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It always rained during this time of year.
In the evening, the skies were a drought. No stars, no precipitation, not even a single cloud. Yet in the morning, a mouth would open up to wake the roads of Ashton, a small town near Greater Manchester, with showers so unforgiving and unwavering that even the sun cowered in fear.
And this routine was no different for Henry, a Year 11 student at Ashton Secondary.
In his younger years, he was greatly recognized in his neighborhood as the most horrid boy they had ever met. Infamous for the mischievous pranks and childish antics he pulled on his friends, family, and anyone else in a 3-mile radius near him, they nicknamed him “Horrid Henry,” a sobriquet the boy prided himself on having—a shield that defended him from the mightiest of threats, specifically adults.
While he swore to anybody who would listen that he would forever be horrid, that unbreakable bravado cracked the moment he stepped foot into secondary school.
Now, everything came with a harsh price. The teachers knew of his reputation and thus pushed him harder, challenged him further, and growled at him with contempt tenfold that of the bites he could ever snap. His family demanded more of him too; they told him to pull himself up by his bootstraps because every year is a year closer to the day he finishes his studies, implying that they would kick him out of the house the second he became a legal adult.
As a result of this new change of environment, not to mention puberty, Henry’s wild and unabashed quirks faded and were taken away from him, instead replaced with spite and a bitter taste in his tongue.
He began to resent a lot of things, especially things he used to love when he was younger, like his Gross Class Zero comicbooks, his air guitar playing, and his Purple Hand Gang fort, where he used to spend days in with his friends, especially Rude Ralph, to plot against his nemesis next door, Moody Margaret.
A new goal was implemented in exchange, and since the start of school, Henry had been gritting his teeth, trying to make sense of the world of academia. Henry wanted to prove everyone wrong, to get the last laugh, and he was going to get his shit together if he needed to.
“Henry! Get down here now, or you’ll be late for school!”
His mum’s shouts ran to his bedroom, waking the boy from his less-than-ideal slumber. Henry spent the night before attempting to comprehend triangle congruence for his maths test that day, with as much luck as getting gum out of one's hair.
He wasn’t in the mood for another lecture, on a Monday of all days, too. So, with a groan, he pulled his head out of his pillow and stumbled his way to the bathroom.
“Henry,” An annoying voice sang from outside the door, “Mum said you’re going to be late!”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard her the first time, Wo—Peter.” Henry spat out the toothpaste down the sink.
“Why are you always late, anyway? Is it because you crammed your work last minute?” Peter continued. He knew what he was doing, and the eldest was not a stranger to his antics.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m up now, if you can’t tell.”
The universe seemed to be testing his patience lately. The worst part was there was some truth to his brother’s claims. He twisted the doorknob, intentionally avoiding Peter’s eyes on him, and stomped back into his room to pray the universe was at least kind enough to give him a clean set of clothes for the day.
“I got up earlier than usual today, so I already had my breakfast.”
Henry managed to find his uniform deep inside his closet, and it still smelled fresh out of the wash to his relief. “Okay.”
“I recommend you do the same sometime, dear brother.” Peter’s backpack innocently swayed back and forth outside his bedroom. “It would do you some good, I reckon.”
The door opened to dishevelled hair sprinting out of it with a schoolbag slumped on its shoulder. He caught a faint fissure in the sly smile of the other as he rushed down the stairs to the smell of milk and toast.
Henry sat down across the newspaper that was held by the fingers of his oblivious father, slurped as much as he could while simultaneously chomping down on the now-cold piece of toast on his plate. His mum forbade him dinner again last night, for reasons beyond him, so he was savoring the faint sweet heat in the lukewarm milk that mixed with the cardboard-flavoured bread like it was the Last Supper.
Glaring at him with daggers were his mum’s eyes that shared a likeness to Little Goldie, who had followed him like a leach.
She had her arms akimbo. “Good heavens, Henry! You eat like a rabid animal!”
Ugh, not this again. He thought. It took him all of the world’s willpower not to roll his eyes at her.
“Honestly, why can’t you be more like Peter? He’s nothing but a big bundle of perfection.” She held the giggling smaller boy at her side with a hand on his hair, her fingertips plucking a thousand gold harp strings. “Aren’t you, my sweet, sweet boy?”
Henry’s face twisted in a dramatic display of disgust. That was the most disgusting thing he had seen all month. So disgusting, in fact, that he lost his appetite.
He gulped down whatever bolus was left in his mouth and pushed his chair back in. “I’m off now.”
Sprinting past the uncanny lookalikes, his bag slapped his brother by accident while he was trying to adjust it.
“Ow! Henry hit me!” He heard Peter cry out. Tsk, Henry clicked his tongue—he was doing so well too to stay out of trouble.
“Don’t be horrid, Henry!” Mum yelled next, but at that point the front door was already slammed shut.
The rain wasn’t much help either; he wouldn’t get to smell petrichor until the final bell. Luckily, he yoinked an umbrella before he left, which decreased the chances of him getting drenched while walking to school.
Not long after, he predicted, Peter would be walking close behind, with his silly pink umbrella decorated with Number Gnomes. He would tell him some corny comment about how much he loved the rain, like how it was nice and chilly, or how it was fun seeing his feet make splashes on the ground. Henry would then retort with a sneer or a quip or a wisecrack. Enter Peter and his pouting, holding threats about how he would tell on him to their mum. Then—
Monday. It’s Monday, he blinked, snapping out of his train of thought. How could a day so monotonous as this one fall on a Monday? The week barely even started.
Lately, he noticed his memory escaping him. He could recall bits and bolts of distant yesterdays with enough specificity, but when asked of certain dates and nuances, he would stutter. Every day was melded together, and his thoughts and emotions knew their blockings and stage directions by muscle memory.
Wake up. Freshen up. Change clothes. Eat food. Fail at school. Study. Eat food. Sleep.
This was what his days amounted to, interrupted with intervals of lectures and lambastings. It was what had been happening, and what will continue to be.
“I hate this fucking place.” Henry grumbled, taking a seat closest to the window, a row or two away from the back of the class.
“What happened now?”
The taller boy sat down beside him. Rude Ralph, he was known as in primary, was Henry’s bestest, if not the only remaining friend he had left. Sure, he would talk to the other old members of the Purple Hand Gang every now and then, but in a bigger school like Ashton Secondary, they found friend groups that offered more than Henry could give.
Except, Ralph was the exception. He remained by his side after all these years, and Henry just couldn’t wrap his head around why. What he did conclude was that without him, he would probably lose it. So, he decided to keep up a facade, to hide his most vulnerable self from him, because if he hated himself enough already as how he really is, who was to say that Ralph would to?
The boy in question played with some strands of his shaggy hair, “I failed my maths.”
“Ah, unlucky, you studied so hard for that one too.” Ralph readied a notebook and pen.
“S’not even the worst bit. I got the worst mark out of everyone, even bloody Margaret! Just when I thought I'd hit rock bottom.”
“Damn, really sorry, Henry,” His friend’s eyes softened, patting his back twice. “There’s always next time, mate.”
“Easy for you to say, I bet you passed with flying colors again, you nerd.” Henry immediately changed the subject, realizing he was beginning to get too personal. He instead noticed the rain slowly clearing through a faint stick of sunlight that painted Ralph’s face. He smirked at how the boy was unaware of it.
Despite what his old moniker suggested, the brunet wasn’t as rude as he was before, and recently began doing incredibly well in school out of nowhere. One time, Henry asked him how he had gotten so good, and he simply shrugged and said he had a change of heart, whatever that meant.
Brushing aside a stray piece of lightly gelled hair, Ralph snickered. Henry thought it was hilarious the way he snickered—it was so ridiculous yet fit so well for him.
“Well, the good thing is we get to end the day off with English.”
“But I’m shit at English.”
“Don’t worry, so am I. That means we can be shit together!”
Both boys exchanged chuckles and the same highfive they had done for years as all the students in class finally settled into their seats.
At last, entering the class were the clicking of green heels and the swishing of bright orange earrings hidden behind big puffy hair. Henry did a double take, sharing glances with his seatmate to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. This was not their usual English teacher whatsoever.
“Ah, lovely,” She neatly placed a bundle of papers atop the desk. “Good afternoon, class! Unfortunately, your lovely teacher had fallen ill, so I am here to take her place for the next few weeks.”
The supply teacher wore red lipstick, a green blouse, and a plaid skirt. While it was certainly a surprise to see, she was no stranger to the two boys.
“You may call me Miss Lovely, although I’m sure a lot of you already know me from when you were younger. I see a lot of familiar faces here!”
Miss Lovely’s eyes scanned the room from one side to the other. Her lovely smile widened along her face when she saw the old troublemaker now grown. Henry didn’t mind her all too much, she was one of the few teachers that didn’t bombard him with loathing looks when he was acting up or confused about schoolwork.
And with all the chips stacked upon his shoulders, he found difficulty remembering all the kind things she did for him. He wondered, had she been his teacher instead of Miss Battleaxe, would he have dealt with the same vitriol as now?
“Now, let’s see. Your teacher mentioned that you were learning about Wilfred Owen and his war poetry…”
The rain had almost completely cleared while the lesson went on, with sunlight surreptitiously suffusing the room but forming shadows on the boy’s face. While Henry enjoyed Miss Lovely’s teaching style more than any other teacher he had, he still struggled with grasping many of the key points. Literary devices that went over his head and analyses he couldn’t comprehend created a barrier between him and the lecture at hand.
If not even someone as sweet as his supply teacher could help him, perhaps the fault lied on the learner. The learner, who had been told time and time before of his shortcomings, who wanted to understand, to so desperately understand, yet his trees always bore no fruit. Perhaps he was the problem all along.
“And I believe we’ve covered everything for today.” The teacher walked back to her desk to pick up the stack of papers and handed them out to each student one-by-one.
“For homework, you are to annotate and study this lovely poem by Owen, that’s all. And by your next class, you’ll be doing a class discussion about it!”
She reached Henry and Ralph’s table and handed them two photocopied sheets with a warm grin. The papers read:
Futility
By Wilfred Owen
Move him into the sun—
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields half-sown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.
Think how it wakes the seeds—
Woke once the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides
Full-nerved, still warm, too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
—O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth's sleep at all?
Henry skimmed through the poem with a grimace—he had no idea what was going on or where to even start. Despite this sinking feeling, his eyes paid most attention to the last three lines. He wasn’t sure why, he didn’t even know what they meant at all.
“Lovely to see you two again.” Her soft voice greeted her old students before moving on to the next table.
When the bell yelled out its chorus, the sky was brilliant. Students came running out of the school like mice freed from a big snaptrap, chattering their heads off about being set free. Henry was told by a small, rushing friend of his brother that he would be staying behind for a little longer, information that pleased the lanky boy immensely.
Ralph noticed the eyes of the teen he was walking with were lost in thought. “Penny for them, Henry?”
“Eh?” Henry fluttered his dry eyes, returning them back into the real world, “Oh, it’s nothing. Just thinking about that homework.”
“The English one?” Ralph tilted his head with furrowed brows. All of a sudden, he sprung his head up brightly. “Say, how about I come over so I can help you out with it?”
The slightly shorter boy’s face lit up; his blank expression turned excited. “What, actually?”
“Yeah! We’d be doing it together so that means the work can be done faster.”
A hint of hope shone through his smile. “Alright then!”
“Oi, lovebirds! Move out of the way!” They heard the clamour of knotted purple hair come from behind.
Henry’s face fell back to its resting frown. “Go back to your stupid little fanclub, Margaret.”
Margaret huffed the same huff she did back in the day, it almost amazed him just how much she remained the same all these years: loud and pretentious and moody. It was fun for a little while, Henry would admit, when they quarreled and one-upped each other before with silly competitions and rivalries, especially whenever he and his gang would win.
But after everyone was displaced into the boxes of Year 7, acclimating for conformity and converting for acclamation led the old Moody Margaret to migrate into a realm of popularity Henry could have never expected. And naturally, for a brat like her, it wasn’t long until this level of fame got into her head.
“Sharp words for someone as dull-witted as you, Bogey Brain.” She retaliated, “Hey, how was that test, by the way? It’s almost impressive how much of a failure you are, Henry.”
Henry’s head snapped at Margaret’s direction. What a fucking bitch. He knew he shouldn’t get all defensive over something as small as that, but when you tried so hard to prove yourself to a world that had hated you since your first breath, it was hard not to feel like you were suffocating.
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
He was doing it again. Thinking about that line. Henry looked away, trying to steady his breathing.
“Oh, get a life, why don’t you, Margaret?” Ralph glared at her and her taunts.
Margaret examined the rich boy up and down, then rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Ralph. You’re far too privileged to be hanging around with dirt like him.”
“Better dirt than aerosol. Like, holy shit, you girls spray deodorant on yourselves like its perfume.” Ralph could go on all day with this—he wasn’t Rude Ralph for nothing.
"Now, if you don’t mind, we’re going to do our homework.” Henry regained his composure at last and interrupted with a chuckle, not allowing himself to show weakness for fear of losing everything. “Run along now, Princess Puke.”
Princess Puke flipped a bird at them but not before pushing them to the sides. “Good luck pulling that off. I’ve seen goldfish more capable than you!”
They waited until her last bit of hair was hidden behind the first light of sunset before giving each other a high five.
“Hah! Good one, Henry!” Ralph snickered, seemingly unaware of the other boy’s tenseness.
Henry sighed in relief, stitching a smile back in his face. “Girls, eh?”
The other nodded, eyes fixed on the other’s expression while they continued walking. Henry noticed this behavior didn’t stop even after ten seconds had passed so he faced Ralph’s way, wondering if a question was on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he was met with the boy’s shiny hair as he faced his head back to the pavement.
Eventually, Ralph undid the top button of his blouse and wriggled in his skin, “Do you mind if I head back at mine’s first to change? This uniform is downright dreadful.”
“Alright, I’ll go on ahead then.”
“See you later, Henry!”
He ran the other direction towards a white villa with a fountain and limo. Henry gazed at him amused as his figure shrank by the second; highlighted mahogany hair touched by the hands of Helios. Rich pretty boy.
Henry continued to walk, alone. To a distant bungalow that aged with fine lines across its body that matched the forehead of his mother’s scowl. Pacing were his steps and his emotions as the facade slipped away.
With one thought left in his mind.
“...Was it for this the clay grew tall...” Henry mumbled, taking off his blouse in exchange for a blue and yellow striped jumper that was fresh out the wash. It was the same jumper he used to wear, only a size larger. When asked by his parents why he couldn’t have just bought a different one, he said it wouldn’t be the same.
For the life of him, he just couldn’t get that line out of his head. What did it mean? Why did he care so much about it? Why—
“Henry! Come down here now!”
He heard the nagging of a woman well over her middle ages come from the wall. Perhaps if he blocked it out enough, the nasty noise would go away—
“Henry! Now!”
“Alright! Alright! No need to—” Get your knickers in a twist, He restrained himself from saying, “Get all worked up!”
Henry carried his laundry, uniform included, down the stairs and met his mother and brother, the former tapping her pink heels on the floorboard with a hand on the front door and the latter just arriving back home, as evident from his uniform, prim as ever, still on. “What?”
“I’m going out to get my hair and nails done and I’ll be back before dinner,” His mum sharpened her look on her eldest son and his cargo, “Don’t be horrid, Henry. And don’t even dare try to coerce Peter into doing your laundry for you.”
Eyes broadening, the accused took offence by the allegation. “But I wasn’t even—!”
“Hush! Now, if I get back and Peter tells me you were being horrid again, you’ll get no pocket money for a month.”
“But mum, I—!”
“Is that clear?” She drawled out a warning, leaving Henry no choice but to nod with a tightened fist. “Good. Stay safe, pumpkin, love you.”
“I love you too!” Peter waved as the front door met him and his raised arm.
Henry swiftly made his way to the washing machine while ignoring judgement from the blonde bootlicker, his brain was fastened on more pressing matters—like calming down before Ralph arrived, which by could be any minute now, actually.
The laundry bubbled and tumbled around in detergent. Henry took a moment to admire its dance; the machine's grumbling sound was so soothing it made for a strange sort of solace, so calm and fine. Fine—That was all he wanted to be. He wanted the gentle hold of a forgiving mother. He wanted the warm welcome of steadfast friends.
He wanted a sign that things might get better.
“What’s that thing called again? When the line doesn’t have, like, a dot or a question mark? En… Enja…?”
“I think it was enjambment,” Ralph replied, taking a glance at Henry as he hummed in response. He smiled, “We’re nearing the last lines, we might actually finish this tonight!”
With a shining smile on his face, Henry was a beacon to his best friend. He actually got to be productive today! Perhaps things are finally changing for him; perhaps this was his first step to prove everyone how wrong they were about him. He wasn’t horrid Henry, anymore, he can start living his life as just Henry. The thought made him feel warm inside.
“And Margaret said I couldn’t do it. Hah! I’ll show that bogey brain!” He chuckled, “Thanks again for helping me out, Ralph. You’re a real lifesaver, you know that?”
The other’s ears had gone coral. “I know. I’m just amazing like that,” Ralph theatrically ran his fingers through his hair with a smug face, “You still owe me though.”
“Like hell I do!” Henry playfully punched him on the shoulder as he giggled, which prompted Ralph to giggle as well.
Knock! Knock! Knock! The door politely chirped out of nowhere.
"Oh, for the love of…” Henry grumbled, his smile immediately falling into a frown. He and Ralph stared at the slow turning of the doorknob, “Go away.”
“That’s not very nice of you, Henry.” A youthful voice entered the room wearing a red jumper and condescension. “I only wanted to check if you’ve done all your homework.”
Oh, dear. Ralph put on an awkward smile along with a wave that was reciprocated.
“You know what else isn’t very nice? Barging into someone’s room even when they told you to go away,” The big brother in question flatly stated, “And I don’t believe you one bit. What are you really here for?”
Peter frowned, “I really am checking! And by the looks of it, you haven’t finished a single one yet.”
Ralph could practically feel the tension in the room rising astronomically; he shouldn’t be there at all.
“That’s none of your business, worm. Why do you care so much anyway?”
“Because I’ve already finished all of mine!” He boasted with his hands on his sides, “And mum is coming home in half an hour, and she’ll be so cross when she finds out you’ve made no progress whatsoever.”
Henry gripped his pen tighter, “I have made progress, thank you! And mum doesn’t need to know that, you little snitch.”
He pouted, “Yes, she does! Because that makes you a liar. A naughty, horrid liar! And it’s not fair for her to work every day just to see you putting no effort in school at all!”
Ralph’s shoulders tensed up—he really didn’t want to be there. A swirl of awkwardness, anger, and annoyance churned around his stomach. He darted his eyes to Henry, whose teeth were slightly grinding now. “Why do you always do this to me, Peter?” he heard him grumble.
“I wouldn’t have to do all this if you just acted more like me, you know,” The boy couldn’t see the fumes coming out of Henry. Shut up, he thought. “If you actually tried and put in the effort.”
“Stop fucking talking.” Henry’s voice wavered, and his eyes were burning as they glared at his brother. The wick had been lit, and the fire was tiptoeing through the thread, turning everything in its path into ash.
“Hey—it’s okay, don’t worry about him…” Ralph tried to comfort the incriminated by rubbing his shoulder, but to no avail. He was scared now; Henry was a bomb, a burning fuse that was hissing in the background.
“How dare you! That’s it, I’m telling on you when mum gets back!” Peter marched forward with a high-pitched shrill in his voice, “And I’ll tell her how horrid you’re being to me right now!”
“And she’ll take your pocket money again for a month and she’ll give it all to me instead–!”
“Can’t you just shut the hell up for once in your stupid fucking life!”
Henry bellowed his now unsteady lungs out, springing up so fast that even his swivel chair cowered away from him. Peter’s mouth was glued shut. The only sound left in the house was the echoes of the teenager’s words bouncing on every corner, crack, and floorboard.
“I can’t do any fucking work when your annoying voice is all I can fucking hear! I am this close to falling apart, you know that? Do you know that? Do you—Do you have any fucking clue about anything? You are the problem! You! You and mum and dad and Margaret and the shitty teachers—Every. Single. Day. All of you are the fucking same; all of you are the fucking problem! I can’t fucking take it anymore!”
And in an instant, he shoved Peter to the side and sprinted out the door.
“Henry!” He heard a lower-pitched voice call him, but he didn’t look back.
He rushed down the stairs, where he nearly tripped before reaching the floor. Despite this, he kept on running. He didn’t know where he was running to, but still he kept running. His tears were fighting to trickle down his face just as his legs were fighting to go back to see Ralph.
Ralph. He was there throughout his whole outburst. Was he trying to talk to him? He couldn’t remember, he had so much in his mind it all blocked him entirely. God, did he really mess up this time. What’ll he think of him now? He set loose everything he so desperately wanted to keep locked away from him.
“I’m telling mum!” Peter shrieked at the staircase with clenched fists close to his chest. He turned around to face his brother’s guest and politely cleared his throat, “I’m so sorry about him, Ralph. Honestly, it’s a shame you have to get dragged around by him every day.”
Ralph had just about enough of this, “Do you always have to do that?”
“Eh?” Peter blinked; he wasn’t used to being talked to with that kind of tone before. “Beg your pardon?”
“Do you always have to go around and provoke him like that?” Ralph crossed his arms as he stood up. “That’s not on, mate.”
Peter’s brows furrowed, “What? I wasn’t provoking him, I was just telling the truth. I work very hard every day, while he just lazes about doing nothing! It's no wonder he gets told off so much, he doesn't put in the effort.”
“Listen, right,” Ralph took a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure, “You’re a good kid, Peter. But you treat Henry like shit every day. He really is trying, but you’re always finding new ways to piss him off so you can have an excuse to come crying to your mum about how ‘Horrid’ he is. You're not helping him in the slightest!”
Peter’s mouth was ajar as the other’s shadow consumed his now doubtful short stature. “I don't—but he—Henry was being horrid…”
“Was he being horrid? Or are you saying that because you like to use him to lift yourself up, to make you look good? Because trust me, Peter, if Henry were out of the picture, you wouldn’t be ‘Perfect Peter’ anymore, you would be just as bad as—”
“Stop it!” He shouted, his owl eyes starting to glisten, “Mum says Henry is horrid, and she doesn’t lie! I am perfect, I am! I’m nothing like Henry!”
Ralph winced at his words; perhaps he had gone too far. His face softened, and he bent his knees slightly to meet Peter at eye level. The boy’s lips were trembling, afraid to say more or else he might contradict himself, or even worse, start bawling his eyes out right then and there. He couldn’t see it or understand it at the time, and maybe that was for the best, but his parents were not the loving, kind, and perfect people that Peter had made himself believe them to be.
“I’m going down to check on Henry now, okay?” Ralph sighed before standing upright once more. He closed the bedroom door and walked past Peter. “You’re a good kid, Peter, and a smart one at that. I know you’ll do the right thing and have a think about it.”
When Ralph was out of sight, it felt as though the world had spun erratically, and the walls were closing in. Peter never hated Henry, he really didn't. But it was always hard getting his parents attention when all they focused on was Henry, and studying was the one thing he was good at so just he just thought...
He closed his eyes, only to find himself hugging his knees as he leaned on his brother’s door. Thinking. Thinking hard. How long had he been like this to Henry? For the life of him, he couldn’t seem to remember.
Don’t be horrid, Henry!
Why must you be so horrid, Henry?
Why can’t you be more like Peter?
Detention, you horrid boy!
You always do this, Henry!
It’s always your fault!
What a lousy bogey brain!
You really are horrid, Henry!
Don’t be so dramatic, Henry!
Don’t blame Peter for what you did!
Stop being so lazy all the time!
I don’t want to hear your excuses!
Why don’t you try harder in school?
You’re so selfish, Henry!
God, Henry, you can’t do anything right!
Stop being horrid and pay attention for once!
Quit bouncing your leg; it’s distracting!
How many times do I have to tell you?
You’re not a rockstar, and you never will be!
You’re always ruining everything!
Mum! Henry’s being horrid!
Why are you like this, Henry?
Can’t you sit still for once in your life?
It’s like you’re not even trying!
Horrid! Horrid! Horrid!
…Was it for this the clay grew tall?
Henry sat in the darkness, feet off the prickly damp grass that surrounded him. He could feel every remark he’d ever heard in his life showering down on his scrawny figure like acid rain. Scraping him, scarring him.
He didn’t get it, he’s fifteen years old now, not some loud kid from primary anymore. What don’t they understand? Why is he always getting punished? No matter how much he studies, no matter how hard he tries to stay out of trouble, it’s never enough. He’s forever failing, forever horrid.
Is that the constant, then? Is he just meant to slave away for a dream unattainable for him until he dies? If that’s his destiny, what’s the point of doing anything at all?
O what made fatuous sunbeams toil/To break Earth’s sleep at all?
Henry reckoned he understood those lines now, why they resonated within him the way they did: It reminded him too much of himself. He was never one to be articulate, but he was a vulnerable child, with a temper as rickety as war and eyes as fragile as the Earth's crust.
“Permission to enter, Lord High Majesty?”
His shoulders jumped, face now engulfed in the dark; he hasn’t been called that in a while. Unsure of what to say, he remained silent.
“Don’t worry, mate. It’s just me,” Ralph peaked inside the fort that’d shrunk ever since they entered secondary school, “Peter’s still upstairs last time I saw him.”
Henry called out in a near whisper, “Come in.”
Ralph helped himself to the other side of the old couch, its springs squeaking as he sat down cross legged beside his best friend, whose back greeted him.
Neither boy spoke a word for a minute, the only sounds present were the soft twittering of house sparrows and the whispers of trees. The air was cool when Ralph exited the kitchen, and it fluttered inside the dark fort of the Purple Hand Gang enough to make both boys’ hairs twitch.
Finally, one of them opened his mouth, “Peter was being an absolute bellend—he deserved that.”
Henry snickered at the sudden sentiment, shoulders now loosened up. He turned a right angle, letting his back ease into the soft cushioned seat, and noticed Ralph’s head looking down, fiddling with the sleeves of his iconic red jacket. He managed to catch his lips grin in his peripheral vision.
“Thanks,” he muttered. “Er–Sorry about that, by the way.”
Perplexed, Ralph looked up, “About what?”
“My outburst. I didn’t want you to see that. I really didn’t.” Henry’s eyes didn’t dare look his way, “I get it if you think I’m really fucking pathetic now or something.”
“What? Why would I think you’re pathetic?” Ralph asked as if his very words defied the laws of physics, a response the other was not expecting in the slightest.
And at that very moment, Henry broke down.
“Well—because I just am! I’m always being told I’m doing everything wrong, and I try not to let it get to me, especially when I’m around you, ‘cuz you’re my best mate and I want you to think I’m this cool and funny person so you’ll stay with me, but I just couldn’t take it anymore and threw a stupid hissy fit, and now you know what I’m really like! I really am stupid and pathetic and horrid!”
Words spilled out so fast from his throat they made his voice crack; he felt like he could cry, or perhaps he already was. He was ready to witness the falling out of their friendship.
“Seriously, Henry?” Ralph got out of his seat and knelt down in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Look at me. Henry, look at me.”
Henry looked. He was uncomfortable and unaccustomed to the boy’s touch, yet it made him feel so warm inside that he didn’t dare mention it.
“You’re not pathetic or stupid, alright? You may think that, but I absolutely don’t in the slightest. And you don’t have to pretend to be okay around me, man! I’m always here for you, no matter what.”
Trying his best to maintain eye contact despite feeling so bare, Henry nodded.
Ralph began caressing his shoulders, soothing him as if his fingers were strumming a lullaby. “And what you said to Peter was justified—you letting out your pent-up emotions isn’t being horrid or immature. You had a right to be fuckin’ pissed with what he said!”
“Yeah?” With his eyes fixed on the other, Henry could not help but smile. He was absolutely not used to this kind of attention before. From a normal person, he would feel uneasy and downright patronized, but this was Ralph, and for some reason, it was different with him; he couldn’t quite place it...
“Yeah,” Ralph affirmed, allowing the quiet to seep in for a while as he examined the boy’s face.
His striking hazel eyes gleamed in the evening light, even when in the shadows. His auburn hair was frizzy, with some bits tucked behind his ear. Normally, Ralph’s fashion senses would act up, but this hairstyle didn’t look too bad on Henry; it sort of suited him nicely. Was his nose red from crying? He couldn’t tell, but Henry’s skin was always expressive like that growing up. It wasn’t until Henry’s eyes faltered and he started shifting in his seat did Ralph realize he was staring.
“Erm—” He sat back down right next to Henry, staring at his palms now, “And…you don’t know this, but I actually think you’re the coolest person ever.”
Henry had never felt such whiplash in his life. “Wait—Wha?” He exclaimed louder than he expected.
“It’s true!” Ralph fiddled with his red sleeves, “I mean, you’re so creative and talented! Your drawings are amazing, the songs you write for The Zero Zombies get stuck in my head, the pranks we’ve pulled over the years were so fun and it was all because of that clever brain of yours. And even recently, you’ve been busting your ass off with school so you can prove everyone how wrong they were of you!”
Henry shrugged, “Ah—well, I’m still failing so—”
“But even so! You’ve been at it for a month and honestly? That’s so fuckin’ cool, man! It’s why I’ve been trying hard as well.”
“Really? All because of me?” The boy was incredulous. He never knew he had made such an impact on anyone, much less on the one person who had to put up with him all these years.
Henry didn’t notice how big his smile was; it made Ralph smile just looking at him. “Yeah! Hell, you really inspire me, Henry, you know that?”
Without warning, Henry’s arms were wrapped around Ralph in a great bear hug, and it didn’t take long for the other to reciprocate. Tightly, they held each other—a blue jumper and a red jacket intertwined at dusk, both jam-packed with adolescence and affection.
In some distant future, perhaps embraces like these were nothing short of ordinary. In some distant future, perhaps the threads that tied them together unravelled to reveal that they worked better weaved into each other, inseparable and tightknit in stitch and life.
But in the present, Ralph relished in the £6 Ariel washing powder that coated Henry’s jumper. In the present, Henry savored the posh Dior Sauvage sprayed upon the shoulders of Ralph’s jacket.
In the present, Henry had awoken. Because he had been moved into the sun.
“Thank you. I, ah, appreciate that, really.” Henry chuckled, discreetly wiping the tears that streamed along his face; perhaps no words could truly express the gratitude his entire being felt to have someone as special as Ralph in his life. “Ah—Sorry for being such a nuisance.”“You have nothing to be sorry for, Henry—you’re not a nuisance.” Ralph’s hand stroked Henry’s hair ever so gently, like he was gold—gold so brilliant, so precious, he fears him unreal. “You’re human, and a pretty brilliant and beautiful one at that.”
Henry’s heart jolted. “‘Beautiful’?”
Ralph cleared his throat as he let go of the boy, who had missed his warmth already. His head was touching the cotton blanket that sheltered them.
“I’d read it in a book somewhere. Now let’s go back inside and finish that dumb homework, yeah?”
“Ah, right, let’s go.” Henry rose up too, trying not to laugh despite failing to break his endeared smile; Ralph doesn’t like reading books.
While he felt better about being beside his best friend, Henry was still conflicted on going back upstairs in the off-chance he would meet his brother. He still wasn’t over their fight, and despite Ralph promising to be at his defense if something did happen, it would nevertheless be quite awkward.
He didn’t hate him, really, much to his own surprise, though it’s a struggle for that sentiment to remain constant, especially in times like these—times when Peter does nothing for him but drive him mad, times when Peter despises him.
So naturally, when Henry saw the boy who has yet to grow up sitting in front of his bedroom door, golden locks jittering up and down atop his huddled knees, he was quite nonplussed.
He eyed Ralph, who shrugged back at him. They were unsure of what to do; on one hand, they needed to finish their English homework. On the other, Peter was in the way of the door.
Finally, Henry groaned and became the bigger person, “Hey, Peter.”
The confronted squeaked as his face sprang up to meet his brother. His eyes were freshly bloodshot.
“Henry! I, er—”
“Listen, worm, I know you’re probably cross at me, which is fine because I’m still cross at you, but you’re in the way of my door, and I want to go to my room.”
“Oh,” Peter sniffled, “Okay.”
He shuffled to the side in silence, his lips moving around as if searching for something to say.
“Thanks,” Henry replied. He didn’t really mean it; it was rather for the sake of social etiquette.
Peter caught the eyes that stood behind Henry, which kept darting between him and his brother while the latter wasn’t looking.
Say something. Ralph mouthed out. Hurry.
“Uhm! Henry?” Peter called without thinking.
“What is it now?” Henry gloomily turned his head, assuming the worst was about to come. Maybe he should’ve just stayed in the fort.
“I…You…”
“If you’re just gonna be tripping over your words, you may as well drop it and leave me be—”
“I’m sorry for everything, Henry...” He blurted at last, frequently looking to Ralph, who smiled and nodded back at him.
Henry definitely did not expect that. “Oh, it’s…alright, I guess?”
“No, really. I’m sorry!” Peter continued, with his voice weakening the more he spoke, “I’m sorry for being so horrid to you over the years! I’m sorry for always getting you in trouble! I’ve been so mean and—and horrid to you!”
Henry wasn’t sure how to react. This was possibly the first time Peter had been so emotional with him that didn’t involve crying for mum.
There was one time in their primary days, now that Henry thought about it, when Peter was sobbing because he broke their parents’ vase and feared he was going to be severely punished—punished like Henry when they realized he had done something horrid. He remembered it because of the look on his brother’s snotty face when he calmed him down, offering to take the blame for him.
Peter’s red owl eyes—that was no different to now—stared at him all confused, guilty, and relieved. Then he smiled, that was why he remembered it.
“I’m a terrible brother, and I’m ashamed of myself because of it!” The boy neared the end of his monologue, interrupted only by hiccups, “I promise from now on—from now on, I’ll be better! And I’ll be the most perfect brother that you could ever deserve!”
Henry watched as his brother’s head went back down, waiting for him to say something back. He winced—he was never any good with showing any other emotion towards him but irritation, much less affection. After all, how could he show something he was never given in the first place?
Hell, he wasn’t even sure if Peter was serious. The worm was crying and all, which could mean he was being genuine, but he always cries; Henry didn’t call him a smelly nappy baby growing up for nothing. Though as much as he hates to admit it, Peter was still his brother. Which didn't automatically forgive him for being a little thorn on his side all these years, but it did remind him that, in a way, he was also affected by the unfairness brought upon them by their parents, among many other adults.
Henry sighed. Unable to think of anything else to do to resolve the younger boy’s qualms, he placed his hand atop of his hair the same way he saw their mother would. Peter was always the one who loved physical affection.
“Calm down, worm. You’re getting the floor all gross and wet with your crying.”
He withdrew his hand, letting the blonde lift his head back up. “And apology half-accepted, I suppose.”
Peter’s eyes lit up as he wiped them. “Really?”
"Sure," Henry spoke a nonchalant hum. “So long as you stick to your word and quit being so 'perfect'. At least around me, alright?”
The younger boy sniffled one last time before nodding his head with that smile. The same smile from back then. Henry would be lying if he said seeing it again didn't make him feel a little...affected, for lack of a better word.
“Aw, what a sweet brotherly bonding moment,” Ralph cooed, “I’m gonna actually just throw up right now.”
“What? I’m just saying he’d be better off not being perfect. It gets on my nerves, is all.”
“Sure.”
This was too much mushy-gushy stuff for Henry’s liking—he did not like it one bit. On the bright side, if Peter were serious, maybe he didn’t have to worry about getting an earful from his parents as often anymore. And if that will be the case, maybe this was the start of something good. Henry might throw up too.
“Say, Peter,” Ralph changed the subject, “You said you finished all your homework, yeah?”
Peter dried the last of his tears, now smiling. “Oh, yes! Indeed, I have.”
“Think you could give us a hand with ours, then?”
“Ralph!” Henry cut him and his absurdity off almost immediately. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The boy in question wore the cheeky grin he never outgrew, “Testing his word.”
The front door opened to the sound of rustling trees and clicking pink heels that were taken off by their owner as she stepped foot into the house.
“I’m home!” She called out as she closed the door behind her. There was no response in the beginning, until a doorknob was heard being twisted and out came her beautiful son from his older brother’s room.
Peter greeted his mum with a warm hug, “Welcome home, mum!”
“Hello, pumpkin. Oh, how I’ve missed you so much!” She let out a hearty laugh as she let go of him, “I sure hope Henry wasn’t being horrid to you again, was he?”
Her golden child firmly shook his head with such certainty in his young face, it made her widen her eyes.
“Not at all! I had a lot of fun helping him and Ralph with their homework.”
Her mouth was ajar—Her Henry? Doing work and not being horrid? What on Earth is going on with him? “Is that so? He wasn't forcing you to, was he? Be honest with me—”
"I promise I'm not lying," Peter continued, with his eyes narrowing at her just the slightest bit, “He was very nice to me, too! Come with me!”
Peter led his mum up the stairs to Henry’s room where he opened the door to see his older brother and Ralph finishing up their poem annotations. Ralph respectfully greeted her with a wave and smile, meanwhile, Henry was a little startled to see his mother, but he gave a slight nod to her anyway.
“Oh, welcome home.” He softly spoke.
Henry’s mum couldn’t help but smile at this lovely change of pace, “Well, isn’t this a delightful surprise! It’s so refreshing to see you be so diligent for once.”
Henry shrugged his tense shoulders, “S’pose so,” was all he replied with. He could go and tell his mum how hard he had been working for the past month despite having nothing to show for it, but he didn’t want to ruin his relatively good mood.
She turned to face Ralph with an uncharacteristically big smile, replacing the old, dismally forced politeness with something a little more genuine, "Ralph, darling. Would you like to join us for dinner?"
He noticed her eldest son gripping his pen a little tighter at the invite with an expression he couldn't quite read. It wasn't anything bad, though, he was almost certain of it.
"I'd love to. But I promised my mum that I'd have dinner back at home." Ralph finally replied, his answer loosening the pen from Henry's fingers as his lips slightly...pouted. Huh, did he possibly want him to join them? That's quite... He shook his head slightly to get his thoughts straight.
It didn't take long until his mum closed the door again as her footsteps moved further and further away. Henry sighed, clumsily putting his things away.
"Guess you need to head out now if you don't wanna miss dinner."
"Guess I do," The other nodded, "You'll survive without me, I'm sure of it."
Ralph heard a playful scoff that turned into a giggle as he stood up to grab his things from Henry's bed. It was rare to witness Henry wear his emotions like that nowadays; he forgot how lovely a sound it was.
"Don't start projecting now, prick," Hazel eyes faced the brunet's direction, "I'm your inspiration and shit, after all."
"Dickhead."
"Asshole."
The two boys quietly muttered profanities to each other as they went down the flight of stairs, shoulders slightly shoving the other with faces that failed to hide the smiles off their faces. Henry stared at Ralph's form one more time as he opened the front door for him, "See you."
"See you," Ralph sighed back, eyes locked on his for a second too long before the door finally closed.
It always rained during this time of year.
Yet when Henry woke up the next morning, the rain had cleared overnight, and sunlight glistened in his auburn hair from his window. The first thing he heard was his brother knocking on his door, gently telling him to get ready for school, and the second was a notification from his phone from Ralph, greeting him with a good morning.
And while he knows this weather is only temporary, for some reason, he doesn't mind. He knew he'd still have to deal with people like his mum and Margaret, and he still would be a failure at times, but he also knew he had Ralph, and his brother too. And he supposes Miss Lovely would always be lovely when they cross paths, no matter what he does.
It was moments like this that reminded him. That within him resided a thumping chest, and maybe that was all that really mattered.
For the first time in a long time, the kind old sun’s light had awoken the Earth’s sleep and transformed the once infertile ground into an arable structure of clay, whose dear-achieved arms opened to welcome the very things that had nurtured it in the first place.
For the first time in a long time, Henry woke up with a smile.