Archie's gaze followed him some of the time, and other times he just sat there, eyes closed, waiting. Sometimes they talked, mostly they didn't. After a few minutes, Harris came over and checked Archie's hand.
"If it's really bad you should go to the hospital."
"It's not. I don't want to." Archie sounded petulant.
"Well, let me see then."
Archie held out his hand. He winced when Harris drew back the cloth. "There, you've started it bleeding again."
"It's nearly stopped. You're looking good. Come on, let's sterilize this and bandage you up." His hands were tender as he took care of Archie. Archie seemed wrung out, grumpy, and yet utterly trusting.
Harris really wanted to give him a cuddle. Instead he told him to go lie down on the couch and rest a bit, and promised to call him when the pies were done.
Wearily, Archie rose. "I'm sorry. This isn't how I meant it to go." He looked so wistful and full of regret. Harris didn't know what he meant.
"Never mind. It's all right." He gripped Archie's shoulder quickly, and then moved away.
If only it didn't hurt so much, knowing Archie would be very soon gone.
~
Archie looked much better after a nap, and was even his usual chipper and energetic self while they dined, though it was difficult for him to eat normally with one finger heavily swathed in bandaging.
They were just finishing when a car pulled up outside.
"You expecting someone?" Archie lowered his wine glass and looked at Harris, who shook his head. "I'll see who it is." Archie rose and walked to the door. He opened it. "Grim!" He sounded surprised and happy.
"Shrimp!" crowed Lionel, his loud voice carrying this far easily.
"Harris, it's Grim," said Archie, looking back quickly.
"I can hear that, you oaf," replied Harris quite calmly.
Archie grinned at the insult, and then started out the door, almost bouncing. "Hi, Grim! Did you come to see Harris? His cast is off. He can walk normally now. Well, as normal as he ever gets."
Harris brought his empty plate to the sink and left it there, then looked out the window. Lionel had on his grand, generous smile. He put a hand on Archie's shoulder. "I got you a DJ job."
Archie squealed and flung his arms around Lionel, his cheek pressed against Grim's chest. "Thank you, thank you!"
Lionel laughed, hugged him back, and then, just because he was Grim, lifted him up. Archie's feet dangled. He really did look small compared to Grim. But then, who wouldn't?
Harris walked to the door. "Want to bring the love fest indoors? Think of the children."
Lionel and Archie laughed. Archie bounded back indoors, his grin wide and white as his bandage. He looked almost manic. "Harris, guess what? Grimsby got me a job!"
"A radio station two counties over," said Lionel, ambling inside after him. "They had an opening, and the job is Archie's if he's there by tomorrow morning at nine."
"Tomorrow!?" yelped Archie.
"Yep. Here's the information and directions." Grim pushed some papers into his hands.
"I'd better start packing!" Archie dashed from the kitchen and upstairs, his footsteps thumping and banging.
Lionel smiled at Harris now, a nice, contented, pleased-with-himself smile. "He's full of life today."
"Yes," managed Harris. That seemed safe.
"And look at you. No cast." He stood back and looked Harris up and down, pretending to be impressed. "And a vision of sartorial splendor."
"Fuck off, Grim. Have you looked in a mirror lately?" Baggy sweatpants and a faded college jacket didn't make Grim an expert.
Harris turned to the stove and fetched the kettle. More tea. That was the answer; they would need more tea.
"Hey," said Lionel. He reached out and touched Harris's arm.
Harris jerked free. "Don't you dare touch me."
Lionel moved to stand nearer to him, but he was quiet now, not teasing. "All right, what's wrong?"
"Nothing." Harris leaned against the stove and rubbed the space between his eyes, closing them, grimacing. "I'm sorry. I'm a bit stressed, Grim. It's not you."
It damned well is. You're taking him away from me.
But he knew that was unreasonable; Archie had been leaving anyway, and at least now he'd have a job he liked.
But still Harris's throat hurt. He envied the easy, manly affection between Lionel and Archie. He didn't even have that. Lionel seemed fond of Archie in his own way, but Harris, who loved Archie more than he had any right to, couldn't even show him as much affection as Lionel could.
It was his own stupid fault; he'd always been awkward that way. He was jealous of Lionel, who could make Archie smile so, roughhouse with him, and give him a hug. Soon Harris wouldn't even have Archie here to eat with and talk to.
Archie came thumping back down the stairs wearing his leathers, his bag slung over his shoulder. His hair was a mess, making him look a mix between rakish and little-boy adorable. His eyes were still large and shining, his grin taking up most of his face. But he sobered quickly.
"Harris, I have to leave now, if I'm to get there in time. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Thank you so much, for everything. You've…well, you've been—" He stopped, looking lost, like he wanted to say more but struggled to find the words. "I'll read your manuals forever," he said earnestly, and squeezed Harris's arm hard, his eyes large and bright.
And then he dashed past him and out of the house, his sack thumping against his back.
"Be careful of your finger!" called Harris.
"I shall, I shall! Thank you, Harris! I'll miss you!" He flung himself onto his bike.
"Drive safely, you clumsy halfwit!"
Archie laughed, a catch in his voice. "I will! Goodbye, Harris!" He started the engine, so loud it would drown out any response.
"Goodbye, Archie," said Harris quietly, all the tension leaving his body. He stood very still in the doorway, breathing shallowly, and watched as Archie rode off, then circled back by the house and waved frantically.
Harris waved back. He watched the motorcycle leave. And then he turned back to the stove, to make Grim tea.
Grim was watching him. "Hell."
"Fuck off, Grimmy." The last thing he wanted now was to be teased about his feelings for Archie. He knew it wasn't sensible; it just was. Right now he wanted to curl up in a ball and lick his wounds, not put up with teasing from Lionel.
"You are gay, aren't you?"
Harris turned to stare at him, and laughed a little. "That's the best you can do?"
"I mean, it doesn't matter to me," said Lionel quickly. "I just didn't realize. Sometimes people said, but I thought—"
"Well, now that I've entertained and enlightened you, why don't you go home and leave me the hell alone?" suggested Harris in a calm, entirely steady voice.
"I'm sorry," said Grim. "That came out wrong." He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. "Did he... did Archie know how you... felt about him?" He reached up to pass a hand across his face.
"No," said Harris. "And if you've any decency, you won't tell him so the two of you can laugh about it in the bar."
"No, I wouldn't," said Lionel. Then softer, "I wouldn't. Harris." He gripped Harris's arm, and it was really all rather too much. Harris found himself in Lionel's arms, choking back bitter sobs, utterly ashamed.
The teakettle whistled before he was through, and before Lionel was done comforting him in that awkward, gentle-giant way of his.
~
After Harris pulled himself together, Lionel took him for a bar lunch and a drink. They talked of inconsequential things, somewhat subdued.
The barkeeper put drinks in front of them, full to the brim. "Where's your little friend?" He smiled. "Not that I'd want him to hear me call him 'little.'"
"He had to leave, for a new job," explained Grim. Harris's throat hurt. He concentrated on his drink, staring down at it.
"Sorry to see him go. He was well-liked here—even if he did punch someone's face in."
"He got into many fights?" asked Grim, eyebrows rising. "He's like a Chihuahua that thinks it's a Rottweiler."
The barkeeper smiled. "Well, no, just the one." He wiped down the counter, and his chatty nature seemed to disappear with a glance at Harris. "Shout if you need more."
"This is interesting. I'm going to pursue this," said Lionel, starting to rise.
"Grim, leave it." Harris caught his arm, imploring quietly. "It's obvious that someone insulted me and he punched them."
"Is it? Oh."
Harris nodded, keeping his gaze on his beer. He felt a warmth in his stomach vying for place with an awkward, twisting embarrassment. "Probably called me a disgusting old faggot and he stuck up for me. Idiot." He picked up his drink.
"Do people say things like that about you often?" Grim looked fascinated and incensed.
Harris shrugged. "I suppose there are always things in the background. But sometimes what they mean is, I drink the wrong kind of beer or don't like the right car, or something of that sort. It's not pleasant, but it's hardly something to punch a man over."
Harris snorted. "You wouldn't punch anyone over anything. You're too much of a gentleman. Even if, say, they stole your French fries." He reached out and snagged some from Harris's pile.
"Grim."
"Or stole more of them."
"Lionel—" He frowned at him, trying to chase his hand away.
"Or possibly all—"
"Grimsby!" He put his arms around his fries, guarding them, and glared at Lionel.
~
Grim was surprisingly good company. But eventually, he had to go home, and Harris was all alone in a too-large house with clocks that ticked ever so loudly. No footsteps pounded on the stairs, no one whistled, and no motorcycle engines revved. Harris sat on his couch, head in his hands. He might be free from his cast, but his heart ached so.
At last, he wiped at his eyes, forced himself to his feet, and went to work on his latest manual. In the engaging work, he could nearly forget. But the clocks still ticked so very loud.
~
On the third day without Archie, Harris got a letter in the mail. His breath caught, his heart jumped, and his hands started shaking when he saw it was from Archie. He may have made a small sound in his throat, not quite a gasp.
Hello Harris
I've got the job!!! Isn't Grim the greatest? It's good so far. I don't know if you'd like it here, but I do. I missed talking to you so I thought I'd write. How are things? Is your latest manual going well? I won't have the time for a visit for a while but if you don't mind I could call you on the weekend sometime?
Arch
Harris wrote back a cheerful, chatty, carefully-worded letter he spent far too much time agonizing over. Thus began one of the most satisfying correspondences of his life. He told Archie, it turned out, nearly everything: everything but how he felt. And he kept everything Archie wrote to him.
Harris— I am rushing home from getting groceries and bought a postcard. Thought you'd like the scenery on the front. Talk to you soon, Archie
Harris
Am working the night shift as usual, writing to you during a song. I just had a man call in with a request, and he sounded like you. But I know he wasn't because he asked for ABBA. Do you like ABBA after all? Shame if you had called and not told me it was you. I wonder if there are any chips in the machine?
-A.F.
Harris
Thank you for the manual!!!! You know I love anything to do with my bike. It's working really well lately, only broke down once this month. But I hate to think of your shelves without this. Are you sure you can spare it?? Please call me sometime, I miss talking. Tell me what sort of manual you're working on now. I really miss you
-Arch
Some days, he lived for the phone calls. Other days, he dreaded them. He never could control that little leap of his heart when he first heard Archie's voice, tentative yet eager.
The dreams usually started up again after the phone calls. The dreams left him aching and bereft in the morning, so very alone. This time away from Archie should let him start getting over his feelings, shouldn't it? But it didn't seem to be working out that way.
He got a lot of work done. Things had almost gone back to the way they used to be. Except for one thing: he'd never realized how lonely he was, before.
Then one day, after almost two months, he got a letter written rather more carefully than Archie's usual slap-dash, coffee-stained efforts.
Harris
I have two days off with nothing to do, not even an hour shift. Will you be willing to meet me? I've rented a room at the seashore. I'm thinking about learning to surf, though I'd probably be crap at it. Will you come? I would really like to see you.
Archie
Enclosed was a note about the address and careful directions. It looked like a three-hour drive. Harris's heart leapt up and stuttered.
But oh, he couldn't, could he? It was difficult enough dealing with his feelings for Archie from a distance. If he saw him again, how much worse would they become? It wasn't right. He should give Archie up, not see him and ignite his agony all over again.
Perhaps if he stayed away, the feelings would fade, and Archie could eventually just be a penpal friend that Harris cared about without the agony and intensity of this longing.
No. I should definitely say no….
Keeping his emotions firmly in check, telling himself he mustn't be ruled by passions, he sat down and wrote his reply.
Terribly sorry, Arch. I've got a lot to do right now. I'll write soon. I hope you have a wonderful vacation, of course. Thinking of you. –H.
Then he got up and blew his nose. He wandered back, reread the note, and folded it up. He folded and unfolded it several times, before finally sealing it in an envelope, leaving it on the kitchen table to be mailed tomorrow, and heading to bed.
~
"Archie!" Harris shouted.
He was running, running but he couldn't go any faster. His legs felt like licorice sticks. "Arch!" He'd know the hunched shoulders of that slight, retreating figure anywhere. But Archie didn't respond. He didn't slow down, and he didn't look back. A mist rolled across the barren landscape, and then he was gone altogether.
"Arch!" Harris woke panting, rolled in his tangled bedclothes. He reached up and swiped at his eyes, wiping away the tears he must've cried in his sleep.
Then he got up, went to the kitchen, and tore up the letter into precise little pieces, and threw them into the garbage.
Dear Arch,
I would love to see you, thank you very much for the invitation. I shall pack my swimming suit, although I doubt the water will be nice enough for a dip. But at any rate, we can have drinks and a nice meal together. I very much look forward to seeing you again.
Harris
He spent the next few days, until he would see Archie, convincing himself not to get his hopes up. To Archie, he was just a friend: and that should be enough for him. It should be.
He spent far too much time trying to decide what to wear and whether to trim his hair. It was getting quite shaggy; but he liked it shaggy.
In the end, he settled for a loose, comfortable shirt with the NASA logo on it, clean jeans, old sneakers, and a restrained trim of the hair, nothing too short.
On the night of the big day, he barely slept. He'd been packed for a while already and had checked the Nova over thoroughly to be sure it was up for the trip. All he had to do was get up, eat something, have tea, and drive off. It still seemed to take forever. He left out extra seed for the birds, so they wouldn't go hungry before he returned.
He drove the Nova carefully, thinking of Archie every mile of the journey. It had been so long since he'd seen his face. He could almost hear Archie's laughter in the car beside him, delighted about something: his grin large and impossible not to return as he almost bounced on the seat in excitement. Harris missed him so much sometimes. He knew it wasn't reasonable; the heart wasn't.
He ju
st couldn't wait to see Archie again. It might be difficult to restrain himself from reaching out to embrace him. He hoped he would succeed; he always found hugs particularly awkward.
He shifted his mind away from the embarrassment of Grim's hug. He had needed it at the time, and Lionel had been very kind, but it wasn't his proudest moment. Still, he was almost sorry he hadn't come out to Grim a long time ago. He'd handled that very well.
Harris counted down the miles till he would see Archie, yet found his anxiety rising the nearer he drew.
When he parked carefully beside the hotel, he sat for a moment in the warm, ticking car. Discouragement washed over him; he was a stupid idiot with a foolish crush. Why couldn't his heart behave? Why did he set himself up for difficulties like this? He would have been better never to see Archie again; maybe the feelings would've faded.
Slowly, he got out of the car, feeling old, stiff, and defeated.
"Harris!"
Harris looked up, blinking. And there was Archie, bounding towards him, a big grin on his face.
He stuck out a hand for an awkward handshake, but Archie ignored it and plowed into him for a hug. "Harris," he said again, against Harris chest. It tickled; it felt wonderful. Archie in his arms felt so warm and alive and real.
He drew back at length, leaving Harris feeling possibly the most awkward person in the world.
"You took ages! How slowly did you drive?" Archie reached up and tweaked teasingly at the sleeve of his shirt. "Come on, I've got a beer for you. Don't worry—the kind you like." He touched Harris's arm again. Harris was acutely aware of every instant of contact. He followed Archie, almost in a daze. It was overwhelming being with him again: awkward, but wonderful too. And so very much worth the drive and the agonizing.
Falling for Archie (sweet gay romance) Page 5