Timothy had always wanted a brother. He figured if he had had one, his hyperactivity would have died down a notch because it would share between him and his sibling. Unfortunately, his mother hadn’t stayed long enough for him to ask for one. The second he had found out Kenny was going to be moving in, he had bounded around the house, excitedly cleaning up his father’s study into a second bedroom, making all sorts of desserts they can snack on and romanticizing how much fun they would have goofing about every day. If only the circumstances were a little bit different. Now, he awkwardly paced around the kitchen, watching his father cook, not knowing how he should approach his friend who still shunned away in his room. “Go check on him, Timo” Emilio told him for what was like the fifth time since the morning. He had been at his father’s heels since then, having no idea what to do.

“But – but – “ Timothy stammered as he came to a halt, “What do I say? This is serious, Pop…it’s not like I can shape things up with a joke like I usually do.” Kenny wasn’t the loudest person in their friend group. But, today, his silence was unsettling as if it made everyone in the room sense that he was strangling himself with self-reproach. It was two weeks since he moved in. On some days, he would walk out for some small talk before burying himself back in the room. But on days like these, he wouldn’t even make try.

“Maybe you could take him to the restaurant? Get him distracted, mijo” his dad suggested.

 “I..I’ll figure something out” Tim mumbled as he made his way to Kenny’s room. He found him sitting on the floor, staring at a blank page on his sketchbook, his arts materials scattered around him. He hadn’t touched his suitcase yet. His clothes still locked up inside as if he was certain his parents would come back for him within a few days’ time. Timothy felt awful for knowing that wasn’t the case. His father had told him everything Beau had told him before Kenny’s departure, loathing his son, saying things that no one would believe should be said to a child. They weren’t coming back. He had promised himself he would never say a word. He knew how much Kenny cared for the people he loved, putting them up on a pedestal as he did his best to impress them with whatever he did. That was his key weakness: he went tense whenever he felt like something he did wasn’t up to standard…or anyone rejected his hard work. Telling him that those he kept above his head were detesting him for his mere existence could send him spiralling till he lost himself completely. He didn’t want that for his best friend. His brother. “What you planning to draw?” he broke the silence.

“How can I plan anything when I don’t even know where I belong anymore?” Kenny sniffled, keeping his eyes glued to the white sheet. “I don’t stand….” He sighed, “anywhere, Tim” he shut his book and climbed sickly into bed.  Timothy stood there, swaying his arms side to side as he contemplated. What was he supposed to say? He had no idea what such drastic abandonment felt like. If he did say something, it may come off as neglectful or pitying. Sure, his parents divorced, his mother left him with his father. But he was three! He didn’t know what it all meant. He was living in his own little world. He couldn’t even remember his mother’s face or voice and that really didn’t matter to him. “I’m just trying to silence the voices in my head, Timothy” he groaned, pulling the covers over his head. Pursing his lips, Timothy looked past Kenny and through the window. Despite the solemn mood of the day, the sun shone brightly in the clear blue sky. He considered his options.

“Hey…” he tried carefully, “you wanna….step outside?”

“No..” Kenny grumbled.

“Pedal faster!” Timothy encouraged from at least two hundred meters away from Kenny. The second his father had accepted to take Kenny in, he had pulled out his mother’s old bike out of the dusty garage, polished it and mended it for Kenny to use. He wasn’t doing the bicycle much justice, zigzagging from the extreme right to the extreme left every couple of times he accelerated, the holographic rainbow tassels on the handles being jerked this way and that. In contrast to yesterday, the sun shone brightly, although it was just ten in the morning and the neighbourhood was alive with morning exercises or people rushing around to reach work on time. As he pedalled, Timothy stopped quite often at various houses down the street to greet someone outside or hear the latest rumours and news. He was obliged to, for it was mainly the community that he now rode through that helped his father nurture and grow him into the person he was in the present day. He waved to old mother Ms. Carlyle walking her poodle on the opposite end of the street while he waited for Kenny to catch up.

“I haven’t ridden a bike in a while” Kenny yelled back as he yanked the handles left, “especially not on an actual road!” he rode straight into a bush making Timothy cringe and cycle back to check if he was alright. Kenny stood up, spitting leaves and dusting twigs and prickly burs off his clothes and hair. Grunting in determination, he got back on the pastel pink bike and zipped off leaving Timothy in the dust. He didn’t go too far before the bike toppled again in the middle of the street. Luckily, Kenny managed to jump off before the bike pulled him along with it.

“Uggh! I can’t do this!” Kenny whined.

“Come on, dude!” Timothy beckoned, “I have to be there by eight o’clock.” He watched Kenny’s eyebrow raise as he stared at Timothy without getting back on confusedly.

“Tim” Kenny pointed out, “You got up at eight o’clock!” And Timothy was proud of it. On other days he would roll around dreaming till high noon when the sun aimed its beams directly through his window and onto his face. In the winter, he slept until he was tired of sleeping under the warmth of his thick duvet. Until now that is. They rode down the hill and turned right into a small wall of foliage. Timothy had to keep convincing Kenny that everything was going to be fine as they squeezed through the itchy leaves and onto the other side. He watched silently as Kenny took in the new setting and perked up.

“This is Lane’s street” he recognized and looked at Tim for clarification, before angling his bike towards the house with the most extravagant garden.

“You live a bike ride away from Lane and you never told me?” Kenny shrieked. He was about to head down the road but Timothy held him down.

“Other way” he said, pointing in the opposite direction with his head. Kenny looked at him with big puppy dog eyes. Tim scoffed and rode down the way they needed to go because Timothy wasn’t Lane and Timothy wasn’t fazed by large pleading pupils. He heard Kenny sigh loudly and follow him still a few meters down.

They finally arrived at a large family restaurant. The large gold letters in fancy bubble-cursive spelling “The Treasury” had been turned off for the day and the curtains inside were still drawn. Timothy rummaged through his satchel, throwing out old bills, bottle caps and used tissue that he had stuffed in there and forgotten to take out. A sheen of sweat condensed on his forehead as he was unable to find what he was looking for, his pulse gushing down his arteries in fright. He was already late and it was bad for business. Finally, with a huge sigh of relief, he pulled out a small key-the key chain on it a jolly smiling sunflower which Timothy took off as rude for laughing at him that he couldn’t find it sooner.

“Since when did you run a restaurant?” Kenny asked as he hopped down from his bike. Timothy recollected all his past conversations with his friend. It seemed he had forgotten that bit of information.