Long Into The Night

by Yunbi (yunbi00)

Content enticements/warnings:

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The day Avery’s father died was the first night he saw a shooting star. That streak of brilliance across the ink black sky was like a tear the sun had shed for him, and witnessed by the moon.

We’re watching over you. The celestial bodies of the heavens seemed to be saying. You and your father both.

Did that make him feel better? At first, but when the shock finally began to settle into disbelief, and then a tentative grief for fear of never being able to claw himself out of it, it was bitterness that bubbled and spilled over the rims of his eyes, tears hot and seething.

You who can watch from above at us who can do nothing down below, is it interesting?! So what is a single death in the face of eternity, but what about me? How do I move on with life when I’m hounded by death…

Amazing, in just a few hours he had cycled wildly from denial to anger to depression and acceptance all the way back to anger. This speed, this efficiency. Someone stand up and give him a round of applause.

But just like the sun and the moon had no bearing on his father’s death, neither did whatever the heck stage of grief he was at. The fact was: Thomas Cirrus died at age 47 on a Saturday in the boiling month of July from a heart attack. No matter how Avery questioned it, mulled over it, raged against it, or even begged, that fact would not budge an inch. He was the only one who could move -had to move- on with life. And he was going to do that, apparently, by moving to another city.

“Leave your bags for now, come eat first. Was the train ride okay? Is chicken for lunch okay?”

‘Okay’, this word, was quickly becoming tiresome. From the moment his mother picked him up from the train station, all throughout the car ride, and when they arrived at her house (her, not theirs), this word was like a stab to the gut that she kept on pressing into his wound. It was a reminder that no, things were not okay, he was not okay in the slightest, but he had to be. He had no choice; if it wasn’t okay, what then? Nothing.

“Yeah.”

“Great, it’s still in the oven, let me go take it out and you can wash your hands and look around. Get familiarized, you know? This is your new home now.” She said this without a hint of malice. Avery stared, dumbstruck, and for some reason useless thoughts poured into his head like, isn’t she my biological mother, right, she is, so then didn’t she love my father once, right, she should have, so then how can… she be… so…

He turned on his heels and ran like he was fleeing for his life.

“I- I’m not that hungry right now, you eat first. I’ll… get familiarized with the neighborhood.”

“Eh? Ok-”

Whether she said anything more was for the walls of that house to hear; Avery’s shoes weren’t even fully on his feet when he slipped out the front door he had entered just minutes ago. Making it to the sidewalk, he abruptly stopped and bent over, hands on his knees, head bowed, the air coming in and out of his lungs finding their passage all of a sudden an ordeal, which was probably why they rebelled and his chest felt so tight.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry don’t cry don’t you dare-

“Um, you good bro? Need some help? I can’t do much, but I can call 911.”

A voice came from above like thunder, so striking for no other reason than that it was so out of tune with Avery’s inner turmoil, and thus shoved him right back into the external world. His spine straightened, his head rose, and his neck turned. Avery wasn’t expecting anything, or, if he was, he was expecting a guy to be standing behind him, youngish from the sound of his voice, and there he was. The long pink hair the color of cherry blossoms, however, still took him by surprise.

“Woah! Your eyes are so red, need a tissue?” He dug around in the pockets of his jeans. “Damn, um, let’s see…” He shook out the folds in his sleeve, which had been rolled up many times over, and presented it to Avery. “At your leisure.”

“…”

Who is this dumbass?

Avery was so stupefied his mind had emptied of everything but wondering if the air here didn’t have some problems after all, or else how did this guy’s brain develop to this… degree.

“Do you not speak English? Well, you do look kind of oriental. Wait, lemme pull up Google translate real quick.”

He was already typing in the search bar of his phone when Avery found his Broca’s area again.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Hm?” The guy paused and looked up. “Oh, so you do speak English. I’m Cleo, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he seemed to notice the antagonism positively radiating from Avery’s every pore, “or not? Rough day, huh? You must be new here, just moved?”

Maybe it was because Avery didn’t know where else to go, and going back into the house absolutely wasn’t an option, so he stayed put and tried to rein in his temper.

“Yes.” And, after hesitating for a split second, “I’m Avery. Avery… Cirrus.” Everyone called his dad by his surname; even Avery, in some of their lighthearted, joking moments, would. Saying it now made breathing a little harder again.

“Cirrus? Oh, so you’re…” The guy, Cleo or whatever, glanced at the house he had no intention of thinking of as his new home. It was just a look, as innocuous as could be, but still Avery felt like a part of him had turned into glass, utterly transparent and utterly breakable. He stiffened.

“Well, welcome to Green Arbor. I can’t promise you’ll like it here, I know I have my days when I don’t, but hey.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder, which, when Avery’s eyes involuntarily strayed in their direction, pointed to a line of trees. No. A forest. “If you ever want to be alone, there’s more than enough space to go around for that.”

“Oh.”

This guy wasn’t a dumbass; he was the dumbass, a dumbass who had been completely seen through by a total stranger. This time, though, Avery couldn’t help but feel a bit thankful.

Thank you for not asking me why I moved. Thank you for not asking me why I was crying.

But he just said: “Thanks.”

Cleo grinned, as if his apparently all-seeing eyes had seen those thoughts too, and ruffled his hair.

Ruffled… his… hair?

“Avery, right? I’ll see you around. And next time I’ll make sure I’m carrying tissues.” He winked, and Avery belatedly realized that his lashes were tinged pink as well, and went on his way, humming.

What the hell?

Then, as if the universe had decided to punish him for his mutiny, not allowing him to find his balance, he watched as Cleo ambled to the next house over, strolled up to its door, fumbled with some keys and slotted one in successfully, opened the door, and went in.

What? The Hell.

It was a real pity his life wasn’t a play or a t.v. show; he wasn’t able to laugh at it like it deserved.

The first day of school- these words had probably struck terror into who knows how many people’s hearts. Terror wasn’t what bogged Avery down now, however, as he endured the ticks of the clock while he stood outside his first class of the day. It was dread, a dread that stuck to the soles of his shoes and threatened to lock him in place, the will to move and face a dozen other faces, faces he didn’t know and didn’t wish to know, leached away by each tick of that damn clock he could hear from all the way out here.

Why was it so loud? Why did he have to listen to it? Why did he have to do this, and why was the world falling apart when he couldn’t follow?

The teacher, a Mrs. Gibson, was lecturing about the impact of Freudian psychoanalysis on modern literature when she stopped mid-sentence, slapped a hand to her forehead, and exclaimed, “Oh, I forgot!” She scurried to the door, made eye contact with Avery through the slit of a window, and beckoned him in.

“…”

She forgot… him? So this whole time he was waiting…?

They were off to a great start.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, ah, where is my mind these days, my bad, thanks for waiting so patiently.”

I also want to know where your mind freaking went, the topic should be The Impact of Freudian psychoanalysis on Modern Teachers instead!

Stay calm, Avery drilled to himself. Keep your cool.

“Okay, class, I’d like everyone to welcome Avery Cirrus. He’s transferring from… from. He’s from a neighboring town, I’m sure he’ll answer all your questions as you become friends. Alrighty.” She lifted up on her toes and surveyed the classroom like a farmer selecting which pig to butcher. “You there.” She nodded at a student in the back row with a seat next to the window. “You’re his first friend, get acquainted. Say hello.”

“Hello.”

Yep. The universe had a blacklist and Avery was on it. Because sitting in the back row with his seat next to the window was none other than Cleo, pink-haired and pink-lashed Cleo, his neighbor.

He waved at Avery, smiling.

Damn.

God knows what emotions were spiking his blood pressure, but that was the only conclusion he could come to: damn.

Cleo Valdez watched as the new student stalked his way to the seat beside him. It used to be occupied by a girl named Allie, but rumor had it that she eloped with her childhood sweetheart, also conveniently missing, to the woods to live their fairytale life. Cleo thought a more suitable genre would be horror, but what did he know?

Well, he knew that the new student, Avery Cirrus, was burdened with more baggage than he had probably taken from his old home to his new one. It was written all over his face: I’m pissed and if you piss me off even more the rating is going to jump to R and end with you on the ground.

What a pity.

With those delicate features, the almond-shaped, slightly upturned hazel eyes, the jawline that was simultaneously so sharp yet fine it looked drawn in watercolor, and the thin lips currently pressed thinner as his expression flickered between apathy and a scowl, would all have ensured his popularity and expedient acclimation into the school; it was obvious, however, that acclimation was the last thing on his mind.

“How did you sleep?” Cleo asked once Avery had sat down in the flimsy, plastic chair. “Had any dreams?”

His seatmate shot him a look that clearly responded back: What’s wrong with you?

“Just trying to find some real life applications. Y’know, Freud.”

“…Shouldn’t that be Carl Jung?”

“Ah, you’re right.” Cleo sighed in admiration. “So smart.”

“…”

Avery suddenly feared for his studies. The quality of the teachers here didn’t seem very up to par, and the students were even worse. His bad mood, which before could have been storms brewing on the horizon, was now a full blown thunderstorm.

“Psychology isn’t my strong suit, you see. Neither is English, for that matter.”

“Oh.”

When Cleo continued to gaze at him expectantly, Avery had to grit his teeth and ask, “So what is?”

“Home economics. The cooking part of it.”

Like hell-

He glanced at Cleo’s fingers.

…Like hell?

They were long and slender, rather pretty actually, but with a firmness and calluses that alluded to frequent manual labor.

“Oh.”

Cleo didn’t seem to mind that his replies were less than lackluster.

“By the way, you didn’t answer me. Did you fall asleep?”

“Whether I did or didn’t, what's it to you?” Avery’s patience had evidently worn out.

Not bad. Cleo thought. Took longer than I anticipated.

“Nothing is more of an obstacle towards sleep than a new roof over your head. But, thinking about it, the highest roof is the sky, and the sky can’t move, can it?”

The sky can’t move. Avery sneered. That’s right; the sky can’t move, but he had to.

“That doesn't mean the sky doesn’t change though. How about, since you can’t sleep anyway, why not join me on a nightly endeavor to familiarize yourself with the sky again? As the host, I'll even provide snacks.”

There it was- ‘familiarize’. Hearing it from his mother, he wanted to hurl. Hearing it from Cleo, a different feeling arose. It was the difference between acceptance and coping, which struck at Avery’s heart. He didn’t want to accept anything and he didn’t want to be accepted; he just wanted to cope and struggle through this, whatever this was.

“So? Can I expect you at 11 p.m. tonight? Just knock on my door, my parents are on a business trip.”

Ever since Avery picked up that phone call his world had gone off-kilter. Like the earth had slanted beneath his feet, but gravity for him alone didn’t realign, and he was left to stumble and stagger, never finding his balance. Everything was a blank, and nothing was definite. A plan, something decided and set in stone as much as it could be, rang with the bells of salvation. So…

“Fine.”

Cleo grinned, reached over, and mussed his hair before he could stop him.

“Great. It’s a date.”

The teacher dismissed them for second period.

Wait. It’s a what now?

English was the only class they shared. For the rest of the day, Avery conducted himself like a soldier walking through a minefield. Whatever that could be avoided was avoided, whatever couldn’t be avoided was defused as quickly as possible, so that by the time the bell sounded to indicate the end of school, his social interactions -with the exception of Cleo- were paper in water, dissolving into nothing at the moment of contact.

Yet here he was, about to dive head first into the pool of social interactions he had gone to so much trouble evading earlier, dithering on the front porch of Cleo’s house, one hand lifting and lowering as the angel and devil on each shoulder fought for dominance.

Click.

Right as Avery made up his mind, his fist a millimeter from the hardwood door, it swung open and revealed long pink hair in a ponytail, an oversized white t-shirt, and Cleo’s beaming face.

“…”

“You could see…?”

“Yep.”

Kill me.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head over it, entering the doors of my house indeed takes courage.” He stepped back and spread his arms as if in an embrace. “But welcome. May you come wanting and leave satisfied.”

Avery could only stare at him in abject confusion. There was no understanding this alien and how his mind worked- maybe it didn’t.

“Can you not sound so suspicious? Are you like this with everyone?”

He said so, but nevertheless brushed past Cleo and toed off his shoes, leaving them neatly by the door.

“Of course not.” His classmate led him deeper into the abode. “Not everyone is as indulgent as you are, after all.”

Who’s indulgent? Me?

But Avery realized that his tolerance of Cleo, even in the present circumstances, truly didn’t have another example. There was no one else he could think of that acted like him, spoke like him, was like him, and no one else whose house he would run to in the middle of the night for god knows what.

“Water? Soda? Tea?”

Cleo had steered him to the kitchen. Under the soft ceiling lights, his pink hair appeared particularly lustrous, like petals embalmed in dew.

“You even have tea?”

“What, do I not look like the sophisticated sort?” Cleo laughed at the surprise in Avery’s voice. “There’s nothing in the culinary world I’m not interested in, you have to try my homemade chamomile tea now, I can’t have you doubting me.”

His homemade chamomile tea, steeped from preserved chamomile blossoms grown in their garden, was, Avery had to admit, quite delicious. The subtle sweetness and floral earthiness, when swallowed, felt like swallowing the warmth that came from a hug you knew you were unequivocally secure in. For the first time since Avery drove into this city, confronted with disorientation and perplexity all around, he finally felt a part of him settle, loosen, and calm.

“It’s good. Really good. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, I’m glad you like it. Take a bag of the dried chamomiles back with you, I’ll text you the instructions on how to brew the tea. Speaking of which,” Cleo grinned a lopsided grin and offered his hand, leaning forwards, “May I have your number?” It was like he asked, “May I have this dance”, instead.

Speechlessly, Avery handed him his phone.

Cleo glanced down at it.

“Is your password 1111 or something?”

“…”

Avery snatched it back, flushing, and input the numbers. Embarrassment trumped the risk of shattering his phone screen as he tossed it to Cleo.

Where is my mind-

He recalled Mrs. Gibson.

-Idiocy is contagious.

This place was really the bane of his existence.

Cleo saved himself as Sweet Pea and Avery as Sirius. Towards these choices, Avery had no words to say. Actually, he did.

“Change them.”

“Why, aren’t they extremely suitable?”

“I can’t see it.”

Cleo pointed to his hair.

“Sweet Peas are my favorite flowers. I like them so much I dyed my hair and eyelashes to honor them, braving outward criticism and inward shame!”

“…I’m not sure about the criticism but there definitely wasn’t any shame.”

“Ah.” He winked. “You know me so well already.”

Avery paused, wavered, but still begrudgingly remarked, “It looks good on you.”

His classmate blinked, apparently finally caught off guard for once, then gave a beauteous smile.

“Thanks. That just made up for all the outward criticism.” He put a hand to his chest. “And inwardly…” Cleo’s expression could only be described as salacious. Avery turned his head and ignored him.

Tch.

Giving an inch and taking a mile.

 

When his father was still alive and they were living their extremely mundane, normal-as-could-be-lives, the ways in which Avery acted out were correspondingly mundane and normal. He might fake being sick but skipping school was taboo, he might get into arguments, rough house a little, but physical violence was off the table, and something like climbing onto the roof of his house- that was certainly never a consideration.

It still wasn’t a consideration: it was reality.

What the hell am I doing?

Was what went through his head as he perched on the sturdy (hopefully) tree branch outside the window of Cleo’s bedroom.

This is pure stupidity.

Was what circled around his brain as he tried to follow Cleo’s demonstration and hoist himself up by grasping the eaves of the roof.

Father in Heaven… May you avert your eyes.

Was his once in a blue moon prayer as, with Cleo’s assistance, he clambered onto the rooftop with all limbs intact.

I did it.

Avery sprawled across the shingles, peering up at the night sky with his heart threatening to race out of his chest. It would join the stars, and wasn’t that a thought for the lonely and bereft. Except, his sweet pea-pink haired neighbor was lying to his right, and the loneliness Avery had felt, the utter emptiness, was much alleviated.

“Not too bad, huh?” Cleo commented, head pillowed by crossed arms, eyes glued to the starry dome. Avery wasn’t sure if he meant the sky or the climb it had taken to see it from here. Either way, his answer remained.

“Yeah.”

“Alright.” Cleo sprang up with the jerky abruptness of a Jack-in-the-box. “Time to get down to business.” He unslung the bulky looking bag around his neck and unzipped it.

The business in question: assembling a telescope.

The getting down to it: Cleo did everything and Avery watched on.

To his credit, Cleo seemed to understand that Avery was completely content with that, and the business was taken care of in companionable silence. Unlike with the tree climbing, he didn’t bother to explain the process with animated commentary.

This guy… Avery mused. Contrary to appearances, is actually pretty sensitive. Or is it perceptive?

The silence ceased after Cleo finished putting all the pieces together, raising up the telescope like a torch illuminating dark, uncharted land, casting light upon undiscovered territory. Magnanimously, he adjusted the lenses and let Avery have the first look at this new world.

“You see that?”

“See what…” Avery’s field of vision was used to being filled with grey concrete, red stone houses, chittering crows on drooping power lines; now that it was consumed by pinpoints of dazzling brightness even more dazzling in their remoteness and multitude, so far away and so many, such boundless beauty that would never be within his grasp, Avery… Avery caught a bit of that feeling, the feeling of being assured of life’s insignificance, and reassured by his life’s insignificance.

“Sirius.”

“Huh?”

“The brightest star of the night sky, Sirius. So bright, you’ll never be able to lose track of yourself.”

“…”

Thankfully the sun wasn’t out; Avery didn’t have to own up to the color of his cheeks.

“I thought that was some kind of inane Harry Potter reference.”

“Wha-” Cleo burst out laughing. “How could that be, I’m trying to be as romantic as possible.” He sighed, self-mockingly. “Looks like I have to brush up on my skills.”

Avery didn’t ask what skills; the answer might render the sun’s absence superfluous.

What’s up with this? What’s up with him? What’s up with… me?

“Thank you.” He said sincerely. Usually, he would leave it at that, but this time something prompted him to say more. “For this and. And everything. I really do… appreciate it.” The sum of his words didn’t add up to much more than its parts, but Cleo smiled gently, apparently sensing his efforts.

“Thank you for thanking me, and thank you for going along with this. Now that we’ve gotten all the thanking out of the way, can we move on to more exciting things?”

Move on?

And then he pressed his lips to two knuckles, and brushed them along Avery’s jaw.

Ah. Moving on.

For two students who had markedly less practical experience than theoretical knowledge, they didn’t give the stars much of a show. Chaste kisses were exchanged, fingers were intertwined, and that was it. But Avery no longer cared about whatever the sun, or for that matter the moon, was doing.

It must be nice, high above, but it was even nicer down below, because someone could be in the pits of numb despair, and in those pits, find a will to see the darkness through to the end. If there was light, that was fine; and if there wasn’t, that was fine too.

You could seek meaning anywhere, even in the shadows. It was just a tad more difficult to find, and so two pairs of hands groping in the darkness was always better than one. They could even join together and share some warmth.

Avery had almost become a mute after recent events, and Cleo was rather disinclined to talk in the present situation. So they didn’t. They didn’t discuss what they were doing, why they were doing it, what motivations had driven it, or what significance it held for the future. Perhaps a youth’s romance was just that- a full awareness, a heady immersion, and the lack of a need for acknowledgement. Right now, this is what I want. As for my hopes, they will inevitably come later, whether they’re disappointed or fulfilled. But later is later.

Who would yearn for the dawn when they can languish long into the night?

 

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yunbi00