Charlotte elbowed West in the side. "I think you hurt his feelings."
"He'll recover."
"You've turned into such a jerk lately. What the heck, West?"
He wished he could deny it and hated that he couldn't.