Who: Ezra and Archer (and NPC boyfriend Blake) When: night, Sunday, May 13th Where: the house in Black Cove Warning: murder, sex, baaaad stuff Status: complete
When Archer had woken up, he’d been in a house. It wasn’t the kind of house he was used to -- there wasn’t fungus growing out of the walls, the floors didn’t creak with rot, the air was clear and didn’t stink of mildew. It was emptier than it should have been, nothing in the rooms but bare carpets and tile and closed blinds. For a long time he’d just lain on that carpet, staring at a white ceiling and watching the light gradually move across it, his head blessedly empty. He didn’t know his name or where he was, but that didn’t seem important. What mattered was that he was somewhere Else, somewhere safer. There was no fog outside the windows, and no monsters as far as he could see.
So he slept on his back on the carpet, and he walked silently through the house, dirty fingers tracing the shapes of the walls as he got familiar with it. He found a small bar of hotel soap someone had left behind in one of the bathroom drawers, and he got as clean as he could with it and the cold water in the shower. That blessed, clear cold water. Archer had drunk enough of it to make himself throw up, then drank some more. There was a pain in his stomach that took him a while to recognize as hunger. After almost two days in the empty house, the hunger was what finally drove him out of it.
He was in a quiet neighborhood, and after lurking around in the shadows of tree-heavy back yards for a while, Archer saw a family from one house leave in their car. It was easy to break a window pane out of the back door and let himself in. Their kitchen was well stocked, and after another bout of puking after stuffing himself too fast, Archer finally quieted his hunger. Unmindful of the risk he was taking, he went and took a hot shower in the master bathroom, and stole some clean clothes, leaving his own filthy rags in a pile on their floor. It felt good to be clean, good and right. He only salvaged his dirty wallet out of his pants as an afterthought, finally looking at it as he strolled down the sidewalk like he belonged there.
Archer Cassidy, that was apparently his name. He had an address. Plenty of credit cards, but no cash. There were some other odds and ends in there that didn’t make much sense to him. He decided to go to the address on his license. It was quite a walk -- he seemed to have no trouble remembering the layout of this town -- but Archer didn’t mind. It wasn’t very cold, and now that he was clean and fed he felt like he could walk anywhere. Upon arrival, Archer stood in the driveway for a long time, staring at the two cars parked there. One was familiar -- Ezra’s, something in the back of his mind whispered -- but the other ... it was out of place. Not supposed to be there. Intruder.
It was late now, most of the lights in the house were off. Archer still waited for almost another hour before he headed around the back, his movements a bit jerky. There was an intruder. He had to fix that. Because this was his place, that sense was growing bigger and bigger. His house, his back porch, his hidden key that his deft fingers found so quickly. Archer let himself in, toeing out of his stolen shoes near the door and pushing it quietly back into place. He moved into the kitchen and stood there for a while, breathing in the shadows, his eyes roaming over the counters, memories drifting back into his mind. Yes, this was right, this was where he belonged. And he wasn’t going to let any intruders usurp his rightful place.
It had been months since the night Archer had disappeared, throwing Ezra's life into a tailspin. There'd been no sign of him other than his car out on Witcham Road, no use of his credit cards, no phone calls or emails, absolutely nothing. It was like he'd disappeared without a trace. He wasn't the only one who had disappeared, but the police were no help, with no leads as to where he might have gone. Eventually, Ezra had been forced to accept that there were only two possible reasons for Archer not to come home--either he'd left him or he was dead.
Both options were devastating and not knowing just made it worse, but his friends were supportive, suddenly there when he needed them. People he hadn't talked to in forever came back into his life and one in particular struck a chord with him. He'd always thought Blake was hot, but they'd never actually dated. All the times that he seemed to be available, Ezra had been with Archer, except this time it wasn't the case and Blake slid into his life with very little effort. They didn't have quite as intense a relationship as he'd had with Archer, but there were some benefits to that as well. There wasn't near as much fighting and there was a lot more cuddling. Maybe they were moving things a little fast, but Ezra liked having him around. The house didn't feel quite as empty. It was easier to sleep at night with someone curled up against him, which was just where he was, cozy in bed with his boyfriend, unaware that the past was about to come crashing in on the present.
Archer finally moved through the kitchen and deeper into the house. The more steps he took, the more familiar everything became. This was his house, he remembered being there now. Remembered placing this painting on the wall or that piece of furniture there. It hadn’t been just him though. There had been another man with him ... a sweet handsome man with a soft smile. A man who was Archer’s. “Ezra,” he whispered to himself as he approached the stairs. Yes, Ezra was his just as much as the house was. More, really. Archer was back from somewhere dark and evil and dirty, and now it was time to claim his man again.
He walked silently down the hallway, his feet bare and his heart beating hard. Archer quietly turned the bedroom doorknob and pushed it open. His eyes had adjusted to the dark and he felt hyper-aware of everything, every nerve tingling. He didn’t feel any surprise to see that there were two human-shaped lumps in the bed next to one another. Archer walked forward to peer at their faces in the dark, standing at the foot of the bed for what felt like a long time while a dark chasm opened up inside of him. Or maybe it had always been open, maybe he’d just never been brave enough to look into it before. He had changed though. The fog and the Bad Place had changed him. Archer wasn’t afraid anymore.
Not being afraid didn’t make him stupid though. As much as he wanted to yank that other lump out of bed and choke the life out of it, he knew that wasn’t the best way to go about things. Ezra was sensitive. Archer had to protect him. So he decided to wait. If his opportunity didn’t come tonight, it would come eventually, and the house was big enough to shelter him until then. Archer moved silently to the open closet and tucked himself into a shadowy spot where he could still see the bed.
As it turned out, he didn’t have to wait for too long. After some shifting around, the man sleeping with Ezra tossed the blankets off and got up. Archer watched him intently, expecting him to head toward the master bathroom. Instead he shuffled out the bedroom door and down the hall. Archer waited for another few heartbeats, watching Ezra’s shape on the bed, but his boy didn’t move. Good. He exited the closet, bare feet just a whisper against the carpet as he followed the intruder down the hall at a good distance. The path took him through the living room, and Archer took one of the fire pokers off of the rack next to the fireplace while the man rummaged around in the fridge.
Archer heard him gulp down something out of a carton as he got into place. His body felt like it was humming, full of awareness and strength and rightness. This was his home, his place, his man, and this guy had violated all of them. The last thing Blake saw when he shut the fridge door and turned away from it was Archer’s smiling face. He brought the fire poker down on the man’s head, delighted to hear it actually whistle through the air. The impact was delightfully hard, sending a pleasant jolt up through his arm. Blake let out a short cry and then collapsed to the linoleum like he’d lost all his bones.
Archer stared at him for a few heartbeats, watching his body twitch its last and then go still, blood starting to spread around his head like a halo. A sense of elation and satisfaction flooded Archer’s core, almost erotic in its intensity. Archer licked his lips, then let the weapon clatter to the floor and let out a cry like he’d been startled. “Ezra!” he called, putting much more distress into his voice than he really felt. “Oh my god!”
Ezra woke with a jolt, his arm reaching for the side of the bed where Archer-- no, Blake had been sleeping. Archer hadn't slept there for months, so it wasn't immediately clear to him why he thought of him first, outside of years of history. "Babe?" he called as he climbed out of bed, his feet hurriedly taking him towards the source of the noise. He stopped cold when he saw Archer in the kitchen, his form familiar, even in the dark. "Archer," he gasped, his heart suddenly pounding as he went for the light. "What happened? Where's Blake?" He didn't have to wait for an answer. As soon as he turned on the light he could see his boyfriend, crumpled on the ground, blood spilling across the tile floor. A few feet away lay the fire poker and suddenly the distress in Archer's voice made sense. "Oh my god," he muttered, panic rising along with his voice as he crouched beside Blake and shook him, trying to wake him. "What did you do?!"
As he watched Ezra rush to the dead man’s side -- Blake, his name was apparently Blake -- Archer was momentarily tempted to snatch the poker back up and bash his head in too. What kind of welcome home was that? Archer could forgive him though, he was in shock. Nobody wanted a corpse in the kitchen, especially not one that had been sleeping in the same bed only minutes ago. He knew he had to play this right if he didn’t want to kill Ezra too, and he didn’t. Archer kept his expression as surprised as he could muster, even though Ezra wasn’t even looking at him. “I didn’t know,” he said, sounding breathless. “I -- I thought he was an intruder, I just got back, I didn’t ... fuck, Ezra, is he dead?”
Ezra shook Blake again, then felt for a pulse, but he could already tell how useless it was. Blake’s eyes were open and empty and the amount of blood spilling across the floor was frightening. He’d always heard that head wounds bled a lot, but seeing it was completely different. And awful. Ezra grabbed hold of the kitchen counter as a wave of dizziness hit him. “Yeah… yeah, I think so,” he said, his voice filled with dread. “What the fuck…. We should… we should call an ambulance. It was an accident. You came home and— and where the fuck have you been?!” It was hard to focus on anything but the dead man on his kitchen floor, but that question begged an answer.
There was no way in hell Archer was going to let Ezra call for an ambulance. He would bash his brains in before that happened, much as he loved him. Or maybe he would just knock him out and tie him up or something. He had faith he would know what to do when the time came. He could feel that confidence singing in every fiber of his being. He was in complete control of this situation -- and nobody was going to take that control away from him again. Archer knew he still had to play the game for Ezra though, he would never accept this new attitude with his new boyfriend freshly dead on the floor. They would deal with the fact that he even had a new boyfriend later. “I don’t know exactly,” he said in a small voice, his eyes on Ezra. “Locked ... locked in this terrible place. It was hell, Ez, I don’t-- ... I missed you.” Looking pained, Archer tried to reach out to touch Eza’s arm.
"I missed you, too," Ezra whispered, his voice beginning to quiver. "I thought you left me. I thought you left me for dead." But now he was back, saying that he'd been locked up, and Ezra wanted desperately to cling to him, except there was Blake, dead on the kitchen floor. Ezra took Archer's hand and squeezed it, wishing he could better comfort him, but the present situation made it impossible. "What do we do?" he said, his voice cracking as looked over at the body. He wasn't sure he loved Blake, but he'd been good to him, kind and compassionate, and he was a good man. He didn't deserve this. Ezra felt the tears swell up inside him and he swallowed them back, trying to remain focused on the moment. "I need to get my phone," he said, rubbing his eyes as he rose to his feet. It was time to call for help.
The waver in Ezra’s voice was music to Archer’s ears, and the hand squeeze just sealed it. He felt a wave of smugness and wanted to rub it in the dead man’s face, but ... too late for that, he supposed. Ezra was his and always had been. No would-be replacement could take him. He would get over this awful tragedy, Archer felt sure, and then they would be happy again. “No!” Archer said, putting a note of panic in his voice. He grabbed for Ezra’s arms, turning him away from the corpse so Archer could stare ‘desperately’ into his eyes. And if he was being honest, he was a tiny bit nervous -- he didn’t want to have to harm his beautiful boy. He just wanted his life back. “No, please,” Archer went on, clutching at him. “Please just -- let’s think about this, okay? I’ve been missing, right? And suddenly I’m back and I -- I killed someone? They’ll arrest me on the spot, Ezra, and I can’t be trapped again, please I can’t --” That prospect brought genuine distress into his eyes, which could only be helpful. “I didn’t leave you on purpose, I never wanted to hurt you, I was in this, this place for ages and it was so fucking awful, please don’t turn me in Ezra. I’m so sorry baby ...”
Ezra’s eyes widened as Archer grabbed him and he stared back at him as he did his best to process what Archer was asking of him. In his head, there was no other option than calling the police, though he could see how bad it would look. It was hard to claim self defense when Blake had been the one staying there—Archer had been gone so long they’d thought he was dead. Ezra wanted to hear all about where he’d been, and he’d love an explanation for why he’d left him in the condition he’d been in, but that all felt like it could wait. They had to deal with this. “What are you proposing we do, Arch?” he asked, his own panic starting to take hold. He didn’t want anyone to arrest Archer, but he didn’t see a way around calling the cops. “We can’t just leave him. He’s in our house. And we’re not going to bury him in the backyard. His family deserves to know what happened to him. Do you know how hard it was when you were gone? If you didn’t leave me, I thought you might’ve died, but there was no body. They need that closure. And—And if he did disappear, this is the first place they’d look.”
Archer had zero empathy for Blake’s family, couldn’t care less about their potential suffering or how they might worry. Burying him in the backyard would just be a foolish thing to do, because Ezra was right that this would be the first place everybody would start looking for him. Since apparently their ridiculous affair was common knowledge. Archer didn’t want that kind of attention. He nibbled on his bottom lip as he thought, the answer not immediately obvious to him. He knew it would come, and it would be fine though. Everything was going to be fine from now on. Archer kept hold of Ezra’s arms while his brain scanned over possible plans, glancing between him and the body behind him. “We can make it look like an accident,” he said after a moment or two, his voice low and intense. He met Ezra’s gaze again. “A real accident, a car accident. We can put him in his car, and-- and ... run it into a tree. Or off the cliff at Overlook. Just a terrible accident, everybody gets closure.”
This was insane. This wasn’t what you did when someone died. And yet, Ezra found himself considering it. He hadn’t even begun to accept the fact that Blake was dead, it still felt like some kind of terrible dream, yet he knew things would only get worse when the police showed up. They would arrest Archer and even if they eventually discovered he was innocent, it would be a blemish on their reputation forever. It was selfish, but Ezra just wanted this all to go away. What Archer was proposing… it would steer the blame away from them. Ezra stared at him for a long moment, then dropped his eyes away with a sigh of resignation as he seriously considered it. They’d been drinking earlier in the evening. An accident was plausible, but rigging it up would be more difficult. Ezra didn’t think they could run the car into a tree without one of them getting hurt. Pushing it off a cliff, however, was simple. And it could go for days without being found. “The cliff would be better,” he finally said. “Water destroys evidence.”
It took real effort to resist the smile that wanted to overtake Archer’s face. There was his boy, his sweet easily-led boy who just wanted a nice peaceful life. It had been disrupted and he’d obviously sought comfort in the arms of another, but now Archer was back to set things right again. He clenched his jaw to keep his expression serious, hands moving up to briefly cup Ezra’s jaw. Archer wanted to kiss him, but that might be a bit much with the dead man at their feet. Later. “Good thinking,” he murmured to him, his gaze lingering on Ezra’s for a moment. “We’ll take care of this, okay? Everything will be all right.” Archer let his hands drop and turned to walk swiftly toward the garage. “You go upstairs and get his clothes, I’ll get a tarp.” Unless Ezra had rearranged a ton of his stuff, he thought he had enough supplies to make this work.
Everything will be alright. It was what Ezra wanted to hear, but he still wasn't sold that this was the best way to go about it. Everything about the situation felt wrong. What if the police came to question him? What if Blake's family came to question him? Ezra wasn't sure he could handle that. And how horrible would it look for Archer to suddenly be there with him again? Ezra covered his face with his hands, but as soon as he felt himself start to tear up he stood. If he didn't keep busy, he was going to have a breakdown, that he was sure of. "His clothes," he said to himself, not understanding until he remembered that Blake was in his underwear. Suddenly realizing that they were going to have to dress a dead man, Ezra felt sick. "I can't do this," he muttered, his feet leading him up to the bedroom as if beyond his control. "I can't."
Archer knew that the more time Ezra had to think, the more he would start to freak out about this, so he had to keep him moving and occupied. At least until they were done. Then Ezra could break down and flip out all he wanted, Archer would comfort him through it. He just couldn’t get this done as easily on his own. He hustled in the garage, hurrying back to the kitchen before Ezra returned. Archer assessed where Blake was laying, then tugged him further away from the kitchen island before he spread the tarp out next to him. His mind was racing ahead with plans -- he should be the one to drive Blake’s car, in gloves of course, and Ezra should follow in his own vehicle. He knew of a good spot in Overlook to pull off of the street and head toward the cliff, they could leave Ezra’s car there, and then both push it off the edge. Maybe they could weave a backstory, trouble in paradise, maybe a dramatic breakup, then drunk Blake decided to drive himself into the ocean ... yeah, that could maybe work.
When Ezra returned with Blake’s clothes, his eyes were wet with tears. With Archer gone from his side, the reality of the situation was starting to come crashing down and he couldn’t help the wave of emotion that threatened to take over. Blake was dead, the sweet man who’d helped him put his life back together after Archer left. His toothbrush still sat in the holder in the bathroom, his dirty clothes in the hamper where he’d put them before climbing into bed with Ezra. He’d always been so respectful of Ezra’s space and so organized with his own, only taking what Ezra gave him, never demanding. Most of his stuff was still back at his own apartment, but these days he spent most nights with Ezra. They’d talked about him moving in. That would never happen now. Ezra looked down at Blake’s lifeless body and the blood that had smeared across the floor from where Archer had moved him. He hugged the clothes closer to himself. “I can’t do this, Arch. I can’t.”
Archer stood up as Ezra came back into the kitchen, and he had to smother a wave of vague annoyance at how pitiful his boy looked, clutching at the dead man’s clothes like a security blanket. He looked devastated, and it made Archer’s chest burn. Had Ezra been this pathetic over him, thinking he might be dead? Questions for another time -- Archer still needed his help. He moved in closer and reached out to squeeze his shoulder before he started to gently pry the cloth out of Ezra’s hands. “You can, you can do this,” he murmured, sounding more sincere than impatient, regardless of how he felt. “And I need your help, okay Ezra? Listen ... go back upstairs, make sure you got his wallet and keys and everything. Then put some clothes on yourself. I’ll do this part.” He gave a nod down at the clothes, fully intending to have Blake dressed and covered up by the time Ezra came back. Maybe it would be easier for him if he couldn’t see Blake's face.
Ezra had always been good at taking direction, especially from Archer. It comforted him, took responsibility away when he didn't want it to begin with, and provided him with a chance of escape. He was quick to nod and head back to the bedroom where he didn't have to look at Blake's dead body rotting on their kitchen floor. No, it wasn't rotting yet, but it would if they just left it. And the blood... would the blood really come up? He'd have to tear up the tile and replace it if it left a stain. He knew there was no way he could face that day after day. By the time he was dressed, he'd come up with a plan to remove all evidence from the kitchen, his own version of sticking his head in the sand. He gathered up some of Blake's things, but not all of them, and threw them in a bag. People were going to ask what had happened and he needed to have an answer prepared, but he hadn't gotten there yet. Baby steps, he told himself, and headed back to the kitchen.
One of the reasons Archer had stayed with Ezra so long was that obedient streak in him, and he saw it come out in full force when his boyfriend immediately nodded and left the room. Archer found a pair of kitchen gloves and then got to work putting clothes on the dead man on the floor. He had to hold back from punching Blake a few more times just for existing, his jaw clenched with the effort to do this carefully instead of tearing the body apart. He couldn’t believe Ezra had moved on so fast ... and yet he could. His boy was nothing if not codependent, and Archer was sure having another warm body in bed with him had been a great comfort. Well that body would never be warm again, and Archer was glad for it. He belonged here, in his house, with his man, not this idiot on the floor. Once he had Blake dressed, he dragged him onto the tarp. As Archer was folding it over his face, he reached out, grabbed the dead man’s nose, and snapped it to one side. It broke with a satisfying crack, only a tiny trickle of blood leaking out of the nostril. His anger satisfied a tiny bit, Archer straightened it out again, then finished wrapping Blake up. He looked up as he heard Ezra approaching, and noted the bag in his hand. “I’m thinking we get him into his own car, I’ll drive that, you drive yours,” he said. “Then we’ll put him in the driver seat when we get there.”
Ezra felt both guilty and relieved when he returned to see that Archer had finished dressing Blake and moved him onto the tarp. He knew he had to help Archer, but the idea of touching Blake just turned his stomach. He knew he’d be cold and lifeless, a genuine corpse. This wasn’t how he wanted to remember him. Just a few hours earlier they’d been curled up in bed and Blake had been warm. Giving. Sweet. Ezra closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying not to think about it. Everything they had was gone. “Okay,” he said. “I can do that. Just… follow you?” He wasn’t sure exactly where Archer had planned and it wasn’t like he could call him to coordinate. Last he checked, Archer’s phone had been disconnected months ago. “Do you need help getting him to the car?” He didn’t want to touch Blake, but now that he was on the tarp he figured he could hold onto that instead.
Archer’s mind was racing over things they had to take care of -- fingerprints, making the accident plausible, purging Blake’s stuff from the house, the blood on the kitchen floor ... that one would have to wait, he decided. They needed to get this body out of the house first. Then he could bleach the hell out of everything and clean the fire poker. “Yes, follow me, and yes, I need a hand,” he answered Ezra. “Make sure the outside lights are off ... You got his car keys?”
It took some effort, even with two of them, but soon enough they had Blake shoved into the backseat of his car. Archer made sure he put his shoes on and tucked his wallet into his back pocket while Ezra got his own car started up. He seemed completely averse to touching the dead man, which made sense to part of Archer’s brain but still made him feel bitter and resentful at the same time. Ezra had probably touched Blake a ton when he’d been alive. It made Archer even more eager to get rid of him. Once Blake’s car was settled, Archer went to Ezra’s driver side window, pulling one glove off for the moment. “You’re gonna be okay,” he murmured to his boy as he reached in to squeeze his shoulder. “Just follow my lead and we’ll be all right, yes?”
The lights were off, Ezra had Blake’s keys, and once they had Blake safely stowed in the back seat, he climbed in his own car, ready to go. His brain kept running over the plan, finding issues and then cancelling them out. Archer shouldn’t be driving Blake’s car, he’d never been in there and even one hair would be evidence, but then the water would wash that all away. What about the wound on Blake’s head? Or the lividity of the blood? Again, the water would change all that. The body hadn’t been left long enough to let things really settle, at least in his non-expert opinion, so hopefully no one would question it. There were so many things that could go wrong, but they couldn’t be worse than the cops determining Archer had killed him in the kitchen. At worst, they’d come to the same conclusion, right? He looked up at Archer, worry written all over his face, but he’d trusted Archer with so much in his life that it seemed wrong to question it now. “Okay,” he said with a small nod. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Archer had his own worries about this plan, but he was hoping that the crash into the rocks and ocean would destroy enough of the car and the body inside of it that nobody would raise too many questions. It wasn’t like the Point Pleasant PD had an incredible forensic lab at its disposal, and this town had a long and storied history of awful, random deaths. This would be just another tragic accident in PP. Then he and Ezra could get on with their lives. Archer lifted his hand to briefly touch the side of his boy’s lovely face, a fierce sense of possession suddenly making his chest tight. He would do anything to keep Ezra, he’d proven that now. “Okay,” he whispered back. “I love you.” He didn’t expect Ezra to say it back tonight, considering everything, but Archer just had to tell him again. He pulled away and turned to stride to Blake’s car again and climbed into the driver’s seat, ready to get this all taken care of and over with. He started the engine and backed down the driveway, not turning the lights on until he was headed down the street.
Ezra's breath caught in his throat as Archer touched him, the returning words never making it to his lips. In the short time since Archer's return, Ezra had barely touched him, too caught up in the tragedy of the moment to really appreciate that Archer was back. But upon hearing those words on his lips, all the emotion came flooding back like a tidal wave--the devastation of the loss, the odd sense of betrayal, the overwhelming sorrow, and now, new, the thrill of having his man back in his life. He wanted to pull Archer into the car with him and let him kiss his breath away, but the timing was wrong, all of it was wrong, and so he was left holding his breath as Archer hurried over to Blake's car and climbed behind the wheel. Ezra was quick to follow, though his mind was elsewhere as he drove. It felt wrong to be so eager to return to Archer, yet the flame there had never been completely snuffed out. It had been forced into embers, smothered by the thought that Archer was dead, but now that Archer was back and alive it was starting to grow, regardless of how horrible the timing was.
It wasn’t the first time Archer wished he could listen in on Ezra’s mind, to see how he was really taking all of this. It was easy enough to guess that he was afraid and upset, possibly filled with grief because of the dead man in the seat behind Archer ... but what else was in there? Was he excited that Archer was home? Curious? Angry? Archer was fairly sure Ezra had no idea where he’d been or what had happened to him. None of the people who had locked him up in that place were friends of theirs, Archer hadn’t really known anyone else who was locked up with him except by reputation, so he didn’t think there had been anyone to fill his boyfriend in. Not that Ezra would have believed them anyway, since the story was batshit insane. Once this unpleasant business was over, Archer could explain everything and they could get back to living their lives. Comforted by that thought, he reached down to turn on the radio with gloved fingers, flipping stations until he found something he could sing along to as they drove up to Overlook.
Ezra spent the entirety of the drive thinking about all the questions he thought he’d never get answers to, hopeful that later he might finally understand what had happened to Archer. Where had he been? Why had he left him when he was so incredibly sick? Why hadn’t he called or texted? If he was trapped, who had trapped him and why? How had he gotten away? Had the night played out differently, had Blake not ended up dead, Ezra thought he’d have his answers by now. He’d waited this long though. He could manage to wait a little longer. It was an easier way to occupy his mind than thinking about Blake, especially when he was behind the wheel. The last thing they needed was for him to start crying and wreck the car. Ezra slowed when Archer’s car did, turning off his headlights so as not to attract attention. He took a deep breath and told himself he could do this, that once this part was through the worst would be behind them. Then he retrieved a pair of gloves from the glove compartment and climbed out of the car, ready to assist Archer if he needed it. Silently, pitifully, he hoped Archer could handle the bulk of it himself.
The next fifteen minutes or so felt hectic and smooth at the same time to Archer. They left Ezra’s car parked where it was, in the shadowy space between streetlights in this ostentatious neighborhood, while he drove Blake’s car off road through the grass, toward the cliff. Archer made sure to swerve a bit before he stopped near the edge, just to make it look like Blake was drunk. It didn’t escape Archer’s notice that he was disposing of a body barely a block away from his parents’ house, but he didn’t think that would cast suspicion on him in particular. All of the wealthy families lived in Overlook. And as far as everyone else knew, Archer was still missing. He was going to stay ‘missing’ for a while too, to make his alibi as solid as possible. But those were all future concerns. For the moment, Archer focused on getting Blake out of the tarp and into the driver’s seat. He tried to rely on Ezra as little as possible. The body was starting to stiffen up a bit, but not so much that Archer couldn’t position him. He made sure Blake had all his personals in the natural places, wiped down everything he thought he might have touched with bare hands, put the car in drive again and shut the door.
It took both of them to push the car over the edge, and it was both a terrifying and exhilarating experience to watch gravity take over after the tipping point. Archer stepped to the edge to watch it fall. The banging and crunching of metal sounded distant by the time the car impacted rock as it flipped. It landed roof-first, which he thought was a bit of good luck, crashing into the boulder-filled ocean’s edge below. By the time anyone reached the car and body inside, it would be ruined for evidence, he thought. If the high tide ocean didn’t just carry it away, that was. Taking a deep breath, Archer turned to look at Ezra, keeping the smile off of his face that wanted to bloom. He had to be mindful of his boy’s feelings. “We should go,” he said softly.
Ezra was crying again. He couldn't help it. He was quiet about it, but the tears continued to pour down his face even after the car crashed to the bottom of the cliff. Unlike Archer, he didn't go to look. He couldn't bear the thought of potentially seeing Blake like that. He wanted this whole night to be gone from his memories, but if that wasn't an option, then he wanted to limit his exposure to the worst of it. He'd have to come up with a story about what had happened between them, but he could focus on that later. He didn't have to have all the answers for what had happened, just an explanation for why Blake left. When Archer approached him, Ezra reached for him, already craving some kind of support, even if it was just through holding his hand. "Yeah," he agreed, aware they shouldn't linger. "Let's go."
It was too dark to see Ezra’s wet face, but Archer could hear the emotion in his voice. He didn’t really feel any sympathy for it -- that was what Ezra got for replacing him so fast. Part of him wanted to ask if Ezra had really been in love with that dead idiot, then maybe toss him over the edge of the cliff too, but he knew that was just his ego talking. He would regret it, he was too attached to his curly-headed love. Archer had returned and reclaimed his man, the rest would fall into place. His lips quirked when Ezra took his hand, and Archer gave a gentle squeeze as he started to lead them back to the waiting car. He made Ezra hang back in the shadows between houses for a moment while he surveyed what he could see of the area. No one seemed to be around, everything was quiet. Perfect. “Do you want me to drive?” he asked in a low murmur as they approached Ezra’s car again.
Ezra considered the question for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, if you don't mind." It was his car and virtually no one else ever drove it, but it felt weird to be with Archer and do anything other than ride. He knew Archer liked to be in control and he'd always been happy to go along with it. This time was no exception, and it might allow him a moment to pull himself together before they got home. He handed his keys over to Archer, then circled around to the passenger side and climbed in. It felt weird to sit on that side of the car, like he was out of place, but that was probably more of a side effect of the last hour than anything else. He rubbed his hands over his arms, cold despite it being a relatively mild night. "How long do you think it'll take for someone to find him?" he asked quietly.
Archer not only didn’t mind, he preferred to drive. If Ezra was overcome with weepies over his dead boyfriend, he didn’t want to be in a car crash himself. So he took the keys and climbed behind the wheel. There was more to do at home, blood to clean up and a fire poker to hide somewhere, but he already felt better as he pulled the car away from the curb. Once they were home, Archer could send Ezra to bed and do the rest of the cleanup himself. “Hard to say,” he murmured back, driving without headlights past several houses before he flicked them on. It was the middle of the night, he doubted anyone was watching, but just in case. “Could be in the morning, could be days, could be never. I’m not sure how high the tide is right now.” Archer glanced over at Ezra’s shadowy profile. “I’m sorry, Ez. I never meant for that to happen.”
Ezra hoped they had a few days at the very least. As horrible as it was, he wanted the body to sit for a while before anyone found it—him. Was it awful that he’d already tried to make Blake a thing rather than a person? It was easier that way, to think of it in more clinical terms. He could call Blake tomorrow and apologize for a fight that they hadn’t really had, just in case someone pulled phone records. He could make this look realistic. If anyone was detail oriented enough to pull this off, it was him… he just hated that it had come to that. He laid his head against the headrest and looked over at Archer, watching him for a moment. “What if it had been me?” he asked quietly. “Why in the world would you be swinging at shadows in our kitchen?”
It was a question that Archer had known Ezra would eventually ask, he just hadn’t expected it this soon, he supposed. He frowned vaguely as he thought about the best way to answer. “The fridge was open, I could see it wasn’t you,” he said, his voice quiet and dark. “I didn’t notice much else, I just acted. I’ve been in a bad, bad place, Ezra. Fighting every day to survive kind of bad. I just knew he wasn’t supposed to be there, it was instinct, I couldn’t really think.” He paused for a moment, then glanced over at him again. “Why was he there at all, Ez? Did you really get over me that fast?” Archer didn’t have to try as hard as he thought to make those words sound smaller and sadder. Now that his rage over it was spent, and the object of contention was gone, there was room for the hurt that Ezra was already having overnights with someone else.
"It wasn't like that," Ezra said, mildly hurt at the idea that he'd gotten over Archer at all. But then Archer knew as little about what he'd gone through as he did about where Archer had been, so he tried not to take offense. "You disappeared. I was sick--dehydrated and weak and they said I was lucky I hadn't died. But you were gone and nobody could tell me where you were. I filed a police report, I called and left messages, but there was nothing. It was like you'd vanished into thin air. I waited and waited, but... it's been five months, Arch. I thought... you'd either ghosted me hardcore or--or you were dead." Neither of those options had appealed to Ezra, but his friends and family had encouraged him to face the facts. Archer was gone and there was nothing he could do to get him back. Except here he was, looking very much alive. "Blake was a good guy. He could never replace you, but... he didn't deserve this."
Had it really been five months? Archer wasn’t even positive of when he’d disappeared anymore, and time over there had seemed to stretch on into eternity, but five months here? “Fuck,” he whispered, more to himself than to Ezra. He remembered leaving Ezra in bad shape, even though he hadn’t really wanted to do so, not deep down ... but he’d had such a feeling of purpose then, like his new masters were going to come and overrun the earth and everything would cease to matter. That hadn’t happened though, because of that little cunt and her friends. Not that Archer really wanted the earth destroyed now ... it was all still so jumbled in his head. He knew he was glad to be back, he knew he wanted Ezra, not much else was clear. Archer flexed his hands on the wheel, his jaw tightening a bit as he stared out at the road. He didn’t want to hear Blake's name ever again. “I didn’t ghost you, I would never ghost you,” he said tightly. “I did sort of vanish into thin air, but I was ... somewhere else. You’re gonna think I’m crazy, but it was like a whole different world. Against my will, mind you,” he hurried to add. “Those motherfuckers.”
“Who?” Ezra asked, desperately needing to understand why Archer had left him. He’d been so sick and then to wake up and find him gone had left him broken in a way that none of their past break-ups ever had. Those had been the result of some blowup fight, issues that one or both of them were too stubborn to get over until a few days later. This was far worse, with Ezra not knowing what he’d done wrong and with Archer never coming back to him. He couldn’t even beg for forgiveness, even though there’d been no fault to forgive, because Archer was just gone. “Where were you? How’d you get out? I know things around here can be… I dunno… weird sometimes.” He was good at ignoring it though. It was a strategy that had worked for him up until now, when something weird had taken his man away from him. Even if Archer sounded crazy, any explanation was better than none.
‘Weird sometimes’ was the understatement of the century, and Archer knew that now. He’d known the stories before, of course, having grown up in Point Pleasant. He’d seen some strange things here and there, and there had been the fog, but even that hadn’t compared to being transported into some hell dimension. He didn’t know if Ezra would believe him at all, but the truth was more sympathetic than any lie he could come up with, so he was inclined to be honest about this part. “I still don’t know everything,” he said with a heavy sigh. “But it was Jules Cooper, Nic Castell, Neil Wainscott, and Carson Durand. Don’t ask me how I know their fucking names, because I don’t know. But at some point before I disappeared, I just knew who they were, and that they wanted to hurt me. And then they did. I didn’t want to leave you, but I suddenly had to go out to the woods. Like a compulsion I couldn’t control. And when I did, there were a bunch of others there like me, with the same ... affliction, whatever, and those four were there too. The girl, Jules, she opened up a portal, Ez -- I know it sounds insane but I saw it with my own eyes -- and a bunch of us got swallowed up in it. I wasn’t the only one who disappeared, didn’t you hear? There had to be a dozen of us. I don’t know where we went, but it was ... it was hell. Remember the fog? It was like that on steroids.”
Ezra stared at Archer, not really knowing what to say about all of that. It sounded so farfetched, but Archer wasn’t known for making up fantastical stories, especially with that kind of detail. None of the people he named sounded familiar, but he knew he’d be looking them up later just to satisfy his curiosity. If they were real people, here in Point Pleasant, then Archer was probably telling the truth. He wouldn’t sew a lie with so many false alibis. And he was right about one thing—other people had disappeared. They’d found Archer’s car out on Witcham road, along with almost a dozen others. “You got shut in a portal?” he asked, hoping he was following that correctly. “Like…in another world? How did you get out?” That probably wasn’t the point of his story, but Ezra had to ask. If he’d truly been locked away in some otherworldly hell all this time, how did he manage to escape?
At least he wasn’t calling Archer a liar yet. Now that he had the benefit of hindsight, he kind of wished he hadn’t cleaned himself up in the house he’d broken into. Maybe his story would’ve been more believable if he’d shown up looking as filthy as he’d woken up. “Yes, in another world,” Archer confirmed, fighting to keep from sounding exasperated. It wasn’t Ezra’s fault. If their positions were reversed, Archer probably would’ve been kicking him out of the car about now, insulted that Ezra thought he would swallow such outrageous lies. Ezra was far kinder than he was, though, and Archer intended to make use of that trait. “I don’t know,” he said, his tone dropping a bit. “I didn’t do it on purpose. I just fell asleep over there and woke up over here. It was actually a couple of days ago, I didn’t ... I didn’t remember anything for a while. Who I was, where I was. Some of it’s still fuzzy, but I remembered enough to make it home.”
Ezra had come to believe that there were probably monsters out in the world, but this was pushing past the boundaries of what he thought he could believe in. If it had been anyone else, he probably would have rolled his eyes and moved on without an argument, not buying in, but also unwilling to argue with something so absurd. But this was Archer, so he continued to stare at him, looking for holes in his story. He wanted to believe it because otherwise it meant Archer was lying to him and he wanted the truth more than anything else. “A couple days ago?” he asked, somewhat incredulous. “You’ve just been wandering around without any memories for a few days? Where have you been staying? On the street?” He didn’t look like he’d been living on the street, but maybe he was missing something.
“I woke up in an empty house,” Archer explained. “Like on-the-market empty.” All of this felt like a hassle, and not what he wanted to be talking about right then. Honestly he didn’t want to talk about much, he just wanted to be home again and maybe eating before he went to bed. In his bed, where Blake had no fucking right to be, the dead asshole. God, how many times had Blake and Ezra fucked in there? Archer was going to have to change the sheets, maybe get a whole new mattress. It was tainted with infidelity. “I didn’t know where I was, so I just hunkered down there for a while. But I was filthy and starving, so then broke into another house to use their shower and steal some clothes. These aren’t mine,” he said and plucked at the front of the sweatshirt he was wearing. It was splattered with blood now, he would have to get rid of it. C’est la vie. “I haven’t slept much in the past couple days,” he added in a mutter.
"You broke into someone's house," Ezra said and was suddenly chilled by the idea that he didn't know this version of Archer, the one that took whatever he wanted. He was positive Archer wouldn't have broken into anyone's house before he left, but maybe he hadn't been pushed to the point of desperation. Desperate men do desperate things, his brain supplied, and it made him wonder where Archer drew the line. He wasn't flippant enough to ask if he'd bashed anyone else's head in in the process, but it did flicker through his mind. Ezra swallowed hard, now thinking about the last few days he’d spent with Archer before he disappeared. Ezra had been fading towards exhaustion and Archer had been… manic. "You were different before you left," he said softly. "Are you ‘you’ now?"
Ezra made it sound like such a big deal, but really, a bit of B&E when he was in such dire straits hadn’t felt like anything to Archer. But then again, neither had killing Blake. Well, that wasn’t exactly true -- killing Blake had felt good. Archer could admit that to himself, if no one else. “I didn’t know who or where I was, I was starving, and believe me, I needed that shower,” Archer said with a huff. “They weren’t home, it was mostly harmless.” The family would probably have to replace their window and they might be a little scared for a while, but if he was continuing to be honest, the second part kind of entertained him. They should be scared. More people should be. Archer’s expression sobered up for the rest of what Ezra said. “Yes, I’m me,” he murmured. “I don’t ... it’s hard to explain what I was feeling, what I was under the influence of, but I wasn’t myself. It stopped as soon as we got closed up in that other world. People were calling it an infection, they’d all gotten hurt by those things in the fog too. But it’s gone now. I’m really back.”
Ezra couldn’t explain what was wrong with Archer before, just that something simply was and that it had come just short of scaring him. But then Archer had suddenly disappeared and he’d tried not to think of it since, more distressed by Archer’s disappearance than the bizarre behavior he’d exhibited beforehand. Now Archer’s explanation helped fit things into place, tying in the injury he’d sustained during the fog, something he hadn’t even considered. It made sense, and that helped Ezra find a sense of acceptance, something he’d been desperately searching for. “I missed you,” he said softly, his hand reaching out for Archer’s. “I thought I’d never see you again. I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Archer wasn’t sure what it had been in his explanation that finally got through to Ezra, but he was relieved for it. It loosened up some tension in his gut. Ezra believed him. Archer thought that ‘I missed you’ sounded sincere, too. He wasn’t sure if he ought to believe or not, not when Ezra had jumped to having another boyfriend so fast ... but people did crazy things when they were in mourning. Blake had just been a rebound, and now he was gone. When he felt Ezra’s touch, Archer moved his hand to link their fingers together, then pulled Ezra’s hand up to his cheek. “I thought about you all the time,” he murmured. “And getting back to you. I’m so sorry you thought I left on purpose, Ez. I didn’t want to. Everything was so fucked up, all I wanted was to come home.”
“I wish I’d known what happened,” Ezra muttered. “I’d ‘ve… I dunno.” The story was so outlandish that he couldn’t think of anything that might have helped the situation. In fact, knowing might not have changed anything, not unless someone could’ve told him that Archer would for sure come back. But Archer didn’t need to know that. It would only upset him. “You’re here now,” he said. “When we get home, you can rest. Get all the sleep you want. We can figure out the rest of it in the morning.” There was probably more cleaning up that would need to be done, and the cops would come by eventually, but he didn’t think there’d be an investigation from the start. They should have plenty of time to clean up and get their stories in order if what Archer wanted to do was go home and sleep.
He knew there was nothing Ezra could’ve done for him on this side of things. They didn’t have any power or have any friends who could make supernatural things happen -- Archer was on friendly terms with Caius D’Onofrio, and he knew about all the rumors surrounding that family, but he’d never taken any of them seriously. Even if someone had told Ezra the truth, it would have only made him worry in a different way. Maybe he would’ve written Archer off for dead even faster, who knew. It didn’t matter, it was over now. He was home. “I’ll clean the blood up, at least,” Archer murmured. “I don’t want you to have to do it, and we have to get it before it stains. Then rest. ... with you, I hope.” Archer gave him a glance that was a little uncertain.
Oh God, the blood. Ezra shuddered to think of it. He'd probably be scrubbing the grout for weeks, scrubbing like Lady McBeth even after the stain was gone. He'd never thought of himself as squeamish, but he knew the initial clean up was more than he could handle and appreciated Archer taking it on himself. In the meantime, he could change the sheets and remove as many of Blake's things from the bedroom as possible. He gave Archer's hand a squeeze. "Of course," he said softly. "I wouldn't want you anywhere else." Even though Blake had just been there, an hour before, it was true. His feelings for Blake hadn't come close to what he'd felt for Archer. Even if he was feeling conflicted about everything that happened tonight, he wanted Archer beside him going forward.
Archer supposed that cleaning up after himself was the least he could be, a private apology for what he’d done. Not that he was truly sorry, he just didn’t like that it upset Ezra. He nodded a bit and squeezed Ezra’s hand back. He knew the rest of the night might not be exactly restful for his boyfriend, but Archer felt like he would sleep easy, at least. He’d done what had to be done, and once he was finished doing what else had to be done, he just wanted to curl up around Ezra and sleep for as long as he possibly could. He let them fall into quiet for the rest of the drive back to Black Cove. It was a relief to pull into the driveway and cut the engine. Archer looked over at Ezra’s shadowy profile and lifted one hand to brush his knuckles against his cheek. “I love you, you know,” he murmured. “I’ll take care of the kitchen, okay? I’ll meet you upstairs.”
That little touch made Ezra’s eyes shut briefly and his heart beat faster, a natural reaction to affection from Archer. He forgot how much he’d missed this. “Okay,” Ezra muttered, then found the words he’d been unable to manage earlier. “I love you, too.” Maybe they’d always been there. Maybe it was easier now that they didn’t have a dead body under their roof. Ezra just knew he couldn’t deny it, that he still loved Archer regardless of the rest of the night’s events. After everything Archer had been to, it was a horrible accident to come home to, but hopefully they could move past it. As Archer headed towards the kitchen, Ezra moved towards the bedroom, immediately setting to the task of changing the sheets. He didn’t know how long it would take Archer to clean up the mess, but he wanted everything in order by the time he came to bed.
Hearing that Ezra loved him back put Archer’s mind a little more at ease ... which turned out to be something he needed while he began the process of cleaning up the kitchen. He’d only hit Blake once, so there weren’t a huge number of blood splatters everywhere, but enough that concerned him. He ended up scrubbing with bleach for a painstaking hour. Archer felt no remorse as he cleaned, but he did feel some worry. What if Ezra was just placating him? What if he waited for Archer to fall asleep and then called the cops? What if he had an attack of conscience and freaked out in the middle of the night? What if he was just playing along to try and save himself? That last one seemed too duplicitous for Ezra though. He’d always been one to wear his heart on his sleeve. But it was too easy to imagine Ezra upstairs calling the authorities that very minute ... as the hour went on and Archer didn’t hear any sirens, his mind settled a bit more.
He cleaned as well as he could, rinsed everything in the stainless steel kitchen sink, then doused it all with bleach again and set the bucket down to soak with Dawn in it. Archer stripped off the sweatshirt and pants he’d stolen and stuffed them into a trash bag. He stowed it in the cabinet under the sink to get rid of later. Finally, he went upstairs to find Ezra, padding along in a pair of boxers that were a bit too big on him. He needed a shower, and then rest.
As soon as the bed was made, Ezra began gathering up all of Blake’s things. He didn’t have a ton there, Ezra hadn’t gone so far as to ask Blake to move in with him, but he spent enough nights there that he’d had his own drawer. He had a toothbrush in the bathroom and junk in the bedside drawer. Ezra knew he couldn’t just throw it all out, not without raising suspicions, but he could box it all up and put it in the spare bedroom. That didn’t take nearly as long as he expected it to and it left him sitting and waiting on Archer. It gave him time to think, something he wanted to avoid, so he hopped in the shower, hoping to wash away the feeling of uncleanliness that stuck with him. It didn’t help near as much as he’d hoped. As he sat on the bed in his boxers, waiting for Archer, the guilt began to settle in. What the fuck were they thinking? It had been an accident, but now, if it got traced back to them, it wouldn’t matter. You couldn’t push a car off a cliff and not be guilty of something. He was just starting to become agitated when Archer stepped into the doorway and he exhaled slowly. “Hey,” he said softly. “Is it done?” He should have gone to check. He should have gone to help. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it and he hoped Archer wouldn’t hold it against him.
Archer was glad that Ezra had stayed upstairs, honestly. An extra pair of hands would’ve made it go faster, but Ezra would’ve been exuding his emotions even if he tried to be calm, and it just would’ve agitated Archer. He didn’t need that shit when he was trying to focus. As he stepped into the room, his eyes skated around it and he couldn’t help but notice that the sheets on the bed were different. That was good. He didn’t know yet if he wanted to get rid of the whole mattress or not, but at least he could sleep on clean sheets tonight. “It’s done,” he confirmed to Ezra with a nod, walking up to where he was sitting. His hands had been scrubbed and dipped in bleach quite a few times, so they were as clean as they could get, and he didn’t hesitate to reach out and gently touch Ezra’s face. Archer wanted to kiss him, push him back on the bed maybe, make him his again ... but he felt dirty too. “I’m going to take a shower, if you think you’ll be okay,” he murmured, quirking a brow a bit.
Ezra leaned into Archer’s touch, his eyes momentarily falling closed. He wanted to curl up in his arms and pretend this was all a bad dream, that the last five or so months hadn’t even happened. He’d liked Blake, and they’d had a good time together, but in the wake of his death Ezra would rather forget about him than continue to think about what had just happened. The more he thought, the more he worried they’d made a horrible decision. He could be on his own though, especially in his own house, and he struggled not to give Archer a look at the question he posed. “I’ll be okay,” he said. “Go clean up. I’ll be here when you’re done.” He thought he might shut his eyes, but he doubted he’d actually fall asleep.
He eyed Ezra for another moment as if deciding whether he believed him or not, but Archer knew he would be fine. Especially now, Ezra would be fine just to be stubborn about it. He nodded and brushed his thumb over Ezra’s cheekbone, then turned to head to the bathroom. Archer left the door open halfway before he stripped out of his stolen underwear and turned the shower on. Just like the first time, stepping under the hot stream was near orgasmic. Archer had a feeling he would be addicted to showers from here on out. He washed himself all over thoroughly, taking the time to do a little manscaping with the razor in there. If he did end up reclaiming his boy tonight, he wanted to be ready. Washing with his own shampoo and body wash felt really good, and Archer felt more like himself than he had in months when he stepped out. He dried off, swished his mouth out with some Listerine, then stepped back into the bedroom.
It was stubbornness that kept Ezra from crying, a determination to prove that he could hold it together when he felt like he was falling apart. As he laid in bed the night replayed in his head, from the horror of finding Blake dead on his kitchen floor to Archer's bizarre and confusing explanation of where he'd been for the past five months. There was so much about Archer's story that he didn't understand. He wanted to take it at face value, but knew that he wouldn't be able to completely believe it until everything checked out. Archer had named names, there were people who could verify that what he said was true, but that would have to wait until morning. He was still wide awake when Archer walked back into the bedroom, his shadow familiar even in the darkness. "Feel better?"
Archer didn’t bother with trying to find any underwear. Who knew if Ezra had packed up his clothes, and the sheets were clean anyway. It felt good to stride through the bedroom naked too, like he was somehow re-claiming it. This was his space and his man, and nobody was going to take it from him again. Archer walked around to the other side of the bed and pulled the covers back to climb in next to Ezra. He gave a soft hum as he settled in on his side, initially leaving a bit of space between them. “Much better,” Archer murmured. Under the blanket, his hand slid over to brush against Ezra’s skin, a touch that was a mix of a question and invitation. He had barely touched anyone in months, and all he wanted now was Ezra pressed against him.
Ezra tentatively moved closer, wanting Archer to hold him more than anything else. He knew he couldn’t cry in his arms, no matter how strong the inclination might be, but there was still support in physical touch and he needed that tonight. The questions could wait until morning, and the mourning could wait until he was alone. His mind was so busy he wasn’t sure if he could sleep, but as he pressed his body to Archer’s he thought at least he could find solace in the fact that he had his man back. The joy he would have felt had been severely dampened by Blake’s death, but he felt a touch of it now as he could breathe in Archer’s scent and bask in his warmth. He’d missed him horribly and this was something he thought he’d never experience again.
He was more than happy to wrap his arms around Ezra and hold him close. Archer didn’t really want to talk -- he knew Ezra had to be feeling all sorts of complicated things, and he really didn’t have the mental energy to engage with it all at the moment. As he soaked in the feeling of their skin pressed together, Archer felt something deep in his gut unclench. He was home now. Really home. He’d fought to get here, and he’d killed to reclaim it, and there was something deeply satisfying about that. Archer drifted his fingers through Ezra’s hair and then lightly down his back. God, he’d all but forgotten how good it felt to feel his boy’s heartbeat against his chest, so vital and fragile and his. “I missed you so much,” he whispered after a while of just holding on. Archer moved his head to press a kiss against Ezra’s cheekbone.
"I missed you too," Ezra whispered, and after Archer kissed his cheek, he shifted just enough to kiss his lips. He'd been wanting to do that for a while now, but it hadn't felt right. He still wasn't sure it was right, but with Archer pressed against him his resolve to honor Blake's death faded into the background and the return of his lover took over. He'd cried for weeks over Archer, dreamed of his return even after it became more fantasy than reality. It was hard for him to communicate how much he'd missed him in those words and the kiss still didn't come close, so he kissed him again, lingering with his lips on Archer's hoping he'd understand when talking felt far too complicated for the moment. Maybe tomorrow he’d be able to get it all out, but for now it was easier to let his body do the talking.