Archie slunk down the driveway, hands deep in pockets, a distant frown on his face. He stopped twice to examine one of the few remaining specimens of wildlife that had survived suburban development, (a small, crimson chested robin). A long, heavy coat clung to him, his pink tinted face seemingly set, determined to keep wearing it despite the sweltering heat. Brushing a few locks of damp hair from his face, he rummaged in his pockets.

Joda could see his goddamn model worthy lashes fluttering from there.

“Hey, driver guy, honk the horn for me, will you?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, young sir.”

“Hmph. You and your sissy ‘respect for peace and quiet’.”

The driver sniffed huffily.

The horn honked.

The poor boy started at the sudden noise, the robin shrieking and taking flight. He sped towards the car, narrowly avoiding a nasty encounter with his own untied shoelaces.

Joda, predictably, was unsympathetic.

“Hurry up! Get in!”

Archie opened the door, sighing with the weariness of someone who was far too used to this kind of thing. “How did you manage this?” He bemoaned, staring down sadly at Joda, who was still squirming about in the well. “It's not that hard to ride in a car, you just… you just sit still.”

“Took you long enough. Help me up, will you?”

Sighing, Archie reached out with one long, slender arm. “Ready?”

“Uhh, yeah.”

“On three.”

Joda braced himself.

“One.” Archie paused, taking a second to tighten his grip, flexing his fingers from where they were tightly grasping Joda’s own, oversized, knobbly hand.

“Eww! Your hand is clammy!”

“All part of the dramatic effect.”

Joda’s hair flopped down into his eyes as he leaned his head forward in mock despair.

“Two.”

“Hurry up, I know you love seeing me suffer.”

“THREE!” Archie heaved upward with all his might, arm muscles straining with all the strength his lanky, aristocratic body could manage.

Joda was still in the footrest.

“Is that it?’

“Screw you, I’m not a goddamn athlete.”

Joda relaxed his grip, hitting the back of his head against the seat behind him. “Ugh, you are no help.” He flailed his arms. “Move! Off you go! I’ll get out of this by myself.”

The driver, having wisely stayed silent throughout this exchange, observed the duo in his mirror. He cracked what could have been a grin. All the stupid tinting made it so hard to tell.

Joda twisted as far as he could in his position, pointing a finger at the man in the front seat. “And you stay quiet in there, Jeeves, or I’ll make sure you’re living in a cardboard box by next week. “

Archie snorted. He crossed his arms, staring down at Joda smugly. “Don't listen to him, sir; I’ve seen him cry watching charity comm-MPHM!”

Whatever the boy had intended to say was lost as Joda launched himself from the footwell, furiously tackling him to the curb.

“We do not. Talk. About. That.”

Archie’s eyes twinkled with mirth, despite the fact he was now pinned to the ground by ninety pounds of pure rage. He quirked one, dark eyebrow.

Joda frowned down at him, lips pursed. “Don't you dare. I swear-”

Archie licked the hand clamped over his mouth, and Joda ripped it away with a shriek, wiping his palm on the grass above Archie's head.

“Eww, ewww, eww, you are the grossest. And also the worst.”

Archie howled with laughter at the expression on Joda’s face, his chest heaving as he took in the horror written across his delicate features. “It got you out of the footrest,” he managed to choke out between giggles.

“You suck.”

“Straight as an arrow, actually.”

“Oh, Lord, give me strength.” Joda rolled onto the sidewalk, splaying his gangly limbs in mock defeat. His russet, curling fringe was plastered to his forehead, olive skin beaded with sweat. “I feel really gross right now.” His shirt made a wet suction sound as he peeled it off himself, as if in agreement.

Archie crossed his arms, wriggling as a stone poked his back. “The sun has no business being this hot.”

Joda snorts, rubbing his face lazily. “You were the one who decided to wear a giant winter coat on the day the ozone layer finally collapsed.” One Gucci clad foot twitched.“I can feel my skin melting.”

The driver sighed.

The two boys kept lying on the pavement.

Joda craned his neck, looking over at Archie with earnest eyes. “You still wanna go to the art museum?”

There were a few seconds of silence, punctuated only by the sickly hum of insects, pounding in time with the rays of sunlight.

“Fuck no.”

Joda rolled over, damp t-shirt clinging to the slope of his shoulder as it sagged with relief. “Oh, thank god. It's too hot, man.”

The limo reversed, chrome hubs gleaming above the matte, sticky cement. As it went, the window rolled down, smoothly tucking itself away into the door. A wiry, aging forearm rested itself on the edge.

The driver smirked down at them, his eyes crinkling as he observed the two, splayed side by side and sweating profusely. “I suppose you won’t be needing me then?”

Joda raised one hand, already dusted pink with sunburn. “Nah, be off with you, peasant.”

Archie sat up, coat covered in dust and dragging behind him. He waved his hands at the driver. “Don't worry about him, sir; he means thank you.” His pine eyes creased with worry. “He’s just too much of a numbskull to say it him-ACCK!”

Joda struggled with his other shoe, having just hurled the first at Archie's face.

“Hey!” Archie rubbed his face mournfully, running his fingers over the red, raised lump now adorning his cheek. “That one hurt.”

“Well, don't call me a numbskull then!

“You were being a numbskull!” Archie turned back to the driver, beaming up at him with a smile that had melted the suspicious heart of many an adult. “Thank you so much, mister, I’ll make sure Joda calls his mom to tell her where he’s got to.”

Joda huffed, picking at his shoelace again.

The driver looked down at the pair, a smirk crinkling at the corners of his mouth.

“All right then boys, I’ll be off.”

The limo pulled away, wheels flashing and gravel crunching under its tires.

Joda stood up, wobbling a little. “I’m still not a numbskull.” He muttered sulkily.

Archie beamed. “Stop acting like it then.”He jogged back up the driveway, leaving Joda swaying unsteadily at the curb.

“Ugggh.” Joda trailed after him, sweat catching at the fabric of his t-shirt. He peeled it off the front of himself. “Eww, eww, eww.” He wrinkled his nose. “I hate sweat. I hate it, I hate it.”

“You play basketball- that’s not a good combo.”

“Tell me about it.” Joda huffed, blowing a stray strand of hair away from where it was hanging morosely on his forehead. Archie waved a spotless white Gucci, showing it to the entire culdesac, manicured lawns and sparse, neat gardens. “Can I have my shoe back?”

“No.”

“You suck.”

“Still straight, remember?”

“Filthy shoe stealer.”

“You threw it at me!”

Having finally caught up with Archie, Joda made a mad grab for the Gucci, ducking under his elbow. Archie yelped and shot his hand up, holding the shoe above his head as Joda clawed at his shoulders. He slumped forward, sighing dramatically. “Archieee.” Joda whined. “Pleaseee can I have it baaack?”

Archie stared down at him, one pale arm stretching away into the sky. He smirked. “No.”

“Aww come on. I’ll, umm. I’ll go to the art museum with you again. When it's not a bajillion degrees. Did I mention that you’re sweating a lot, which is super gross.” He looked down at himself, dark curls flopping forward. “Eww, I am also super gross.”

Archie snorted, hoisting the Gucci high, sun beating down on his back. “Well, this super gross person is keeping your shoe, so there.”

“Aww, man, fine. I can't argue in this heat anyway.” Joda turned, with an attempt at a haughty sniff and stalked off towards the stately house towering before them, and its promise of shade.

“You’re no fun.” 

Archie trotted after him, following along like a very tall, lanky, expensively clad dog. The smaller of the pair made his way up the steps, wheezing slightly. The doorknob was a bit closer to eye level for Joda than in most people's case, but he managed to wrestle with the solid, ornate handle and spill into the hallway. His eyes widened as Archie stepped past him, into the welcome shade of the corridor.

Joda let out a shuddering breath. “I always forget about your house.”

“Huh?”

Joda gestured to the oak paneled walls, gleaming in mellow afternoon light, every surface reeking of age and sophistication. “How pretty it is.”

Archie snorted, clapping Joda on one thin, wiry shoulder. “You have a pretty good appreciation of architecture-- for a basketball player.” He strode away into the next room, sliding into the house like another beautiful piece of furniture, at home amongst the wealth and luxury.

Joda scrambled after him, narrowly avoiding an archaic looking lamp. “Technically, it's interior design.”He followed the dark flash of Archie’s coattail up a flight of stairs, pausing only briefly to run his hand reverently over the slim, golden railing and avoid tripping. “Slow down, Mr. My Degree Is Meaningless.”

A muffled voice echoed from above. “I haven't even started college yet. Step up your game.”

Joda made his way (cautiously) up the remainder of the polished, wooden stairs. “I’m stepping, I’m stepping,” he grumbled.

He wandered down a corridor, nodding appreciatively at a subdued, masterful oil painting adorning the wall. And another corridor, where the carved, snarling lions of the table's feet garnered his interest. The third hallway was his breaking point. “Ok, Archie, these candle holders are awesome, but where the hell are you?” He yelled, tipping his head back to the ceiling, and its delicate chandelier. Joda sighed. “Too damn easy to get lost. The bastard probably did it on purpose.”

Archie’s pale features appeared from around a doorway. “I resent that accusation.”

“Too bad, you deserve it, shoe stealer.”

A wide, bright grin spread over Archies face, and Joda thought, in that moment, he looked like a scheming little bitch.

“I am way too hot and cranky to deal with you right now.” Joda grumbled, elbowing past Archie, who graciously recovered balance and sank into a luxurious looking couch.“Let me at your fridge. I need cold things.”

Chuckling, Archie extended one long, aristocratic looking finger across the other side of the room. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“You have no right being this charismatic. Or graceful.” Joda reached the fridge, which was huge and chrome and hummed menacingly. He yanked it open. “You fall on your face the second you step outside.” He sighed. “Why couldn’t I receive such talents?”

A bunch of ice cubes clattered to the floor. Joda looked betrayed.

“I’m going to go find some fans.” Archie leaped from his spot on the couch, patting the doorway on his way out. His hair was almost the same warm chestnut as the walls. “Try to stop being a failure.”

“I resent that accusation.” Joda reached down, struggling to retrieve the already fast melting ice cubes. Tempted as he was to leave them to soak Archies floor as revenge, he was far too sane to let such lovely antique mahogany paneling be ruined. “Damn you, Archie, and your families impeccable taste in floorboards,” Joda cursed as he wrestled with one of the cubes, which was leaving a slippery trail as his fingers chased it about. “Get back here.” The cube did not listen, seemingly content to scurry about antagonizing him. Sensing that the small block of water would not be reasoned with, Joda kicked it towards the lounge, away from the precious wood floor, and instead turned to examine the kitchen.

The countertop gleamed, full of swirling navy blue veins, the rest a creamy white. The cupboards, much like the rest of the house, were made of a dark oak wood, smooth and vibrant. The whole kitchen was bathed in light from a small, curving window on Jodas left, who could not see it because at that point had covered his eyes. One can only appreciate so much good interior design before one goes a bit nuts.

“What are you doing?” Archie waltzed back into the room, cords slung over his shoulder and fans of various sizes and decades piled in his arms.

“I’m weeping over your countertop. Is that marble? That looks like marble.”

“Imported from Italy, same as you.”

Joda snorted, finally uncovering his eyes. “I’m imported from everywhere.”

“Truer words were never spoken. Help me plug these in, will you?”

Archie handed him a clunky, ancient looking fan, covered in dust and grime. Joda sneezed.

“Bless you.”

“That's the nicest thing you’ve said to me all day.”

Archie reached behind one of the couches, fumbling with a plug. “I’m trying to build up your tolerance to passive aggressive comments.” He grunted as the socket slid into place with a thunk, straightening up and dusting his hands.

“Huh?”

“For that family dinner thing, remember? The one you’ve been complaining about all month.”

Joda frowned, opening his mouth to reply, but Archie held up a hand.

“Hold on, you might want to stand back, there's a chance this one's gonna fly to bits.”

“Ohmigod-why don't you people have air conditioning?”

Archie neglected to reply, instead of waving him off, gingerly pressing the start button. He lept behind the couch, joining Joda. The fan spluttered. The large, steel blades began to turn, and the whole thing shuddered. They spun, faster and faster, but there were no bits detaching. Other than a couple of puffs of dust and a few worrying shudders, the thing seemed fine. Archie stood up, picking another fan off the pile. “False alarm.”

“I repeat, why no air conditioning? We could have both been killed by shrapnel.” He patted his cheek in horror. “You could have scarred this butter-face.”

Archie snorted. “It'll complete your rugged look.”

Joda slid down the front of the sofa. “You make a good point.” His forehead creased. “What was I complaining about again?”

“Family dinner?”

Joda groaned, leaning his head back on the couch, legs splayed. He slid down the headrest with a dramatic whine and then sneezed. “It’s gonna be hell. But also not that bad.” He watched as Archie heaved one of the heavier fans onto a desk. “I mean, I love Aunt Augathrine, and her husband, I forgot his name, and Great Aunt Mary Ann is the bomb. I swear, never play bingo with that woman. Did you know you can get hustled at bingo? I didn’t-” Archie threw Jodas shoe back at him. “HEY!”

Archie gave a remorseless smirk. “Stay on track.”

Joda rubbed his head. “Oh, right. Uh, I mean yeah. My aunts and uncles, they’re awesome, so that's always good.” He shrank in on himself a little, looking tiny on the massive expanse of couch. His fingers scrabbled for a loose thread to pick. “My parents? Well, that's nothing new.” He laughed humorlessly. “And I mean, my sisters kind of a bitch, I sort of just realised, so that’s not so awesome.” He smiled over to where Archie was staring at him, crummy plastic fan in hand and a sorrowful expression on his face. “I’ll survive.” He muttered. “I always do."