o7 | kaleidoscope nights

VELVET HUGS MY TORSO, A matching strip encircling my neck like a choker; alien against my skin. I like the feeling, like it surrounds me on all sides―a python, waiting to squeeze the air out of my lungs. Rebel's the predator and I'm the prey, and my nails itch for the moment I can rip the memory of her from my skin, detach myself from the girl who has become a stranger to me.

I shiver as a cool breeze rattles through the empty station, stirring flurries of leaves scattered across the ground disturbing the peace. After eleven, trains usually reduced to hourly, and tonight isn't an exception―the station is still and eerily silent.

The sky is like a midnight sea, only six stars shining visibly, and the moon a half-slice; beaming down like a mother to the night. A plump vineyard peach, searing through the overwhelm of the night like acid against alkali. Cold light, but a warm breeze, electrified by the night falling upon the world: an all-consuming curtain, sighing from the lashes of thin clouds, kissing the earth with the silver of moonlight.

Though trees shedding tears of foliage scrape the midnight sky, I'm not surprised when the sound of footsteps bloom in the quietude. Heavy, approaching me with a steady, unfaltering gait. Right behind me. A scratchy voice in my ear―long time no see.

My muscles spring to action, shoving at Archer, watching as he seems to dip and fall into the satined darkness.

My stomach gives way when the toes of my boots scuff over nothing, an obfuscated yellow line an arm's length behind me. Emptiness, spanning the distance between me and the platform that marks the other side, jutting out from the thickness of the shadow that blankets the seemingly endless gulf.

My silent scream pierces the air―but then he's laughing, gleeful in the face of my terror; offering a hand for me to take so he can help me down.

His hand is firm around mine, another around my waist to ease me down. Unsteady feet meet the metal railings of the train track, and in the chill, I can feel that my face is white with fear.

"This is crazy. I'm not doing this." A panicked whisper escapes my lips as I steal my hand from his. This isn't right, and this world is far from the right way round, and the thought of what's going to come next makes my stomach churn. Defying logic, defying everything I believe in, stranding me somewhere where I'm far out of my depth. "What if the train comes?"

"It won't if we hurry up." Archer points out, impatient. He beckons me with a wave of his hand, using the other to feel along the wall. "It's over here, come on."

"Over where―hey!" A sharp tug on my wrist has me on my knees, crouching through a small passage with him leading. The small stone passage leads to a drop-down point, rubber soles slapping against the solid ground, and the grey void blooms with colour.

Paint pools across the slate floor; explodes in every colour under the sun across the walls. Coruscating like scatters of gems in a trove of molten treasures; fruit-coloured sparks incinerating into the flames of a dragon's breath, the guardian of the cave.

A soft smile touches Archer's lips as he takes it all in, a hand finding a brush left discarded on the floor. Black paint stains its bristles, stains the wall―gentle, curving strokes, drawing him away from me.

I can only watch from a distance; my planet in orbit of a world that is its polar opposite. Observing him be absorbed in his art, paint like his dreams depended on it; like it builds up his world every time it crumbles.

I know art, but he loves to paint the way I love to sing, and this is where his heart is.

I can never live up to that.

The heels of my boots click against the ground as I approach him, careful to avoid the splotches of paint. "What is this place, anyway?"

"Nowhere." His laugh is a maniacal mix of amusement and humourlessness. "Just a place I love, but you haven't seen half of it yet. This is only my part."

"Then what are the other parts?"

"Follow me and find out." Dropping the brush so it clatters to the ground, he smirks, taking a moment to dip his eyes across my body in admiration. Somehow, I don't shrink at his gaze. In a way, it builds my confidence, especially when he says, "Wow. You look great."

"Because I don't look like Rebel's puppet?" My comment is dubious, but I feel like it's accurate, hitting the nail on the head. "I dress better when I'm not being manipulated or whatever, I guess."

"I wasn't thinking that, but we'll go with it." He cracks a grin, carding a hand through his dark waves of hair. "Let's go,"

Archer stoops into the next hallway, opening into a series of tributaries stemming from the main stream. Door after door after door, bursting with life; music trickling through the silence and dancers quickly twisting and writhing through the emptiness.

What was once a simple underground bunker is a city bustling with life; with excitement, with people crowding every corner, full to bursting point with passion and sunshine and love for what they do. It's a home for the limitless, for the boundless, for the free―an anarchical world with no rules to follow, and no puppets on another person's string.

As I glance to the side―take in his flushed cheeks and shiny eyes―I conclude it's Archer's world.

But as I take in the scene unfolding before me, I'm not sure if it could ever be my own.

Because I know what I gravitate towards; what magnetises me, pulls me to its depths. But I will never be the people that dedicated their lives to singing. I'll always just be someone that let it become a hobby when I want it to be my life, and that will always set me apart from everyone here.

I gave up on my dreams. Everyone that's here is here to make sure they never will.

"I should go back. I don't belong here," I murmur, throat dry.

"Everyone belongs." He shrugs a shoulder. "This can be your world too, you know."

"No, it can't," I insist. "Everyone here is so beautiful and ambitious and talented. I'm not like that."

"You can be all those things, Ivory." On impulse, he grabs my hand, dragging me with him. At first, it seems aimless, but then his dark eyes become molten with a new idea. "There's someone I want you to meet. Maybe they'll help you realise that you don't have to be a certain way to love who you are and what you're doing. Something that Rebel never could have taught you."

"I can't." I don't quite have the inclination to let go―I like physical contact. It keeps me grounded, stable. "These people don't have any rules. These people are like you. I don't think I can be."

Archer's intense gaze piercing into my eyes soon becomes soft. "You really don't want to go? I don't want to force you."

He doesn't say it, but I can sense his disappointment. It makes me stiffen, then sigh. "Okay. Okay. I guess it could be fun."

He smiles, starting to lead me into the next passage. The whole place is organised like a secret city, and the next place is like a hidden street, tucked deep into the recess of the inner-city.

A piano is situated in the centre, a boy about our age sat in front of it. When he places his fingers on the keys, he extricates a melody―hauntingly beautiful, swirling through the air.

His eyes are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, shading his vision, but he seems to know the instrument like it is an attachment to his body, and the song is beginning to swallow my soul.

When the song reaches its first chorus, I can't help the lyrics seeping from my skin, following every note he plays.

A chorus that melts my mind, rendering all my thoughts useless except for the ones that persuade me to keep singing:

Because I know this song with every beat of my heart, one of the ones on my slower, sadder playlist, the one I scarcely play, only think of, when I need it most.

Then, as the bridge folds back into the last chorus, and tears burn behind my eyes.

I haven't sung in so long, not even in the shower. Not more than mumbling fragments of lines while I get dressed, or mouthing words beneath my breath in an interaction with that monster.

The fact that the urge to still leaves my lips so easily is a reminder that maybe it's not too late. I don't have to tie myself down, and maybe, I could still achieve the thing I love.

A round of applause interrupts my thoughts. Two sets of hands, Archer's, and the boy at the piano's; the latter's smile stretches from ear to ear. "It's been a while since someone's sung to my playing. Thanks for bringing this girl, Arch."

"It isn't a problem. She needed it as much as you," Archer says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Anyway, Ivory, this is JJ Banks. JJ, this is Ivory Blue."

"Oh, she's the one you mentioned before." JJ nods solemnly. "The pretty one, right? Dark hair, copper eyes..."

"Yeah," Archer agrees, fixing his gaze on me. "She's also the one who is probably stumped how you can play so well."

"Yeah, I am," I stutter, half-startled to be included in the conversation, and otherwise bowled over by the majesty of JJ's playing. "You're so, so good. I haven't really sang in a while, and it's nice to hear something that makes me want to sing again. Were you trained?"

"Self-taught." JJ shrugs a shoulder. "I would have been trained, but most piano teachers give up on you once they realise you can't actually see the keys. So, I kind of had to figure things out myself."

"You're blind?" I blurt, shocked, then clap my hands over my mouth, realising how that sounds. "Oh my god―I didn't mean to make that sound so―I'm so sorry,"

"Woah." Archer lays a hand on my shoulder. "Chill, Ivory."

"Yeah, it's fine. I mean, I don't hear it down here, but as soon as I'm back upstairs, you know, you do get a lot of backhanded stuff," he explains, adjusting his dark-lensed glasses. "I'm glad you just said it to my face, instead of acting as if I'm not here. I do know I'm blind, I have done my whole life, it doesn't need to be a secret around me," JJ jokes, easing my previous nerves.

"Thanks, and sorry again," I say, smiling sheepishly.

"It's alright." JJ adjusts his position so he's facing Archer instead of me. I assume he judges our placement from our voices and footsteps, and I make a mental note not to move around too much without any noise to give him some kind of warning. "I like this girl. Bring her down here more often."

"Believe me," Archer drawls, turning to wink at me, before switching back to JJ. "I want to make it so that she never wants to leave."

The two of them laugh, some inside joke, and I shift slightly. "I can't do that, Ebony would never survive without me," I quip, and Archer grins.

"He'd love it down here too," he insists, and maybe in one night, Archer Finley has grown to know my little brother better than I do. ���Like for everyone else down here, it could be home."

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