Running Parallel

Part 1 - Luke

"Syd!" I yell, tossing yet another shirt across the room. My room looks like a crime scene, with clothes hanging from open dresser drawers and scattered across my bed. I've dug through every drawer and hanger, but the shirt I want might as well be considered among the missing.

"Syd!" I storm out of my bedroom into the hallway, my destination a mere four feet away on the opposite side of the hall. I don't bother knocking. "Where is my blue shirt?"

Sitting in his computer chair with bare feet on his desk, Syd doesn't even twitch. His eyes reflect the screen in front of him, the white webpage casting bright light over his thin face. The room is otherwise dark, curtains drawn tightly closed, like a vampire hiding from the sun.

I cross the room in three quick strides and snatch the headphones off his head.

"Hey!" Syd snarls, whipping around.

"Where is my blue shirt?" I demand.

"What blue shirt?" he asks distractedly, grabbing for his headphones. I take half a step back and hold them out of reach. He huffs through his nose, obviously annoyed by my interruption.

Good. That makes two of us.

"You know the one," I remind him. "It's the only blue shirt I own that doesn't have a grease stain or hole in it. And I know you took it, so cough it up."

He scoffs. "Why are you blaming me? Maybe it's in the laundry."

I arch a brow. A beat of silence passes.

"Fine," he grumbles, slumping back in his chair. "It's in my dresser. Bottom drawer."

I shove his headphones on his head, taking extra care to mess up his hair as much as possible while he hisses complaints and slaps my hands away.

"Fuck off," he snaps, "I told you where it is, so stop."

"Stop stealing my clothes," I tell him, giving his head a little shove just because I can. It's what brothers do. As his big brother, it's my job to tease the little shit every time he steps out of line.

Going to his dresser, I squat down and pull open the bottom drawer. It's hard to see in the dark, but the light from the hall gives just enough light to see the sparkle of something sequinned and the intricate webbing of something made from purple yarn. I dig beneath flowery leggings and lace-lined tops til my hand touches something soft and familiar. At the bottom of the drawer, I pull out my blue tee shirt, rolling my eyes when I also find a belt I've been missing for months.

The drawer of forgotten clothes has claimed more victims. Ones I'll be taking back, thank you very much.

"Why do you need that shirt anyway?" Syd asks, holding his headphones around his neck. He looks over his shoulder at me, his nose wrinkling at the shimmer of sequins. I stand and kick the drawer shut. Out of sight, out of mind, or something like that.

"Do I need a reason? It's my shirt."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm just asking. You have lots of shirts, so why that one?"

"With holes, stains, rips—" I list off, then sniff the shirt. All I smell is detergent. Deeming it clean, I pull it on as I talk. "You want me looking homeless, bro?"

"Why's it matter? You always look like that," he quips, shifting back to his computer.

"Fuck off," I tell him without heat.

He moves to put his headphones back on but pauses. Turning his head, he peers at me with a furrowed brow. "You're going out with Caleb, aren't you?"

"No," I lie, but he only presses his lips in a thin line, a thousand words spoken in the look he gives me. "So what if I am? I'm going over to his to hangout with him and a few people he met at college. I want to look decent."