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1
Ivory is hurt. Nothing horrible, really, given the circumstances. A few scrapes, some bruises forming. Some bratty teenagers at school picked on him too much, but he handled it well enough. His mother, however, didn’t. She was upset, not at the circumstances, but because her precious God-fearing boy was hurt, stained, what would anyone at church think of them as a family if he showed with a black eye?
So, he doesn’t. He doesn’t go to the church Sunday, his parents ready to cite sickness to any concerned elderly woman around.
Ivory didn’t care all that much, though. He got to stay home with Esther, which he enjoys far more than church anymore. In Esther, he found reason. When Ivory first thought that, he mumbled under his breath to God, begging Him to not take it the wrong way. He gave him reason, too. It's just that, well, Esther replies to me, he talks to me, he sees me—do you?
They’re sitting on Esther’s bed, listening to music Ivory’s never even heard before. He’s watching Esther apply makeup over his skin, painting his face pure white, shadowed and smudged by eyeliner. His lips are solid black, too, and Ivory can’t stop staring at them.
Esther pauses, setting the makeup down. He turns to Ivory and smiles. “Wanna try?”
“What?”
“Do you wanna try the makeup,” he repeats. “It’s fun!”
“Oh, uh, it’s not me,” he waves his hands. “I just like… watching you.”
Esther exhales, like he’s shocked at it, like he’s not him. “Cute, that’s real cute.”
“Wh—Huh?”
He chuckles. “I’m messing with you,” Esther says.
He leans forward and Ivory’s heart nearly beats out of his chest. Esther’s hand holds the side of Ivory’s face, hesitating before pecking his lips. It’s quick and innocent, but Ivory’s heart flutters. Esther doesn't move away instantly, though, his thumb swipes under Ivory’s bottom lip.
“It’s.. on your lips, I’d wash it off before mom and dad come home,” Esther says, finally pulling back. Ivory blinks at him. “Don’t forget.”
Ivory does forget, though. By the time their parents return home, leftovers from the dinner in hand, his mother sighs at him, then looks at Esther, relaxed on the bed. She mumbles something about Esther influencing Ivory before storming out of the room.
2
Esther gets in a fight one day. It’s mostly an accident. His friends kept talking, making jokes about Ivory, jokes about him and Ivory, and he just snapped. It was ridiculous, he’s never been like this, especially towards friends. He kept telling himself they meant no harm, but it got to a point— He returned home with a few bruises on his face and some dried blood beneath his nose. His mother tried to look at them, but he swiftly walked past her, smacking hands away to head to his bedroom.
Ivory was there, though, laid out on his bed, reading Fangoria. It isn’t unusual, but given it was a school day, it was odd.
“Why are you home?” Esther asks, digging through his basket of clothes. The shirts were definitely not clean, but it’d do, anything without blood and dirt on it pleases him.
He shrugs. “Called out sick.”
“But you aren’t sick,” he mumbles, peeling the old shirt off to slip into the new one. “So, you’re lying now?”
“I was, but I’m fine now,” Ivory replies. He sets the magazine down and looks up. “What happened to you?”
“Nothing happened,” Esther curses himself because it’s not even remotely true and there’s evidence to prove it. Ivory’s face falls flat. “Some assholes at the train tracks, nothing big.”
It’s kind of bigger than that, but Ivory doesn’t need to know. The kid is already worried he’s a freakshow.
“Es, who was it?”
“Don’t know.”
“Yes, you do,” Ivory pushes himself off the bed. He stands in front of Esther, looking at every new bruise, every small cut, anything that happened to him. “Can you wait? Don’t go yet.”
Esther sighs, watching his brother leave the bedroom. He can’t say no to his brother, though, so he sits on the bed. The magazine is laid out, marked for Ivory. He smiles. It’s weirdly endearing, the same boy who was scared of trees with no leaves is reading a horror magazine just to fit in with his brother.
Ivory returns with a damp rag and a couple of bandages, which is just as weirdly endearing. He stands between Esther’s knees, tilting his chin up. “Who was it?” he asks again, quieter this time.
Esther’s shoulders relax. “Jordan,” he sighed. “I don’t—I just did it.”
“Yeah?” Ivory asks. “Couldn’t tell.”
He grunts.
“Sorry. Why, though? You never get like that.”
Oh, just that Jordan thinks I’m in love with my baby brother and it bothered me because I might be. Yeah, can’t really say that.
“Said something about Kelsea, wasn’t cool, you know?”
He pretends to ignore Ivory’s eye twitch, or his sudden annoyed movements. Almost like he thought Esther would defend Kelsea, but not him, or something like it.
“Yeah,” Ivory mutters. “You’re a good friend. Better brother, though.”
Esther smiles, watching him peel off the band-aid and soothe it over a rough cut. Ivory plants a kiss over it and suddenly it all feels worth it.
3
Ivory likes his brother. He likes his style, he likes his personality, his interests, his face. He likes his lips, too, a lot. It’s not his fault, really, it used to be a way to kill time. At least, they said that to one another, it was as good an excuse as any.
It’s late at night and they’re laid in bed, basking in each other's warmth, shoulder to shoulder. Esther shifted to cup Ivory’s face, thumb rubbing along his cheekbone. He smiled, leaning in to leave a soft kiss on his lips. Ivory doesn’t let him back away this time, though. His hand grasps Esther’s arm, keeping him in place.
Ivory’s lack of experience shows, but it’s sweet. At least, it feels sweet, but his nails dig deeper into Esther’s skin, opening his mouth with his brothers. It’s gross, he can taste all the old sugary drinks Esther had, especially when his tongue slides into his mouth and against his. Ivory jolts — the sensation is too weird for him to think about.
It doesn’t last long, Esther notices his sudden change in energy, so he backs away, looking at him all worried. It makes Ivory want to roll his eyes. Esther’s too worried for him all the time.
“Are you okay?” Esther asks.
Ivory whines. “No, you stopped.”
“It was weird,” he says. “It’s weird.”
“Yeah, but… isn’t the idea of kissing weird? You’re in my mouth.”
“N—Well, no, not always, but—I mean, you’re my brother, Ivory,” he sighs. “That’s why it’s weird.”
Ivory pouts at him, like a kicked puppy.
“Don’t do that—”
“It’s not weird, though…”
Esther’s hand drags over his face. “It is to me,” he says, though it sounds like a complete lie. “It is to everyone else.”
Ivory’s pout shifts into—nothing. He looks oddly betrayed by something, but his face is flat. “Do you think I’m weird?” he asks with a wobbling voice.
“No, Ivy, never,” Esther says softly. He exhales, leaning his forehead against Ivory’s. “Just give me some time, okay?”
Ivory hums. “Can—Can you still hold me?”
He sounds so young, then, and he is, so of course he would—but he sounds ten again, whining about how scared he is to be alone, asking Esther if he could stay in his bed.
“C’mere, dummy,” he pulls Ivory into his arms. “I love you, you know that?”
Ivory nods into Esther’s chest. He doesn’t say it back.
4
Esther is drunk and he’s returning home later than he has in a long time. The porch lights are off, but Ivory’s bedroom light is on. He notices it from the window out front. He hums, entering the house, and making his way to his bedroom.
While the lights are on, Ivory’s under blankets. All he can see is his eyes and blonde hair spread out on the pillow case. “You were gone really long,” Ivory whispers first. “I was worried…”
“Was out with friends,” Esther says. He stands in the doorway rather awkwardly. “‘M sorry, Ivy.”
Ivory shrugs. “It’s late, though,” he says. “You should go to bed.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Why’s the light on?”
“I wanted you to know I was awake if you came home,” he says quietly. The closer Esther gets to the bed, the more he realizes Ivory was crying. “Now you know.”
“Ivy,” Esther says, but doesn’t know where to go from there. “I’m here now, okay?”
Ivory waits a moment before turning his back to Esther. It hurts a little, right in the middle of his chest. Esther doesn’t like that, though, so he toes off his shoes, tosses his jacket beside them, and pulls back the blankets, moving beneath them, and beside his brother.
He doesn’t do anything yet. He half-expects Ivory to turn and bury himself into him like always, but he doesn’t. Esther can tell he wants to though, he’s all twitchy about it.
“Ivy,” he says again, an arm snaking across his side. “Iiivyy, look, ‘m here.” Esther continues, tugging his small frame into him.
Ivory exhales shakily, then sharply inhales. Oh, he’s crying again, Esther thinks.
“Baby, hey,” Esther tries to get him to look at him, but it’s harder than he thought. “What’s wrong?”
He sniffles and uses the back of his arm to wipe—something from his face. Ivory turns back to his side, looking at Esther. His face is red and his cheeks are tearstained. Esther found him rather pretty, then. “You were g’nna leave me,” he says, exhaling. “You have s—so many friends, Es, they love you, what—what if you forget ‘bout me? You were gone so long, thought you left me behind, or—or, what if you love someone else?”
Esther smiles at that, oddly enough. It’s too sweet not to.
“What are you smilin’ at?” Ivory asks.
“You’re sweet,” Esther mutters, kissing his forehead. “I couldn’t forget about you, lovebug.”
Ivory huffs and relaxes into his brother. “Your breath stinks.”
“Oh, yeah?” Esther presses his lips against Ivory’s longer one time, then quickly twice more. His lips press against the tear soaked cheeks, too. “Now you smell like it.”
Ivory’s face drops, eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed. “You’re mean.”
Esther nods. “And I’m here,” he replies. “C’mon, you need your beauty rest.”
He doesn’t respond, but his eyelids begin to droop at some point, before closing entirely. Esther kisses over them before tugging him impossibly closer.