Unnamed
So if by the time the bar closes
and you feel like falling down
I'll carry you home tonight
The night air is slightly chilly, but he barely takes notice of it. He walks down the busy street, head up, looking at the brightly-lit names of all sorts of bars. It is almost three in the morning but with so many people around, it feels like the middle of the day. The passer-by are of all kinds; men, women, young, old, ugly, beautiful. They all appear different, yet something connects them. They all are creatures of the night, thriving on the unseen beat of the nightlife. He doesn’t really belong to this kind of crowd. Even if he is a drunkard, it doesn’t appeal to him to go to a bar to get drunk among tons of other people. And even if he did, he knew he’d make a scene. He tends to get a bit aggressive while drunk after all.
No, at three am, he’d usually be in his bed, sleeping and dreaming of past glory. To be honest, he tried to go to bed. Sleep eluded him however. His friend - could that troublesome man really be called friend? - had yet to return from one of his numerous bar-jumping nights, and when he was absent this long, he usually came back home beaten, half-starved and too drunk to see straight.
‘’Not tonight,’’ he mutters angrily.
Rider stops walking beside a lamppost to look around. The yellowish glow turns his red hair a muddy brown colour and seems to deepen the lines on his face. He towers above all people that walk past him, and yet he feels like he can’t see more than two feet ahead. This stupid street is dark even with the lampposts standing every ten feet.
Bloody hell, Archer is a Servant too, why can’t he sense him? He usually knows where the blond is but right now, it is as if the other Servant had disappeared from the surface of the Earth. Worry gnaws at his heart. Deep down, he knows getting worked up is stupid. Archer is strong. His body is not made of weak flesh and blood like a human’s. Even if shot between the eyes, it would not be fatal. But Rider can’t help worrying over his friend, knowing that each beating leaves more than visible flesh wounds.
He takes a deep breath, forcing his mind to calm down to focus on the problem at hand. Archer never told him precisely which bars he frequents, but from the tales he brings back home, Rider has a small idea of what kind of place it must be. It won’t be a flashy place full of youngsters. Despite his youthful appearance, Archer likes the company of older men. Rider must then find a bar where older men meet; a discreet place for unsavory company. He frowns disapprovingly at that thought. He still can’t understand why someone like Archer, perfect in every aspect of the body and the mind, must seek solace in the arms of greasy bastards.
Now, back to the problem at end. Archer most likely won’t be in any bar that stands on this crowded street. Leaving the bring circle of light, Rider leaves the main boulevard to walk down a smaller street. Not ten paces further down, the noises from the nightlife he left behind die down gradually.
This new area feels like a different place completely. The air even appears chillier. The light from the scattered lampposts flickers on and off. Few people walk on the sidewalk, and those who do adopt a brisk pace, head down and hands in the pockets of their coat. The buildings lining the streets no longer display bright neon signs. Most of them are dilapidated or crumbling.
Without knowing why, Rider feels this is the kind of place Archer must favour. So far, he has never been able to really get why his friend likes shabby surroundings. Archer used to be a king; he used to live in one of the most beautiful city that ever existed, he should only want to be seen in the best of places, and yet, he prefers rundown bars full of smelly people. Rider knows it is useless to try to understand, yet he can’t stop himself from trying. It must be the small part of him set by Aristotle that can only be satisfied by answers to his questions.
Away from all the people, loud music and electric buzzing, Rider can finally manage to sense Archer. He feels some kind of satisfaction at the fact that he had managed to pinpoint his friend’s location quite easily.
From now on, it is only a few minutes before he finds the bar Archer had chosen earlier in the night. It is a small place, a little bit less shabby than the buildings surrounding it, but nothing impressive. The metal sign harboring the name of the establishment above the door hangs crooked and the large bay windows are the front are so dirty that nothing filters through.
Rider can only sigh as he pushes open the front door. As soon as he walks in, his senses are overrun by the smoky air. Smoke fills his nostrils and makes his eyes water. He has to stand by the door for a few moments, trying not to cough or run back out. For a second, he is reminded of enormous funeral pyres, but the memories disappear as soon as he hears a familiar voice.
Archer’s voice, despite its drunken lilt, is unmistakable by its haughtiness. Rider is not sure of what he said, but the other people around laugh. Blinking, his eyes finally grow accustomed to the poor lighting and the smoke filling the place. There are a few patrons sitting by the bar, crowded around a blond head. There are very few people with this hair colour around, so Rider knows immediately that he has finally found his friend.
He walks to the bar. As soon as the men notice him, their voices die down. They look up at this giant redheaded man, mouths open and eyes bulging. Archer, who realises that his audience’s attention has shifted, finally looks behind his shoulder to see what is going on. His eyes widen and he nearly falls from his stool, too drunk to stand upright.
‘’The fuck you doing here?’’ he mutters in an annoyed voice.
‘’Can’t you guess?’’ Rider answers back, using the same tone.
Archer’s eyes shift to the side as he gives thought to that. Rider can almost see the cogs in his brain too clogged by alcohol to work correctly.
‘’Drink?’’ the blond finally says.
He makes to turn back to the bar, but his elbow hits a glass of liquor that falls to the floor, shattering and spilling some golden liquid. For some unfathomable reason, laughter erupts among the other patrons. One of them pats Archer on the back, which nearly has him fall from his stool a second time. Archer half glares and half grins at that.
Rider can feel his right eyebrow twitch in annoyance. He is not jealous, but he hates how those dirty men act around Archer, as if he were their long-time buddy. Archer looks so out of place here with his clean clothes, silky blond hair and shining red eyes.
‘’Come on Rider,’’ Archer finally says, a small smile on his lips, ‘’don’t be a stick in the mud! Have a drink!’’
The idea of alcohol sets his blood on fire, but he forces this fire to die down. He is not here to drink, after all. He frowns down at the blonde, trying to look as disapproving as he can. This only seems to make the men laugh harder.
Rider’s great pride starts to sting just a little bit.
Archer, who hasn’t seen the frown of disapproval that has sent many grown men crying for their mother, takes the lack of answer as consent. He half rises from his stool to wave the barman closer. As he does, the hem of his shirt lifts slightly, exposing the small of his back. Rider immediately notices two things: how the men’s attention is immediately drawn to that sliver of skin and the bruise there. The first thing doesn’t surprise him at all; Archer could probably manage to get attention from men even if he were to wear a paper bag on his head and clothes three sizes too big for him. But it’s the bruise that really annoys Rider. Sure, his friend always gets himself hurt whenever he goes drinking, but this is actually the first time Rider can see the man (or the men, most likely) who put the wound there.
Before he can realise what he is doing, he has punched one of the man standing closer to Archer straight in the face. Unsuspecting, the man can’t even try to parry. He is flung backward, across the countertop and into some beer bottles.
Stunned silence feels the small establishment. Archer stares at him with wide surprised eyes. He opens his mouth to protest, but Rider doesn’t feel like listening. He puts his hand on Archer’s mouth to shut him up.
‘’Let’s get back home.’’
Rider pulls the blonde to his feet. Archer stumbles as his vision swims. His tanned cheeks suddenly lose their colour. Rider catches him easily. Seeing that his friend won’t make it back home on his own two feet, he picks him up. Archer says something in protest, but it is ignored. With a glare at the disgusting men still staring at them, Rider leaves the bar, making sure to kick the door shut hard enough to splinter it in the middle.
As soon as they are outside, Archer shivers. Rider looks down, his expression softening slightly despite his better judgement.
‘’You’re cold?’’ he asks even though the answer is obvious.
‘’No shit, genius,’’ Archer answers back testily. ‘’Put me down. I can walk on my own just fine!’’
‘’Can you?’’ Rider snorts. ‘’I doubt it.’’
There is a mumbled answer, but Rider doesn’t bother with it. The blonde weighs close to nothing in his arms, and it worries him a little. He knows Archer has never been fat, but his muscles seem to have diminished ever since they met. He is thinner, and Rider can almost feel the ribs beneath his hand.
‘’Stop groping me!’’ Archer whines as he feels Rider’s fingers probing him.
‘’If I wanted to grope you, I’d be groping your butt, not your ribcage, idiot.’’
It is Archer’s turn to snort. Another shiver runs through him, and he can’t help himself from snuggling closer to the other man for warmth. It annoys him, but right now he feels to drunk and cold to care. If Rider ever brings it up, he’d say he never did such a thing and call him a liar.
Rider grins down at his friend, teeth bright white against the dark red of his bushy beard.
‘’I’m glad you’re okay,’’ he says sincerely.
Archer looks a bit embarrassed, as if unsure of how to react to such a sudden change of mood.
‘’I don’t see why I wouldn’t be okay, mongrel.’’
Rider hugs his friend a bit closer to him, knowing there are thousands of reasons he could name why Archer wouldn’t be okay. He refuses to dwell on that for the moment. Archer is too drunk and tired to be having this kind of conversation after all.
Within a few minutes, as they finally reach the brightly lit main boulevard, Archer has fallen asleep, his head resting against Rider’s strong shoulder.
***
It is almost four in the morning when Rider finally opens the front door to his Master’s house. Everything is quiet and dark inside, making him wince when his foot rests on one of the loose floorboard that creaks. He stays still for a second, fearing to see his Master jumps out of the shadows to tell him to be silent. No little boy chastises him, so he breathes a sigh of relief.
As noiselessly as possible - which is quite hard for a man of Rider’s considerable size - he climbs up the stairs, careful not to bang Archer’s head against the railing. The blonde slept all the way back from the bar, his breathing smelling of cheap alcohol. Rider prefers it that way. His friend tends to be overly bitchy whenever he is hangover.
Once he steps into his Master’s bedroom - which is now his bedroom to be honest - Rider carefully lays down Archer on the narrow bed. The blonde grumbles something before rolling on his side, his back facing the other man. Rider sighs, but a little smile tugs at the corner of his lips. Gently, he removes Archer’s clothing, knowing he prefers to sleep naked. This has almost become a routine now. Whenever Archer comes home too drunk to stand upright, Rider would put him to bed. It should bother him, he knows. His friend is a grown-up man; he should be able to take care of himself. It doesn’t bother Rider because he knows how it feels to nearly fall asleep on his own two feet, too drunk to even crawl to his bed. How many times had Hephaistion had put him to bed, gently, carefully, patiently, so he wouldn’t wake up sprawled ungracefully on the floor? Of course, what Hephaistion and he shared had been different from what he now has with Archer, but somehow it feels slightly the same. The two men are polar opposites, yet Rider feels at ease around Archer the same way he had felt at ease with his childhood friend, and this wasn’t something easily achieved. There were very few men he had been willing to let his guard down around.
‘’You Persian boys will be the death of me…’’ he whispers gently, brushing back Archer’s blond fringe from his forehead.
Even drunk, even with his cheeks flushed and his mouth wide open, Archer manages to look handsome. Rider grins, patting the warm cheek before pulling the blankets up just in case the chilly air might annoy his friend.
He is about to undress himself to lie down on his own mattress on the floor when he notices a shadow in the doorway. For a second, his heart hammers in his chest before he realises that it is only his Master staring at him with a disapproving frown on his youthful face. Rider motions him to be silent.
‘’Where have you been?’’ Waver asks with a scoff.
Of course, he knows. His Master might be young, be he is far from being stupid. Rider simply shrugs. Waver’s frown deepens in annoyance. His hair is ruffled from sleep and his eyes are slightly red. His skin appears dead white in the dim lighting of the hallway behind him.
‘’Of course, you had to run around town to find that enemy Servant.’’
His words are laced with bitterness. Rider feels that he fails to understand something vital here. A bit embarrassed, he scratches the back of his head. It still appears weird to him that he has to answer to a boy’s call, him whom nobody had ever dared order around. He knows it is only part of the game, yet his pride seems to sting just a little bit.
‘’You know how Archer is,’’ is the only answer Rider manages to come up with.
Waver’s green eyes flash with something like anger. His jaw tightens.
‘’Yes, I know how he is,’’ he hisses dangerously. Rider is momentarily reminded of those deadly tiny snakes his army found in the deep forests of India. ‘’He is a who--,’’
‘’That’s quite enough.’’
Rider spoke in a calm voice, but his whole body tensed. Waver notices it. His eyes widen in something like fear. He wants to take a step back but forces himself to remain still. He stands his ground however, glaring at his Servant who towers over him.
‘’You don’t seem to understand that you will have to fight against Archer one day and that you’ll have to kill him…!’’ Waver says. There is a slight shake to his voice, but Rider can’t say if it’s caused by fear or anger.
‘’I understand it very well, boy. You should heed this tip from the man who nearly conquered the whole known-world though; keep your enemies closer and turn them into friends.’’
‘’It won’t work this time…! One way or another, Archer will have to die in order for us to win!’’
The Servant only shrugs, as if the thought of the man he considers a friend dying doesn’t bother him at all. Waver, obviously rendered speechless by annoyance, spins on his heels to leave. A resounding bang comes from down the corridor as the door of his room bangs shut.
Rider sighs. He knows that his Master is right. Call him weird, but he doesn’t mind having to fight against Archer. He actually looks forward to it. He knows they are almost equally matched, and his warrior instincts want to know which of them is stronger. It will end with the death of one of them, of course, but it is worth the risk.
Putting these thoughts aside, he finally undresses to his underwear then lies down on his bed. The house is now perfectly silent. The only noise in the room is the sound of Archer’s breathing, the hum from the wires and the sounds of the morning creeping.
***
When Archer awakes sometime in the morning, it is to the annoying beeping sounds coming from Rider’s video games. He grunts in annoyance then rolls on his side, groping around to find his pillow to put it over his head in order to dull the noise. It is nowhere to be reached so he concludes it must have fallen on the ground during the night. Either he opens his eyes to find it and Rider notices he is awake; or he simply lies still and hopes sleep comes back. The second option seems the best at the moment. He remains unmoving for a few minutes before realising that sleep won’t come back. The background noises seem awfully loud and annoying. There’s a pounding in his head, his mouth feels dry and his chest tight. The heat turns unbearable. Sweat makes his fringe sticky. He kicks back the blankets and sits up rapidly, panting.
Everything spins around him for a moment, making him dizzy.
As soon as he hears the bed sheets rustle, Rider pauses his game to look behind him at his waking friend.
‘’Good morning, sunshine,’’ he greets with a grin.
Archer’s glare could have soured fresh milk. Rider only smiles a bit wider. The term ‘sunshine’ is a bit farfetched this morning to describe the blonde, who looks ruffled, pale and tired. His hair is in disarray and darkened by oil, his usually tanned skin is pale and perhaps a tint too greenish and his red eyes lack their prevailing glow. Still, there was something alluring about his appearance.
‘’I fucking hate you, mongrel,’’ is the only thing Archer can come up with.
This insult has offended many men, but for someone like Rider who knows Archer so well, it has no meaning. It is usually thrown whenever the blonde can’t find anything better to answer and, Rider suspects, it sometimes even seem to hold some affection.
‘’You should take a shower. You smell of unmentionable things.’’
Archer’s expression cleared and it was his turn to smile.
‘’Is it jealousy that I hear in your voice, Rider?’’
There is a tiny silent pause in the room. The red-haired Servant clears his throat then turns his attention back to his video game. His facial expression didn’t budge in the slightest, but Archer can see the small tension in the muscles of his back. He knows he has won this round.
‘’Take a shower and avoid my Master. He’s in a foul mood today.’’
Archer only grunts at that, looking around to find his discarded clothes. He doesn’t mind walking around naked, but he knows it might offend Rider’s prudish Master, and if that tiny boy is offended, Rider will be annoyed. So it is better to dress himself to avoid drama.