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Lark's only been gone for a day and a half, a completely normal amount of time for him to disappear without prior notice, but Terry can tell Sparrow's kind of losing his mind about it. Probably because he'd only come back to San Dimas last Thursday, but who's Terry to make assumptions?
It's because he only came back to San Dimas last Thursday.
In the ten months since he'd been gone, Sparrow had moved out of his parents' place, into the apartment Terry started renting after graduation, a year ahead of Nick and Grant and the rest of their high school class. He wasn't a half bad roommate, quiet and responsible, but steadily growing more social, enough so that Terry can expect to have the place to himself most weeknights. Bold, thoughtful Sparrow changes slowly but markedly, and he's more than willing to admit he's happy with himself, absent brother and banal fucking apocalypse notwithstanding.
Lark comes home midafternoon, letting himself into the breakroom at D.A.D.D.I.E.S. like he's trying to be casual about it. Their fathers are on a mission and the others are at school, but Terry, listless and regretting his gap year, is several days into a deep clean of the kitchen. It's almost painfully obvious that he'd waited until the day their fathers left to return, or maybe Terry knows him too well. Making a big deal out of this can only go badly.
"Hi, Lark." Terry goes back to running triage on the "pantry." Most of what's left will end up in the garbage, so he makes a mental note to write up a passive-aggressive poster to tape to the door.
"Hey." By the time Terry looks up again, Lark's slouched back on the couch, overstuffed backpack tossed between his legs. He looks unfamiliar, grown in a way Terry doesn't recognize, even among the five of them, forced to mature too fast. His hair is wispy, reaching his cheekbones in the front and clinging to his neck in the back, clearly untouched since he'd last buzzed it before leaving. Where Sparrow's put on muscle and fat in the past few months, bulking up for varsity as much as for his increased role at D.A.D.D.I.E.S., Lark's skin stretches just above his too-visible bones. Terry looks away when Lark catches him staring.
"Come take this down to the dumpster for me?" He's already filled a trash bag with unsalvageables, not to mention weeding out a box full of the least-used novelty mugs to give away.
"Don't think so, Terry." When he peeks out of the kitchen again to flip Lark off, he finds Lark draped all the way across the couch this time, hiking boots kicked off to stretch out. There's a hole in his left sock, and they're mismatched, a surprising contrast to his partially-mended cargo pants and dark blue hoodie.
"Glad to know you still suck." It's a test, a tentative step back to normalcy. Lark rises to the occasion with the world's most half-assed reply.
"And you still swallow, I assume."
"Yep." He gives up on the pantry, feeling a little bad about not fully inspecting the rest of the food, but into the trash it goes.
"Move your ass over, I've been on my feet for hours."
"That's such a fucking you problem."
"Yeah." Terry tromps over and manually rotates Lark ninety degrees, dropping his feet back on the floor. "But I'm making it an us problem."
Lark bristles, glaring decidedly down at his own lap. Beneath his patchy beard, the side of his jaw is a flaky scab, days old by now.
"Yeah." When Terry finds himself fidgeting with his cuticles, he forces his hands to still, projecting the confidence he needs. "Terry?"
"What's up?" Lark's sounded hoarse since he walked in the door.
"Fill me in."
So he does. Terry starts with the least-Doodlery things, though he wouldn't call them the least important. Terry tells him about Sparrow making varsity, about Nick's on-again-off-again partner Cassie, about the paid internship Grant had turned down because "it totally sucked balls." Lark laughs, and makes stupid little comments, and doesn't seem all that different from the boy who'd run away the spring before junior year.
He's nervous talking about their families, an obviously touchier subject, so he starts with Ron and Glenn's tentative but fucking hilarious courtship. He drags his feet with more petty gossip before landing on Lark's family, on Sparrow moving out and the way none of them can seem to tell what Mercedes and Henry are thinking. Lark's brow furrows, highlighting creases in his skin that Terry doesn't remember.
"So he got out." Terry considers.
"I don't think that's how he'd frame it."
"I wondered what he'd do. He was content when he didn't have to make a choice. I made it for him and left him to pick up his own pieces." Cryptic statements aren't new for Lark, but being this open about how he sees his relationship with Sparrow so suddenly is unusual. Terry wonders how much speaking he's done in the past months.
"So he was telling the truth when he said you weren't speaking with him." None of the others had heard from Lark all this time, but surely it was different with his brother? Terry understands the twins' dynamic less the closer he becomes with Sparrow. Lark is no more illuminating.
"Got rid of my phone pretty quick. Didn't want to need it."
"Oh."
"You're nosy. Haven't even finished briefing me." Lark slings his bag over his shoulder as he stands up. "I'll figure it out from the reports. You can go back to the kitchen or whatever."
Just when Terry's about to apologize, worried he's upset Lark beyond a breaking point, Lark bends down to flick Terry's forehead.
"Hey, wait." Lark ignores him, and Terry leaves well enough alone as Lark heads to the elevator. For the first time, he watches Lark move, favoring his left leg like nothing else. "Lark?"
Sparrow adjusts to the whole 'brother being back with no warning' deal pretty quickly, as far as Terry can tell, but he's still worried about the guy. Terry's not surprised when both twins act like it's a given that Lark will join them in the apartment, but he's also pretty sure that's why he'd been so drawn to the two-bedroom apartment anyways. Thank God for 'mysterious kidnapping coverup' settlement money.
He offers to help Lark move in, but it turns out all Lark has is crammed into his shitty gray backpack, which furthers Terry's questions about where he'd been for the past ten months but makes everything else easier. Even with his limp (that both brothers studiously refuse to comment on), Lark helps Sparrow haul a mattress of indeterminate origin up the stairs. He leaves it on the floor, and Terry stays out of it. If Lark wants to wreck it by not picking up a bedframe at the secondhand store, that's his problem.
And less than a week later, Lark disappears. Terry isn't really sure what he's been doing when Sparrow's in class and Terry's doing fuck-all at D.A.D.D.I.E.S. or hanging out downtown, but he isn't surprised when he gets back to the apartment Tuesday afternoon and the place is empty. There's enough leftovers in the fridge for exactly one afternoon feast, and Terry is many things but not generous, so he heats it all up and figures the others can fend for themselves.
He's putting his shit in the dishwasher when Sparrow comes in after practice and immediately heads for the shower, and he's apathetically browsing Tinder when Sparrow emerges from his bedroom, the ends of his hair soaking the shoulders of his shirt.
"Hey."
"Hey. Anything interesting happen today?"
"Nope."
"Cool."
Sparrow heads back down the hallway, calling out to Lark. No response.
"Shit, Lark, you alright?" Terry eyes the hallway, and soon enough Sparrow appears again, face wan. "His bag's gone."
"He's out for the night?" Nevertheless, Terry pockets his phone. There's a time and a place.
"I don't, I don't-- maybe. I didn't see him this morning. Thought he was till sleeping."
"Maybe he was." Terry hasn't seen him all day, but jumping to conclusions won't help anyone. "He'll be back. I trust your brother." Sparrow makes a face like Terry's slapped him.
"Whatever."
Sparrow's still awake when Terry goes to bed, pacing by the front door. Which is coincidentally in the living room, where Terry'd moved in order to give Lark his old bedroom. Ungrateful bastards, both of them. It gives him an excuse, at least, to sleep in the next day and stay home from D.A.D.D.I.E.S., instead of preparing for their fathers' return. Sparrow stays home too, not even bothering to call out of school. When he gets to what seems like a breaking point, Terry gives up on verbal reassurance and muscles him onto the bed, pinning him down until he sleeps, just like the old days. Lark doesn't come home while Sparrow's asleep, and he wakes up worse for wear.
It's past midnight, technically Thursday when Lark comes home. Terry's asleep for the beginning, but he wakes up to hushed arguing and Lark's bag hitting the floor as Sparrow backs him up against the wall. Terry hasn't seen the two of them fight since Lark came back. Before, it was just a part of life, the two of them (and sometimes Nick, Grant, or himself) scuffling, releasing pent-up emotions or simply for fun. Now, whatever agreement the brothers came to, verbal or implicit, seems crafted from glass, more put-upon attempt at normalcy than their previous casual, mutually beneficial violence.
"...business. Get off my fucking jock." They're barely more than silhouettes in the low light permeating the blinds, but Terry watches Lark shove Sparrow backward and lean as if to pick up his bag, before changing course and driving a fist into Sparrow's stomach. Sparrow snatches Lark's wrist as he doubles over, pulling his brother close.
"What the fuck happened to you, man? You don't have the strength to crack your knuckles." Again, Lark lurches away, but Sparrow doesn't let go of his wrist. Lark snarls his brother's name, something that sounds like don'tfuckingtouchme, and knees Sparrow in the groin. Terry's standing by now, physically but not mentally ready to intervene. Letting go of Lark to recoil, Sparrow's too occupied with his injured nuts to catch Lark as he heads towards the back of the apartment. He makes it just a few steps before his leg gives out.
"Shit." Sparrow and Terry move forward in sync as Lark catches himself on his knees and palms, muttering a string of curses as he props himself up with the help of the wall. His free hand clutches his bag to his chest like a life raft, face contorted into something wild.
Instead of helping Lark, Terry pulls Sparrow back.
"Leave him. Both of you are going to sleep. Sparrow, I don't care if you go to class tomorrow, but you won't stay here. Lark, you're going to urgent care, but you get to pick the unlucky bastard to drive you. After, you can sort your shit out, or not. But tonight is not the time."
Because he's fucking pissed, Terry keeps his grip on Sparrow's shoulder as Lark turns tail and limps all the way down the hall, disappearing into his bedroom before Terry takes his hand away. He heads back to bed before Sparrow's door clicks shut.