Arrows Through Archer

by Nash Summers

There was no light at the end of the tunnel because there was no fucking tunnel. There was a pit and in that pit was nothing but darkness. In the center, stood I.

“Cold and beautiful, Archer. Some of the best things are.”

“Ah, Archer. We always hurt the ones we love.” “Why’s that, do you think?” “So that we know they love us too.”

“You’re like a brother to me, Archer. You’re not perfect, but no one is. And if I met a billion people on this planet, I’d still choose you. You and your silent fucking depression—you and your quiet heart and your fear of living.

The small moments of contentment weren’t worth this crippling pain. Life wasn’t worth this. How could it be when the people I loved most in the world were ghosts. I wasn’t all right. I wasn’t okay. I wouldn’t ever be okay.

Hope was easy to hear, easy to see, but almost impossible to feel. At least for me. Yet, there was something about that day, sitting there, listening to the impossibly sad stories of others with Mallory next to me that made me feel a shred of something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Sometimes words weren’t enough. Sometimes words weren’t anything at all. So instead of using useless tools in a moment surrounded by darkness pushing at its edges, slowly, I reached out and laced my fingers with his. Without saying a word, he squeezed my hand and didn’t let go.

Sometimes, words meant nothing. Other times, they meant far, far too much.

“Do you think some people only have a certain amount of love inside of them? Or a certain amount of fucks to give? Because I do. And I think I’ve reached my quota.”

Maybe if this universe of ours was different. Maybe if everything was different and the sky was the ocean and the clouds were the soil. Maybe if life hadn’t engrained me with apprehension or uncertainty or a longing for some things I obviously could not have. Maybe then, we would’ve had words for each other.

“I am good at it. Carpenter, remember? I’m good with my hands—both of them.” An image shoved its way into my mind. I consciously had to force my brain to expel it.

“Puzzles make you happy, don’t they?” Sharpshooter by nature, my instincts told me to go in for the kill. “It’s not the puzzles that make me happy, Mallory.” Immediately, his eyes locked with mine. “Don’t do this to me, Archer.” “Okay.”

People fall into each other in different ways. Some people fall together in laughter, surrounded by energy and joy. Some fall into each other in passion, unable to keep their skin from touching. But Mallory and I fell into each other slowly, gently, tentatively, like almost everything we did. We were quiet and fluid.

“What are we doing, Archer?” Mallory asked. Falling in love, I thought. But instead I said, “Kissing.”

“It would take a stronger man than me not to kiss you at least once. I had to know.” “And do you know now?” Briefly, Mallory glanced away from me and then back, but this time he wore a shy smile. “Not sure. Might have to try again.” So he did. Again, for long minutes that weren’t nearly long enough, Mallory kissed me.

“Do you know how beautiful you are? And not just this.” He traced his finger along my jawline, the tip of his thumb brushing my bottom lip. “You’ve got this old soul, and it’s serene and hushed and reminds me of the smell when it’s storming outside.”

Unfairly, he pulled me into his arms. And because Mallory was the shoreline and I was the waves in the sea, gravity took hold and I was dragged into his arms.

“You don’t think what we feel towards each other is worth taking a chance on?” I asked. He paused briefly. I watched a hundred expressions flicker across his face. And then, “No.” “No?” “No.” That was all it took to break my heart. A two-letter word. Not a death in the family, not a sibling disowning me. A two-letter word from the man I loved.

“We can’t keep loving ghosts, Mallory.” And for the last time, his eyes met mine. “It’s not that easy, Archer.” “Well, I guess we’re both about to find out if it’s any easier loving one more.”

No. This wasn’t one-sided. This—we—were magnetic. Between us ran a ley line. It was heady and deep, thicker than the Earth’s crust and hotter than its core.

“I’m sorry you didn’t stop me from leaving three years ago.” “Me too, Archer,” I said, looking out into the legion of onyx sky. “Me too.”

“Sweetheart, you can do whatever you want. I don’t have it in me to say no to you.”

“How can you not know I love you, Archer? I’ve dreamt of you every night that you weren’t by my side. I can’t imagine someone knowing you like I have and not loving you.”

I didn’t say anything, just ran my thumb against the back of his hand. In that touch, I hoped he knew how sorry I was for the way things had happened between us and how glad I was he was here now. I hoped he knew I’d do anything for him. I hoped he knew he was beautiful and imperfect and how desperately I wanted—needed—him to be happy.

“Mallory?” “Hm?” “I feel so light. Like maybe there is a light at the end of the tunnel.” “There is.” I kissed the top of his head. “And if there isn’t, I’ll dig a way out for us. Because I’ll be wherever you are. Now and forever.”