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Archie had thought, when he'd finally get into high school - when he'd finally come back after summer vacation and walk through those doors - that things would be better. Things would be fixed.
He'd had it pictured perfectly. The car would pull into the driveway, himself and his siblings tumbling out, exhausted from the long car ride and happy to finally be home. He'd run inside the house as soon as his dad unlocked the front door, throw his suitcase on his bed and race back outside, be across the yard before his mother could scold him for not unpacking.
(He loved his grandparents, he'd been happy to see them, but it'd been the last few weeks of his summer and that time... that time just wasn't meant for anyone else but Cook.)
He'd rap on the Cook's front door, panting, heart racing in his chest because gosh, he hadn't seen Cook in so long, had only talked to him a handful of times on the phone while he was away and it just wasn't the same (and Cook had sounded so weird, hadn't sounded happy, and Archie hadn't been able to forget that, hoped that once he got home he could get to the bottom of it).
It'd been pictured perfectly in his head, Cook opening the door and grinning at him (because Cook had to be waiting for him, right? He'd be just as excited to see him, wouldn't he?) and they could catch up on what they had missed and spend the last weekend of their summer vacation together, try and make up for all that lost time.
But he'd been wrong.
Oh, he'd stumbled out of the car, thrown his suitcase onto his bed. His Totoro plush - the one Cook had given him years ago - had fallen off his pillow in the chaos. He'd even vaulted over the front lawn and knocked on Cook's door, stood waiting there so excited and so happy to just be home that he'd nearly tackled Andrew when he opened the door in his haste to get inside.
"Oh, sorry Drew!" He'd been panting a little, trying to look over Andrew's shoulder to see if Cook was inside, so distracted he'd almost missed the sudden uncomfortable look that had come over the older boy's face. "Is Cook home?"
"Oh, uh." Drew had rubbed at the back of his neck (just like his brother, Archie remembered thinking, the same gesture he always saw from them when they were nervous or embarrassed). Drew wouldn't even look at him. "No, he's uh, not here, Arch. Sorry."
"Oh." Archie had deflated a little, disappointed that he'd apparently missed his best friend. "Do you know when he'll be back?"
And there had been that look again, this weird expression on Drew's face, kind of like he had swallowed something that left a bad taste in his mouth. "Arch. You might wanna come in for a second." He'd held the door open for Archie, all solemn and just, just strange, really, and Archie had had this sudden, twisty feeling in the pit of his stomach, wondering if maybe something was wrong, wrong with Cook. He'd gone into the house feeling queasy.
He'd come out feeling worse.
Her name was Kimberly. Kim Caldwell. Archie thought she sounded familiar. "She's in the choir, apparently," Andrew had said. "He's over at her house now, helping her practice. I think they're performing at the open house Sunday?" He doesn't say They sound good together. He doesn't have to. Archie doesn't doubt it, though; Cook has a beautiful voice, had made it a point to drag Archie up with him to every open mike and kareoke night that he could over the years. No, he doesn't doubt that they sound good together.
Cook had asked her out the third week of summer, not long after Archie had left for his abuelos. They hung out with Neal and Andy on weekends. She watched their band practice on Friday. They seemed happy.
That's good, right? he thinks. His suitcase is lying open on the bed; nothing's been unpacked, even though it's been almost two hours since he got home from Cook's, since he talked to Andrew. He can't seem to get himself to move.
"It is good. Right?" He's holding Totoro. The gray fur is ragged and worn from the years he spent dragging it everywhere as a kid. One eye is in danger of falling out. If he raises the left foot, he'll see the faded, smudged remnants of sharpie, the messy scrawl Cook had used to sign his name. On the right foot is his own, 'Archie' written in his sloppy child's writing.
Totoro offers him no answers. Archie throws him on the floor in a sudden burst of petulance, watches him bounce slightly before lying still. His eyes feel wet.
It's fine, he thinks. Totoro stares at him blankly; the great curve of his grinning mouth looks distorted and sad in the waning light of the sun.
He says, "I'm fine," even though he knows he's not.
-
He hears Cook's car pulling into the driveway later that night. He's managed to pack all of his stuff away by then (though Totoro is still in the same place on the floor) and has been trying to play something on the piano (nothing he tries comes out right, though; the notes sound sour, sad, and it's awful the way it's making him feel).
He almost doesn't go out to meet him, sits there for a second at the piano bench and clenches his fingers against his jeans, because why should he? Cook knew he was coming home today, Archie thought... Well, he thought Cook would be waiting.
He had plans, some little part of him whispers (and all that does is conjure up images of Cook and, and Kim, together all summer long, doing all the things that Cook used to do with Archie, and is he really that easy to replace?)
Because that's what it feels like, like Cook replaced him, which, it's stupid. He knows it's stupid. Cook has a girlfriend. Cook wants to spend time with his girlfriend. Archie knew someday it would happen, that one of them (Cook, always Cook, Archie never even once thought it would be himself) would find someone else, would start... start dating. And, and really, he's surprised it took this long. Cook is so popular, so well-liked by everyone. He expected this.
So he tells himself to suck it up. Just because Cook has Kimberly doesn't mean he won't have time for Archie anymore. Besides, this year will be his first year in high school, and Cook's last, so they have to make the most of it.
With that thought in mind, he races to the front door, wants to catch Cook before he goes inside. He opens his own door just as Cook is heading to his, calling out a happy, "Cook!" before he can lose his nerve.
Cook turns around and sees him, and for a moment there's this look of happiness, pure and sweet on his face. (Archie feels this weird, warm sensation, right in his chest at that look) but then it's gone, replaced by something he hasn't seen before. Cook looks... closed off, somehow - still happy, Archie thinks, but not right.
He takes a tentative step forward, feeling awkward and uncomfortable in a way he never has around Cook. "Um, hey." He wants to say something stupid like I miss you, realizes with a grim feeling that before.. well, before, he never would have thought to say anything else.
"Hey, Arch." The sound of Cook's voice is almost like a shock after so long without it (he can't remember how long it's been since their last phone call, thinks it must have been a few weeks, at least). "It's good to see you."
"Yeah." He really doesn't like this, the stilted way they're talking. He doesn't understand why this is suddenly so hard. "You um, you ready for school?" he asks, trying to get a conversation started. He wants Cook to invite him in, to invite Cook over himself. He wants to talk with the best friend he hasn't been able to see all summer long. "We're finally together this time, huh?" And he smiles at the though of it, because he really is looking forward to this year, to seeing Cook at lunch, to walking with him and the others through the hallways.
But Cook doesn't look happy. His lips are twisted in a grimace, face turned away so Archie can't see him. His heart sort of plummets in his chest at the sight. "Yeah, Arch. It'll be great. Listen, I'm kind of tired, okay? I'll see you on Monday."
"Oh. Yeah." Cook's already walking off toward the house, opening and shutting the front door without sparing a glance in Archie's direction. He mumbles a weak, "See ya," to the air (feels the fresh sting of tears in his eyes, because what has he done to make Cook act so weird towards him?)
The thought of high school suddenly doesn't seem half as appealing as it did before.
-
He hates it.
Three weeks. Three weeks of Cook ignoring him, three weeks of catching rides from Brooke and watching Cook leave every morning without so much as a wave, three weeks of sitting at the lunch table and watching Cook grin and laugh with Kimberly (it only took a week for Archie to give up on spending their lunch hour together; Cook just ignored him when he sat at his table anyway, only Neal and Andy and Kyle would talk to him)
He's given up on spending time with Cook at all, doesn't look for him in the hallways anymore, doesn't try to seek him out before or after school. He's even stopped going over to his house; the first and only time he tried, Cook ended up leaving within the hour, leaving Archie alone with only Beth and Stanley for company and looking about as helpless as he felt. It was like no one knew what to do with him.
He'd expected his first year of high school to be exciting, to be fun. He'd expected the homework and the teachers and the flood of new people. He'd expected the rowdy lunch tables and the car pools home. He'd expected the club sign-ups and the sport's tryouts.
What he hadn't expected was to spend the first three weeks of his freshmen year being ignored by his best friend, his best friend who would rather spend time around his girlfriend, who apparently just didn't have the time for Archie anymore.
"He's just being stupid, David," Ramiele would say. "Just give him time, he'll come around."
"Yeah, once this thing with Kim cools down," Danny would comment, "he'll be back to normal."
"Talk to him," Brooke would tell him, looking pitying and sad and like she knows something he doesn't. "Ask him and see. You both won't get anywhere if neither of you will talk to each other."
But it wasn't that easy. He couldn't just go over to Cook's house and, and make the older boy listen to him. And it wasn't like he hadn't tried! He would get as far as his front door (maybe even halfway across the yard if he was feeling brave) before his nerves would get the better of him (because Cook was mad at him for some reason, he had to be, and Archie just couldn't figure out what he had done wrong).
But he's sick of it, sick of feeling miserable all the time, feeling queasy whenever he sees Cook at lunch or in the hallways.
(It doesn't help that he's been feeling so tired lately, that his throat burns whenever he's lying in bed at night, aching and unsure and feeling as if everything is just crashing down all around him and there's nothing he can do to stop it).
So the next Friday night, he finds himself standing on Neal's porch, knocking on the door and trying to swallow the heavy lump in his throat. He knows Cook is here, can hear the muffled thumps of drums and the screech of guitars from the garage. He's been here before, used to tag along with Cook every week when the band had just started, remembers sitting on the beat up old couch by the stairs and watching the guys pound away at their instruments, feeling the thump of the music in his throat.
Neal's mother waves him in as soon as she opens the door, smiling, saying she hasn't seen him in awhile. He almost wants to ask her if anyone else is there (if Kim is there; he's not sure he can do this in front of her), but he keeps quiet, only smiling in what he hopes is a genuine looking way and following her to the garage door. It's in the kitchen; he can see Cook and the others through the window, glances around and almost breathes a sigh of relief when he sees there's no one else in there with them. Neal's mother goes off into the living room, leaving him there to brace his nerves and twist the doorknob, telling himself to just go for it, get it over with.
It takes a moment for the guys to notice him. The music's too loud, muffles the sound of the door opening and closing. He stands at the top of the small set of stairs leading into the garage, fidgeting, wondering how he can get their attention. It's Neal who notices him first; he stops playing once he does, fingers going still on his guitar strings. The sudden absence of his guitar is enough to alert the other guys to Archie's presence. They all crash to a stop (Archie hears a sour note in the fray and winces).
He feels awful under their stares, awkward in a way he hates.
It's Andy who finally speaks up and breaks the silence. "Hey, Archie. Been a while, man."
"Yeah." He smiles weakly in thanks before turning his attention to Cook, swallowing around the lump in his throat. The older boy doesn't look happy to see him; he almost looks scared, actually (though Archie guesses that's just his mind playing tricks on him). "Can I... can I talk to you, Cook? Please?"
Cook almost looks like he's about to protest; Archie catches Neal mutter something out of the corner of his mouth, Cook scowling at him as he shrugs the strap of his guitar over his shoulder. "Yeah, Arch. Just a sec." He sets the guitar in its stand before moving towards Archie, sidestepping the cables scattered all over the floor.
Archie leads them through the living room and outside to the porch for lack of anywhere better (he doesn't want anyone overhearing them, especially when he doesn't know what the outcome of this conversation will be).
They stand there for what feels like hours; Archie has no clue how to say what he wants to say (and Cook's definitely not being any help here). He's not even sure he wants to ask, now that's he here; he's afraid of what Cook will say, afraid of what this might do to what remains of their friendship.
But then he thinks, What friendship? After the past few weeks - the past few months - of avoidance, of Cook not talking to him, barely looking at him - what is there left to lose?
"Did you want something, Archie?" Cook's voice is tired, wearier than Archie's ever heard it, and suddenly he's angry - angry that he's let Cook treat him this way, angry that he doesn't even know what he's done to deserve it, if he's done anything at all. "What did you want to tell- ?"
"Why are you so mad at me?" His voice comes out quieter than he'd like, raspy. It doesn't sound right.
Cook stares at him. "What-?"
Archie raises his voice, feels the slow burn in his throat. "What did I do to you to make you so angry at me?"
Cook's face closes off. He leans against the side of the house, won't look at Archie (and that's just making him angrier). "I'm not mad at you, Arch."
"Yes you are!" He winces at the sound of his own voice; his throat feels like it's on fire. "You have to be! There's no other reason why you've been acting so... so... " He has to blink hard against the burn of tears in his eyes - he's not doing this here, dang it, not letting Cook see that. "What did I do? Did I hurt you, somehow? Did I say something?"
"No. Archie, you didn't, alright?" And finally (finally) Cook is looking at him, finally his face isn't closed off, expression shut away. His best friend is as open to him as Archie remembers, and he looks... guilty. "You didn't do anything- "
"Then why are you acting like I did?!" His voice cracks on the last word and (dang it) there are the tears, thick and angry and clogging up his throat. He feels like he can't even breathe.
"Arch?" He hears Cook's voice as if from a great distance, like the other boy is miles away instead of right in front of him. He feels, though, the light pressure of Cook's hand on his shoulder, rips away from the contact as if he's been burned.
I can't do this, he thinks, tears blurring his vision as he stumbles down the porch stairs, across the lawn with his ears ringing and his throat on fire. He doesn't listen to Cook's calls, doesn't even acknowledge the other boy's presence, just hits the sidewalk at a dead run, sprinting further and further away until his lungs feel like they're about to burst.
When he finally stops, heart pounding and head aching, he's two streets away from his house. The sky is cloudy overhead, only a sliver of moon to lend him any light. He just stands there, panting, feeling weary and drained and like giving up. Trying to breathe.
Just trying to breathe.
-
He's never really thought about why it hurt so much, Cook's behavior the past few weeks. He thinks, we're best friends, that's why, and maybe that's it. Maybe that's why. It hurts when your friends ignore you, doesn't it?. It hurts when they shut you out of their life for no reason. It just hurts.
But it shouldn't have hurt when Cook got a girlfriend. It shouldn't have hurt that he spent the summer (the summer that is supposed to be theirs, supposed to be their time) with someone else. And it shouldn't be killing Archie to think of what they must have done during that time, where they must have went, how close they must have gotten.
But it is. It's all he's been able to think about since last night, since he ran away from Cook. He's spent most of the day in bed, his throat aching and his voice scratchy (his mother had manhandled him there the moment she'd heard him speak; he knows she's just waiting on him to get worse so she can force him to the doctor's office, hopes it doesn't come to that).
It's just... he should have been happy, right? Happy that Cook had someone. If, if Cook hadn't been ignoring him, he could have talked to her, tried to be friends with her, couldn't he? Wouldn't he?
Would I?
He tries to think of it, introducing himself to Kimberly, tries to imagine what it might have been like riding to school with them both (clustered in the back while she sat in the passenger seat), and maybe they all would have sang together like he used to do with Cook. He thinks about sitting with her in Neal's garage, listening to the band, wonders if it would have felt the same, if Cook would have grinned and made funny faces at him still (or if he'd be too busy doing the same to her).
He tries to think of sharing Cook during the summer, tries to reassure himself that Cook wouldn't have forgotten him, that summer would still be theirs.
He tries to think of sharing Cook with her at all.
He can't.
I couldn't, he thinks, staring at the ceiling and feeling his eyes prickle and burn, feeling the scratch of his throat as he tries to hold back those stupid tiny sounds he can't help but make as he cries. He bites his lip, hard, to rein them in. So that's it. That's it.
He likes Cook. He likes him in a way that he knows he shouldn't, in a way that doesn't make sense, that can't be right.
But it is. It is. Why else, he thinks, why else would he hate the thought of sharing Cook with Kimberly? Why else would it make him feel sick to think of this past summer, those three months he spent away while Cook and Kim grew closer and closer? Why else would that make him so angry?
"So that's it," he says, just to hear it, just to make it final. His throat feels like sandpaper. He turns his head and sees Totoro lying forlorn and forgotten on the floor, staring at him with his loose marble eye and his sad, distorted grin.
Yeah, that's it.
-
It's the knock on his door that wakes him. He glances at the clock on his bedside table, sees the red numbers blinking 7:32 back at him. The sky outside is darkening slowly; he can spot the first stars if he squints.
"Hijo?" It's his mother, peeking in at him. She slips into the room and pads over to his bedside, pressing her hand to his forehead. He can hear her muttering in Spanish, a worried frown on her face. He swallows against his dry mouth and offers her a weak smile.
"I'm alright," he says, though his raspy, broken voice suggests otherwise. He knows he won't be able to avoid a doctor's visit for long, knows his mother will drag him there as early as tomorrow if he doesn't get any better.
"Do you feel up to a visitor?" she asks, running her cool hands through his spiky hair. He frowns, wondering who could be there for him.
"Y-Yeah." He starts to sit up, but a voice from his doorway stops him cold.
"It's alright, Arch." Cook's smiling at him nervously, and Archie has a second to take in the other boy's appearance and decide that he looks awful, eyes bloodshot and face pale before his mother raises back up, looking between the two of them as if she can sense the strained atmosphere that's practically swallowed the room.
"Just a few minutes, David, alright?" she tells Cook (she's always called him by his first name, always treated him just like family). Cook nods and watches her walk out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.
They don't talk for a while, Archie too shocked to see Cook there, nervous about what he wants (and remembering still the revelation he'd come to, that awful truth he'd only just been able to figure out for himself), and Cook just standing there, staring.
It's Archie who tries to speak first. "Why- ?"
"Could you just," Cook starts, voice rushed and quiet, and it's only when he steps closer to the bed that Archie can see how scared Cook looks, how flustered and anxious. "Could you just let me talk, for a while? Please, Arch? Then you can throw me out and never speak to me again, if that's what you want."
Confused, Archie can do little but nod.
"Alright. Alright." Cook starts pacing, three jerky steps followed by another three in the opposite direction. He spies Totoro on the floor, bends down to pick it up with this weird expression on his face, half fondness and half guilt. He finally stops at Archie's bedside, sitting on the edge and tapping his foot against the floor. Archie's never seen him so nervous.
"Cook, what's-?"
"I like you."
Archie's voice catches in his throat (he reins in the painful coughing that wants to be let out, but only barely). "What...?"
Cook stares at him, expression determined and, and he's holding Totoro so tightly against his own chest Archie is almost afraid the plush will pop. "I've liked you since I was fifteen, Archie," he says, and Archie's breath catches again, burns again. "That camping trip we took, do you remember? It was then. That's when it happened, when I figured it out. When we got lost, and I was acting like such a fucking baby, and you - Well, that's when it started." He shakes his head, stares at the top of Totoro's ragged ears. "I was scared, Arch, so fucking freaked out by what I was feeling. It just, I thought it would ruin this, us, you know? Though, I guess I did a pretty fucking spectacular job of doing that myself, huh?"
Archie swallows around the lump in his throat. There are tears, thick and familiar, clinging to his lashes, but he can't speak, can't get any words out past that lump (and Cook's not done yet, far from it).
"I tried to ignore it, tried to make it go away. And for a while it worked. You were in middle school, and I was in high school. I don't know, I was just able to stuff it away somehow, thinking you were too young, thinking you wouldn't understand. But then this past summer." Cook's face darkens, with pain and regret and Archie doesn't want to look at him, doesn't want to hear this. "When you left... Fuck, Arch, when you left I was just. I was stupid. I knew... I knew that Kim liked me, I'd known it for a while, and I thought that if I just tried, you know? It would go away. I could make it go away."
Archie makes a wet, painful noise. Tears slip from his eyes and he reaches up to wipe them away, asking in a small, wounded voice he doesn't recognize as his own. "Did it?"
Cook shakes his head, one of his hands gripping tight to the bedcovers. His own eyes look wet. "No, Arch. It didn't. And I'm sorry - I'm so fucking sorry - that I hurt you, that I thought for even a second that pushing away my best friend was the right thing to do. I'm sorry that I made you think that you'd done something wrong when it was all me. I'm the goddamn idiot that fucked this up, David."
Archie sucks in a lungful of air, feeling the moisture on his cheeks soaking into his pajamas. Still, he can't help but smile weakly, can't help but feel the first, faint stirrings of hope in his chest. "Don't curse," he says, quiet but as strong as he can manage, and Cook just crumples, dropping his face into his hands.
"God, Archie." His voice comes out muffled and choked; Archie's heard that tone enough times to know that Cook's crying. Totoro's hanging on for dear life, stuffed between Cook's chest and arms, in danger of sliding to the floor (where Archie doesn't want him, never wants to see him there again) before Archie grabs for him. Grabs for Cook, too, wrapping his arms around the older boy's shoulders as far as he can (just like that time in the woods, he remembers, when Cook had held on to him after they'd gotten lost).
"It's alright," he says quietly, and he feels the truth of that through his whole body, feels happy even if the tears are still falling from his eyes and not stopping, even though his throat won't stop burning. It might not be fixed, they might still be a little broken, but it is. It's alright.