Symphony of Lilacs

27. Memorise the Constellations

My knuckle knocks on the door, softer than a lullaby.

"Come in." A solemn voice comes from within, making me push open the door.

Each and every angle and nook of Henry's study seems like the careful placing of a paint brush against a virgin canvas.
Even the papers and books on his table are always stacked while he reads and works.
Not even a smudge of dust visible.
Except for the spot of ink I left the last time I was here.

Henry looks up from his reading; he gives a faint smile, and gestures at the seat facing him from across his table.
His cheeks aren't hollowed and he isn't fidgeting.

I slide into it, fingers padding on my thighs.

But then my eyes wander to his hands. The skin is a brick red, contrary to the normal paleness, with pithy scratches.

He's been scrubbing harshly again.

"Why are you observing me so keenly?" He pulls his hands onto his lap and away from my gaze.

The grandfather clock clicks away five times, questioning each flick.

I stop padding my thigh and out the same hand on the table.
"I'm observing what's bothering you."

"Quite direct today."
Henry takes his pages and nearly stacks them into the building of parchments at his side.
"Nothing's bothering me."

"Then can you explain why you're doing that again?" I point to his hidden hands.

Henry always did that when he was a child, usually before balls or examinations at school. Even though, he always had the best results at the end of both.

My nails bite into my own palm.

"It's nothing, Matthew. Totally insignificant." His straight shoulders slump a bit.

"You're using contractions, brother. Something is bothering you." I push my chair back and rotate around the table, reaching and sitting on its edge.
"And quite a bit from the looks of it."

"My using contractions does not mean that Judgement Day is near." Henry rolls his eyes.

"It may not."
I sigh, shutting my eyes.
"But you know, I will always be here for you." pushing back the chair, I stand.
"I shan't ask you more, but you can come to me whenever you want to talk about it."
Nodding at him, I paddle towards the door, heart still beating in my chest.

"Why... why all this?" A faint voice comes from behind.

Because I never had someone like an elder sibling to talk to after William Hopkins... passed away...

"Because you're my blood." My words linger in the air, like the frost on a window.

My feet only take a few more steps when Henry's voice stops me.

"I am just overthinking about a dream, brother. There's nothing to worry about."

I turn around.

Henry shakes his head.
"Well, come sit. Do not only stand there while I bluster about."

Smiling, I cross the deep maroon carpet and beseat myself.
"What kind of dream?"

Henry leans back in his chair, arms crossed on his chest.
"My soul was sort of trapped within a crimson coloured journal for a few centuries," he sighs.
"I know it sounds ridiculous."

My jaw drops. "That..." my hand runs through my hair.
"I don't even know what to make of that."

"And..." He stops abruptly.