A Crown of Dove Feathers
"I'm not feeling well," was what he said, and Sam believed him. Eric looked so pitiful curled up under his duvet with his eyes drearily half-closed. Sam told him it was all right and that he could go to the party alone, that it was not a problem. He got his brother a mug of tea before departing, instructing Eric to stay in bed and leave the windows locked. Eric promised.
But the party was not the same without his brother. There was little fun to be had in a house of drunken strangers, little amusement when Eric was not there to laugh with him. Even Sam's hope of romancing Simon fell flat when he realized the boy had not come, Jack informing him, wolfishly, that he had gone to see family instead. The head chorister also disclosed that Ralph had not come as well. A lack of friends to converse with made Sam leave the gathering sooner than he would have liked, another instigator the sexual advances of a girl he had never met before upsetting the half-bottle of schnapps in his stomach.
Sam assumed his brother to be sleeping and shut the front door quietly. He rubbed his sore eyes with one had and glided the other along the stair railing to keep himself from stumbling, slowing to yawn. He was startled by an outcry.
The noise sounded something like a cat meowing backwards. Confused, Sam paused, deciding if he had really heard anything at all. After a moment the sound came again, longer but softer this time. It had a guttural note to it that gave Sam the image of someone upchucking. And that someone could only be one person: Eric.
Thinking illness to have sickened his brother, Sam rushed upstairs to aid in the plight he was sure was occurring. The space under Eric's door was lit dimly by lamplight. Sam turned the door handle, opening the door just enough to view inside.
"Eric...?" His asking was overcast by another cry. And what he saw before him horrified Sam.
Eric was leaning back on his bed with a hand in his mouth to muffle his mewling. His leg was arched over the shoulder of a fair-hair boy Sam knew all too well. Ralph's golden locks were carelessly mussed, sweeping over his forehead and curled slightly by heat. He rocked forward on his knees and Eric keened behind his hand. Gently, Ralph took the hand away, pecking Eric on the lips. He spoke something lowly and Eric shivered and whined.
"Oh... lord..." Was all Sam managed before he covered his mouth and whirled around. The door came with him and shut, hard, the force causing the wall to vibrate. Sam paid it little mind as he scurried to the bathroom. He knelt and vomited the contents of his stomach into the toilet. He retched half a dozen times before he had a moment of hesitation. A hand came and scooped together his hair. Sam looked up and blinked away the hot tears, seeing his twin brother crouching beside him.
"There there..." Eric soothed, dabbing at the vomit on his brother's chin with a towel. He had the heart to at least put on a shirt and pants before going to tend to Sam, although the boy hardly cared. Then, almost teasingly, Eric added, "Just let it all out."
"Jesus," Sam blubbered, his throat and mouth burned by bile. "Jesus, Eric."
Eric waited as Sam hurled again. He cleaned his brother's face once more, keeping his hair aloft as well. Sam spat the grotesque taste from his mouth.
"We didn't think you'd come home so soon."
It was not Eric who had spoken. Sam craned his head, his gaze finding the fair-hair boy at the threshold. Ralph was leaning on the doorframe, running fingers through his tangled hair. He paused to look at Sam.
"Sorry."
Sam spat again but said nothing. Eric rubbed his back to comfort him, speaking softly.
"Sorry, Sam," Eric continued the apology for the excuse. "Next time-"
"I'll knock," Sam concluded for him. "Next time I'll knock."
Ralph laughed mildly and Eric flushed pink.
