visitor 》dolan twins

chapter three 》just like the leaves

three little taps at my window wake me in the middle of the night. i've always been a light sleeper. i instinctively grab my phone and check the time: 2:37a.m. suddenly, i am alarmed. i already know who is at the window, at exactly the same time as the night before. do i ignore him until he goes away?

his decision to knock three times more says no.

i am nervous now- why is he so persistent? i climb out of bed and peer out of the blinds to find grayson once more, standing there politely and not at all in the creepy, stalker-like stance i expect him to be in order to match his behaviour. i let out a little groan and open the window. he stands there and smiles at me innocently.

"hello."

"can i help you?"

"yeah, you could let me in- it's freezing out here." he says pleadingly.

"look, what's the deal here? this is kinda weird, man." i say defensively, folding my arms across my chest as the biting night breeze lifts my hair.

"no deal, unless you wanna make one."

"no, i don't. i don't know you."

"sure you do, i'm ethan's brother." he chuckles kinda nervously, and his matter-of-factness irritates me.

"i've never even spoken to you and ethan doesn't ever mention you, i don't understand why you're here." i say, a little bitterly.

"yeah, i guess we don't talk much anymore." he says, looking at his feet and nibbling on his lip a little. his shoulders slump and i can see my comment hurt him. i soften a little bit, and realise i was a little harsh. then i remember my earlier considerations; the whole "social anxiety, insomnia" business. it wouldn't hurt to give the guy a chance, he's probably lonely. he doesn't hold the same confidence and vibrancy as his brother, for which everyone loves him. i'd never really heard about him, so it adds up that he's probably just a nobody looking for someone who doesn't know his past to confide in. who knows, maybe he thinks talking to me might help him rebuild his relationship with ethan. i assume they'd had a fight and were holding grudges against each other. or maybe they drifted because they were so different.

i sigh.

"okay, fine. come in." i rub my forehead with my thumb and forefinger. am i crazy?

he smiles and climbs in, shutting the window behind him with enthusiasm.

"thanks."

"you're welcome, i guess."

we stand there in awkward silence for a few moments.

"oh, your arms. they're covered in goosebumps, i'm sorry i let the cold in. here," he pulls back my comforter and motions for me to climb back into bed, "you get warmed up, i'll sit down here." he takes a seat on the cold, laminate floor and shivers. "i promise i won't keep you long, i just wanted to see you."

"me especially?" i ask, a little uncomfortable, but more so curious.

"yes, you're a listener. i hope i can be a listener for you, too."

"but you don't know m-"

"or so i've heard, i mean." he says, quickly, interrupting me. i raise an eyebrow at him suspiciously, and simply respond,

"huh." then i ask, "so what do you want me to listen to?"

"well, i was hoping we could sort of get to know each other first?" he says, although it comes out as more of a question, as if he is anticipating instant rejection. normally, i think my response would be no, but there's something very pure about him. he wants a friend.

"what do you want to know?"

"um, i don't know. i didn't think i would get this far, if i'm truly honest. how about we play twenty questions?" he suggests. i look at him as if to say, 'really, dude?'  and he looks down at his hands, fiddling with his fingers in his lap. he looks somewhat ashamed, and i feel guilty for causing that. this kid clearly has social issues and i'm sat here being a difficult bitch.

"sure. want me to go first?" i ask, feeling it my duty to prompt the conversation a little. he nods gratefully. "okay, um... what's your full name?"

"grayson bailey dolan. you?"

"you're supposed to ask me a different question." i tell him, rolling my eyes. his eyes flicker from mine to his hands once more. "but my name is alba, short for albany. albany edison."

"that's a cool name, i like that. albany. albany."

"call me alba." i say, cringing.

"but i like albany... it sounds like a colour. a warm colour... like the colour of mulled wine, or maybe like red leaves in autumn. yeah, maybe just like the leaves. i like that." he smiles to himself a little. i can't help but smile a little to myself, too. he made my name sound like poetry. "so, what's your favourite song?"

"hm, that's a tough one. i like indie music, generally, y'know. the hunna, catfish and the bottlemen, circa waves..." he stares at me blankly. obviously, he doesn't know who they are. "but i think one of my favourite songs is definitely atlas hands by benjamin francis leftwich."

"hey, i know that one! i like that song, too."

"good taste." i smile. "okay, third question: favourite soda."

"dr. pepper. it tastes like cher-"

"cherry bakewells!" we say in unison, "yeah!" i laugh and he chuckles, too.

"i have a pretty generic question. if you could invite three people to a dinner party, alive or dead, who would they be and why?" he asks intently. i like this question.

"okay, uh... first, kurt cobain: need i explain? the guy had one of the most intricate minds to exist, and of course i want answers to the conspiracies: suicide or murder? second, anne frank. i've always wondered what it'd be like to talk to her after reading her diary. i wanted to know more. and i think, my third guest would be karl pilkington, just because he's fuckin' hilarious."

grayson nods observantly and says, "i like the first two, i have no idea who the third guy is."

"look him up." i say sternly. we continue to ask questions back and forth and i am soon so enveloped in the conversation, that it is almost 4:30a.m. when i next check my phone.

"i'll take that as my cue to leave." grayson says, standing up and stretching. "it was really nice talking to you." he lifts up the window, and begins to climb out.

"wait, what about the last question?" i ask quickly. i am so tired and cold as the drought sneaks in again, but i know deep down i have enjoyed his company and almost don't want him to leave. not in a weird way, of course. i just haven't had someone really ask me about me in a while. he seems like a good friend.

"go ahead." he says.

"what's your favourite colour?" i ask and chuckle a little, as it's so simple and boring compared to our previous questions about future ambitions and our favourite authors.

he smiles to himself, and simply says, "albany."

then, he climbs out of my window once more and disappears into the night.