Angel Wing

MARCH

"ARE YOU DRUNK YET?"

The red moonlight cast a net over the front lawn and the fresh, dewy grass was flooded with pink light. The streetlamps glowed with distant, burning balls of orange and there were rogue clouds in the dark blue sky, white froth collecting in stray patches, floating and splitting away from each other. The leaves on the trees were such a deep green that they looked black, and they trembled and shook with every breeze; sudden and sharp and ephemeral.

Isaac was sitting on the front porch with an empty glass in his hands, his hands between his knees and his head tilted up towards the sky. He watched the clouds with glazed, starry eyes and scratched the bridge of his nose, sniffling against the cold and remaining entirely still against the wind. He looked into his empty glass, then back towards the sky and blinked slowly.

Hadley watched him steadily, setting his own empty glass between his feet on a lower step as the clouds dissipate and vanish. Their isolation had made him aware of himself and the beginning of his drunkenness, and he had the feeling of being both tired and slightly tipsy.

"Only a little," he mumbled, his voice slow and thick.

Isaac nodded firmly. When he spoke, his words tumbled clumsily out of him, his usual cadence interrupted by thoughtful pauses, his lips barely parting. He put his glass down slowly, intentionally, so he could use his hands. "I don't feel drunk-drunk. I feel, like, more than tipsy but less than drunk."

Most people were still inside Jensen's, but the peak had passed and the energy had shifted. By the time Isaac was discreetly gesturing to him to come outside, the music was softer and lower, the games of pool were calmer, more intentional, and most people broke off into smaller groups, lost in long, winding conversations.

Jensen had been sprawled out on a sofa with his arm around Charlotte and, when she momentarily got up for another drink, Hadley quietly asked him where Spencer was, but he hadn't known.

"Yeah," he agreed with a series of long, slow nods. "Exactly. I feel... I feel sleepy. Heavy." He dropped his shoulders and curved his spine, falling into a slouched, balled position.

When Isaac mimicked him with exaggerated movements, he snickered and the sound of his snickering made Isaac begin to laugh, which made him start laughing, too.

"I feel... heavy," Isaac imitated with a dramatic drop of his posture, and Hadley, though he was sure it wasn't that funny, was suddenly seized by laughter, throwing his head back and feeling an old tremble in his chest.

"You asshole!" He cried, pressing the back of his index fingers against his closed eyes as he laughed, his mouth spilling into a grin. "I'm trying to communicate. This is serious!"

But when he turned towards him, still grinning, he accidentally kicked his glass over with his foot and Isaac, for some reason, burst out laughing again.

Hadley shoved him and he fell towards the porch, putting his hand flat at his side to stop himself from being pushed all the way down, and grinned at him, his eyes glittering. "Why do you feel heavy?" He pushed two index fingers hard into Hadley's arm, his lips falling into a small smile. "What's wrong?"

He shrugged his shoulders, his laughter relaxing and an almost smile slipping onto his lips, and forced himself to look at Isaac when he said, "Don't you feel far away from me?"

"No," he frowned, grabbing his shoulder and shaking it as if to prove a point. "You're here, aren't you?"

"That's not what I mean," he insisted, shaking his head, concentrating on the weight of his hand. He was trying to balance his voice and speak slowly, but his control kept slipping away from him and he spoke in a mumble that he couldn't quite break. "I mean, don't you– Don't you feel far away as in, like–" He stopped and looked up at the dark, empty sky. "Don't you ever feel like maybe you don't know me?"

"No," Isaac replied swiftly, looking out across the red lawn. "No."

"Never?" Hadley pressed, angling his body towards him. His chest felt heavy, but he tried to ease himself into it like wading slowly through cold water.

"Do you..." He began, looking at nothing in particular as his face drew into a frown. "Do you feel like I don't know you? Do you feel like you don't know me?"

"I don't know," he admitted with another small shrug, clasping his hands together tightly between his knees. He pressed his fingers so hard against his knuckles that they began to ache and he had to struggle a few times before he could get his words out. "I guess I feel like we used to be so similar. I feel like we used to be closer."

"We were," Isaac agreed, glancing at him. His gaze was clearer than it had been before— sobered— but his words were still mostly graceless, still tumbling. "And then towards the end of your relationship with Elodie it was like you built this house inside of your head and now you never leave it. Maybe come out and knock for me one time, and you'll remember we aren't strangers."

"But it feels like you are turning into a stranger," he mumbled, a string tightening around his heart.

"I'm not," he insisted, shaking his head. He raised his head to look up at the sky. "I don't feel like I am. I still feel the same about you as I always have, but sometimes it's like you go too far in one way that I can't follow and I have this– I don't know what to call it. What's that word? Like, when you understand something."

"Know? Realize?"

"No."

Hadley scratched his forehead and frowned. "Recognise?"

"Maybe," he said, his face hardening. He shook his head and waved his hand dismissively, a stern frown on his face. "Doesn't matter, can't find it. Sometimes you go in a direction and I can't follow you, and I have this feeling that I don't understand you. Maybe I don't always get you, but I still know you. It's like– let me think." He stopped. "It's like if you showed up at my house dressed like a choir boy or a pirate or something, maybe I'd think 'why the fuck is Hadley dressed like a choir boy?' Or 'when did Hadley become a pirate?' And I wouldn't get it, but I'd still know you, you know what I mean?"

Hadley grinned at him. "No."

"You're the same guy!" He stressed with an exasperated huff. "You're still you underneath the choir boy outfit!"

"Or the pirate outfit," he chimed, biting the inside of his cheek and trying to concentrate on Isaac's face.

"Or the pirate outfit," he agreed with a solemn nod and a severity in his eyes. "Exactly. Does that make sense now?"

He cupped his hands over his face, his index fingers touching at the bridge of his nose, but his snicker gave him away.

"You don't even know what I'm saying!" Isaac cried. "Look, forget the analogy! It's a stupid analogy!"

"You're a stupid analogy," he muttered, quieting his laughter.

"Okay!" He began loudly, sitting up taller and raising his palms flat. "It's like maybe your ideas change, right? Maybe your... your values change or some part of your identity changes or you start going to church—"

"What's with all the church talk?" He frowned.

"Shut up, I'm talking," Isaac warned, continuing, "or you wanna move to France or you dedicate your life to... To the teachings of Descartes or become... Become a communist or something— I don't know— it's like, yeah, okay, maybe I don't get that. Maybe I don't wanna start going to church or studying Descartes or whatever, but just because those parts of you have changed, doesn't mean you're all gone."

"How much have you had to drink?" He laughed.

"Hadley!" He pleaded, his brow furrowing and his eyes glassy with desperation. "This is exactly what I'm trying to talk to you about. Meet me halfway here, man! Come on!"

"Okay," he began, trying to straighten his face and fighting the urge to grin. "Okay. I think what you're saying is that just because we change as we grow up and we might become different to each other in some ways, doesn't mean that we're different in every way and just because we might have shifting interests or values or ideas, doesn't mean we can't still understand each other on some level."

"Yes! Thank you! Exactly!"

"So why didn't you just say that?" He cried, a laugh escaping him.

"I don't know!" Isaac told him, burying his head in his hands. "Sometimes I don't think you want me to understand you."

"Why would I not want to be understood?" He scoffed.

"Don't know," he muttered, shrugging stiffly and dramatically, "but you don't tell me stuff anymore. Not about Elodie or- or Spencer or your parents or anything. Like that day you were really angry about the weird statue in your living room. I felt like— god, how do I say it? I felt like you were trying to tell me something, but I couldn't figure out what it was. So maybe I don't understand you right now— I don't know what's goin' on 'cause you don't just come out and tell me stuff anymore— but I still know you and I'm not going to let you take that away from me. Stay inside your little head-house as long as you want. I'll get a deck chair and camp out on your lawn."

All at once, the string around his heart seemed to pull so tight that he could hardly breathe over the ache of it and, before he knew he was going to say it, he felt a lump in his throat and he blurted, "I love you."

He shook his head disapprovingly and scoffed, rolling his eyes and glaring at him but without malice, "Don't be like that."

But when Hadley threw his arms around his shoulders, Isaac hugged him back.

"I don't want to grow away from you," he said quietly, his cheek pressed against Isaac's. His voice wavered and his lower lip trembled, his eyes beginning to sting. He could see the outline of Jensen's porch and a patch of the night sky, his chin pressing into Isaac's shoulder blade. "But I don't know how to say things anymore. I don't know why. I don't know why." He tightened his grip around Isaac, their faces pressed together until it hurt. "You were laughing earlier and I didn't recognise the sound of it."

"You're not slipping away," Isaac promised in a low, soft voice. "There's distance right now, but that doesn't mean we'll always be distant. Maybe I'm just not the right person or something. Maybe I can still know you as I've always known you, and still realise that maybe— for whatever reason— Spencer understands what you're going through better than I do. Maybe he just knows what to say to make you feel better. I don't know. I don't hold it against you."

He buried his head against Isaac's shoulder and Isaac held him as the breeze rushed through them, rustling the leaves and brushing through the blades of red grass. The night was quiet, and their breathing came soft and hushed, the porch light and moonlight washing over them, but Hadley was so stuck on the feeling of Isaac's sweater, his hard cheekbone and cold cheek, that he didn't hear the door opening.

"Sorry," Spencer began, standing in a pocket of light. "Am I interrupting?"

"Why is he everywhere?" Isaac whispered into his ear.

As they pulled away from each other, he snickered.

"You're okay," Isaac assured, turning towards him with a wry smile.

"Sorry," he echoed with a sheepish smile, looking at Hadley. He spoke so quietly that his voice was just above a whisper. "Are you alright?"

"He's fine," Isaac insisted, waving his hand again. "Are you?"

"Yeah, I–" He cut himself off, his eyes darting towards Hadley again. "I didn't mean to intrude. I've been looking for you." He eyed him warily. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"He's fine," Isaac repeated with a beat of exasperation, frowning at Spencer.

"How sober are you?" He asked, looking between them.

"Who?"

"Both of you."

"Too sober now," Isaac replied, clapping a hand on Hadley's shoulder. "Let's go and get some more drinks."

"I don't think I want any more drinks," he mumbled, pushing his thumb against his lip.

"Then come back inside and watch me have more drinks," he shrugged easily, picking up both of their glasses and getting to his feet in a swift, graceless movement which caused him to stumble slightly.

Spencer reached a hand out to help him regain his balance— which he accepted with a laugh— and offered him a small smile. He was lit by the soft, fuzzy glow of the porch light, painted in hazy gold and a streak of silvery shadows that eased the narrow sharpness of his cheekbones and jawline, his bright eyes glittering.

"Give us a couple of minutes," he murmured, looking at Isaac from his seat on the porch step.

Isaac hesitated. He glanced between them, cleared his throat and threw Spencer a distant, polite smile. "I'll be inside."

When he left, closing the door behind him with a click, Spencer stepped towards him and crouched down on the balls of his feet, his elbows resting on his thighs and his fingers interlaced. "Hey."

"Hey," he murmured, smiling softly, biting the side of his thumb.

Spencer leaned towards him, their faces close, and his bright, shrewd eyes darted over Hadley's face. There was the slightest glimmer of a smile playing on his lips. "What were you guys talking about?"

The front door opened again and Isaac poked his head out, his voice raised in a whisper-shout. "Hey!" He called. "Elodie is on her way out here!"

Without saying anything else, he disappeared back inside, leaving the door ajar, and Hadley smoothed his hand over his forehead, closing his eyes and sighing, when he heard Isaac inside saying, "Hey, Elodie! Where you goin'?"

When she appeared outside a few moments later, the glow of the hallway light seeping out onto the front porch, her arms were folded over her chest and there were small black marks under her eyes where she had smudged her mascara. She trained her dark eyes on Spencer and said quietly, "I knew you'd be out here."

"How?" He asked, looking up at her from where he was still crouched— Hadley could smell the fresh musk of his cologne.

"Because Evan said that Hadley and Isaac were," she murmured, twisting her mouth around. "Charlotte's not staying here anymore so I'm gonna stay at her place instead."

"When are you leaving?" He asked while Hadley studied his side-profile; the glint of his eyes, the curve of his eyelashes, the sweet shape of his mouth. "I'll drop you guys off."

"Her sister is gonna come and pick us up later," she told him with a small shake of her head, her voice flat as she began twisting her necklace.

Shifting her weight from one leg to the other, she tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and, for the first time, looked at Hadley. For a long moment, she didn't say anything, but let her eyes roam over him. Her face was entirely still— entirely blank— and her dark eyes were glimmering but he couldn't figure out what she was thinking.

Suddenly, she spoke in a louder, clearer voice and said, "But if you're offering, you might as well take Hadley home. He looks like he needs it."

His eyebrows raising and his eyes widening, Spencer snapped his head towards her and blinked. "What?"

"He's upset" she said, nodding her head towards him.

"I'm not upset," he retorted sharply, frowning at her, the sides of his thumb still caught between his teeth.

"Well, maybe you're not upset, but you don't want to be here anymore," she said and without saying anything else, she pressed her thumb to her mouth and bit it.

Immediately, he removed his hand and clasped it with the other, tucking them between his thighs.

"Told you," she said with a small scoff.

"It's okay," he pressed, his eyes flickering over her. "I can figure out another way home. I don't need a ride."

"He doesn't mind," she continued firmly, twisting her necklace tighter and shifting from foot-to-foot again. "He'll take you home if you want to go home."

Spencer watched her out of the corner of his eye and tightened his jaw, focusing his attention on Hadley and keeping his voice hushed. "If you'd like to go home, I can take you. I was designated driver tonight anyway— and I can always come back after I drop you off."

"It's alright, I—"

"I'll take you," he interrupted, narrowing his curious eyes at Elodie as he furrowed his brow. He stood up and stepped towards her, taking her by the arm and kissing her cheek. He lingered, keeping his hand where it was, and, though she did not pull away, she did not look back at him.

"I'll go and tell the others that you're leaving," she offered as he released her.

"Shouldn't we go and see Jensen before we leave?" Hadley frowned, standing up slowly and glancing between them.

"I'll tell him that you were unwell," Elodie said, her eyes meeting his. She smiled weakly and placed her hand on the front door. "Goodnight." She went back inside without waiting for a response and closed the door behind her.

They stood together in the silence, only ever moved by the return of the breeze or the distant chirp of a cricket until Spencer said, "Let's get out of here," and they stepped down the porch together, sauntering down the street towards where his car was parked.

He was quiet and his face was drawn into thoughtful stillness, his expression smooth and blank. He walked with his hands tucked in his pockets and his eyes fixed somewhere towards the ground, but he seemed to be looking at nothing.

Inside the car, he was even quieter. He made no move to turn on the radio or start playing any music, and he fastened his seat-belt and started the car without saying a word.

"What did you say to Elodie?" Hadley asked, looking out of the window at the empty road.

Spencer gave him a quick smile. "Nothing that hasn't already been said."

"Is everything okay?" He asked, watching the shadows dancing and slipping over his face as they drove along a tree-lined street.

"Everything is okay," he nodded and averted his gaze from the road to look briefly at him.

Silence engulfed them. They listened to the sounds of the car, the occasional tick of the turn-signal, the rush of wind outside as Hadley watched Spencer's thoughtful face.

"Can I tell you something?" He asked finally.

"Yeah," he replied with a small nod, taking a glimpse of him. "Of course."

"You remember the day I punched you?"

He pretended to think, humming contemplatively. "Doesn't ring a bell."

"Shut up."

"Yeah," he laughed. "I remember."

"Okay, so picture Mr Martinez's office," he continued, closing his eyes and trying to remember the faint floral smell of it, the way the chair felt beneath him, the sky through the window, Mr Martinez's tired face and Spencer's rage.

"Okay," he nodded slowly, frowning slightly. "I'm picturing it."

"Okay now look to the left, on that wall," Hadley continued, his eyes still closed. "What do you see?"

"He has a painting there," he answered after a brief pause. "It's a landscape, I think. I don't know. Ican't remember."

"It's Mountains at Collioure," Hadley told him, the shadows passing over him, "by Andre Derrain. He painted these bold trees all over in these shades of green, and they're so bright and alive. You know the way a field looks in the sun?"

"Like, uh, verdant," Spencer suggested.

"Exactly," he nodded, resting his head against the back of the passenger seat. "Well, anyway, I think about that painting a lot. Mostly because I think about you a lot and, in my head, you're so connected to it."

"Why?" He asked quietly, glancing. His breath seemed to catch in his throat.

"I see it every time I look in your eyes," he murmured, his eyelids growing heavy.

"Why are you telling me now?" Spencer asked after a pause, his voice barely above a whisper as he clenched the steering wheel.

"I don't know," he admitted, stifling a yawn. "I guess I just thought you should know."

Spencer's mouth fixed into a firm line, his jaw was tight and his eyes were trained on the road in front of him, his knuckles white in the moonlight.

"Have I embarrassed you?" He asked, daring to smile.

"No," he said, smiling as they pulled into Hadley's road. There was a gentle flush on his face. "It's just making me think."

"About what?"

"About decisions I've made," he muttered. "About how little I know about myself."

"What do you mean?" He asked curiously, unbuckling his seat-belt as the car came to a stop.

"Doesn't matter right now," he said, like it was a promise, shaking his head. "What are you doing on Sunday?"

"Reading, sleeping, eating," Hadley shrugged, sitting up in his seat and pressing one palm against his seat, the other against the dashboard.

"Maybe we could get something to eat together," he murmured, watching him steadily and shrugging his shoulders.

He was about to ask about Elodie, her name on the tip of his tongue, but he forced himself to shut up, feeling tired and pleasantly disorientated, and nodded. "Okay. Let's get something to eat together."

"Come on," he said, unfastening his seat-belt and opening the driver's seat door. He pinched Hadley's shoulder hard but playfully. "I'll walk you to the door."

The night air was cool and fresh, and, though he felt considerably sobered up, Hadley stumbled slightly as he followed Spencer to the house. He dug in his pockets for his house keys and trudged up to the door with heavy, storming footsteps, yawning.

When they were standing in front of each other, Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets and looked out across the street. "I'll call you soon."

He was so beautiful, so ethereal and oddly delicate in the moonlight that Hadley almost asked him to come inside, but he bit his tongue and swallowed the urge. Instead, he nodded and said, "Thanks for the ride home."

Not daring to look back, not daring to let another moment pass in case desperation seized him, he put his keys in the door and went inside, locking it behind him and placing his palm over his racing heart.

note
thank you to anyone who made it this far. i hope this chapter was okay, though any feedback is very appreciated! i'm not 100% on this one so might make some little changes in the future because i think it could probably do with some edits here and there

 the next chapter will be Spencer/Hadley focused and changes are coming!! wink wink nudge nudge haha -- next chapter is also likely to be shorter (this one got a little long, sorry!)

I hope to see you again next time <3

originally published
13. July. 2025.