Chapter Text
Click.
Archie opens the door slowly, careful not to let it squeak. He had stood outside for the past few minutes, waiting for their friend to greet them. They considered calling his phone, but figured, if she’s near enough, she’ll hear them anyway.
“Sol?” he calls out tentatively. Their voice carries for only a short moment. Rather than bouncing off the walls and echoing through the house, the sound snuffs as it hits the nearest wall.
Archie smiles proudly. The soundproofing worked just as intended. It was their first project after learning of Sol’s “condition” and he’s quite proud of it, thank you very much.
They had spent hours searching for the right materials to incorporate into the walls that wouldn’t raise the temperature too much.
It wouldn’t do for her only safe space to be hot and stuffy all the time. Then he’d have a whole different issue on his hands. It had taken a couple of tries, but he perfected it.
Stepping into the foyer, Archie looks around for any indication of where Sol may have gone. The lights are off, the pale blue light filtering through the windows.
A jacket is strewn across the couch in the living room, and a half-empty mug sits on the coffee table. Sol’s house keys are gone from their perch beside them. He must have left, then. If that’s the case, they might as well make themself comfortable.
Archie makes his way into the main area of the house, leaving the door unlocked behind him. In the worst-case scenario, they can hit an intruder with a guitar. Sol may not approve of that one, though.
Archie passes by the coffee table and picks up the mug and jacket. He drops the mug off in the sink and heads towards Sol’s room.
They walk down the hall and pass by various posters of musicians. There are a few they recognize from their friend’s ramblings. Sol, ever the music history lover, talked more than they’d ever seen him before about these bands.
(It wasn’t only their impact or music, either. Archie, regrettably, knows more…details about the Beatles than they will ever need. They shudder. How in the world did she learn that? Archie is no prude. Despite his upbringing, there’s rarely a topic they’d avoid. But…why would you ever need to know such a thing?)
He remembers some being more controversial than others, as they gaze lazily at the posters, but none catch their attention.
Sol’s room is the liveliest part of the house. Besides the music room, that is.
Like the hallway, their deep red walls are covered with band and concert posters. The ceiling is lined with soft, yellow fairy lights that illuminate the room with a soft glow. A canopy bed sits proudly in the middle of the room. Its black and red sheets complement the walls and the dark brown wood of its frame. Against the adjacent wall are a dresser and a guitar stand.
Archie leaves the jacket on the duvet and approaches the guitar stand.
It’s well-maintained. At the base of the black stand is a gold plate that reads ‘Mabell.’ The smaller text under it reads, ‘My Partner In Crime.’ The guitar itself is missing, presumably wherever Sol went.
They flick their gaze over to the dresser. On top of it lies a vast selection of curly hair products, face creams, a notebook, a mirror, some pens and sheet music, and a framed photo of him and Sol.
They’d taken it after the first of Sol’s shows that Archie attended. They hadn’t been able to go initially. Archie was busy working on some modifications to their newest invention. (At least, that’s the excuse he gave.)
They’d been nearing a breakthrough but decided to leave it for later and attend anyway.
They’ve been to almost every show since then, but there’s something special about how Sol’s eyes lit up when she first saw him.
Archie’s thumb caresses the side of the picture frame as they sit on the bed. The smooth texture allows their finger to glide upward, stopping right by Sol’s face.
He’s smiling brightly at the camera, her eyes crease with the movement. His tanned skin shines sweat after singing her heart out to a crowd for an hour. His arm is wrapped tightly around Archie’s waist since she’s a tad too short to reach his shoulder, the other on her hip.
They shift their focus to their own expression. They cringe at the sight. He looks smitten. Their eyes are locked onto Sol’s face, arm slung over her shoulder. In his other hand fidgets with the buttons on their vest.
They’re grinning softly at her and leaning comfortably into the embrace. They vividly remember what they were thinking when the picture was taken. Their mind was a staccato of ‘Sol. Sol. Sol.’ rhythmically bouncing against the forefront of their mind. The warmth that radiated off Sol and seeped beneath his skin was almost enough to make Archie consider staying. Almost.
Archie covers their face with their free hand, still holding onto the photo. Anyone who saw them that day would have thought the two were in love with how he looked at him. Had Archie not known romance was not in their wheelhouse, they would have considered it a possibility, too.
(Archie does love him, of course. There’s no fighting that; He’s not stupid. Just not in the way one would initially assume.)
They looked so in love; it was nearly disgusting. And Sol kept this? On her nightstand, no less? Archie flushes in embarrassment.
“Having fun over there?”