The train station was empty when TJ finally stepped into it—empty and silent, except for the clicking of his dress shoes on the tiled floor. He caught sight of himself in the window of the darkened waiting room, and he stopped to straighten his jacket and run a hand through his hair. He looked nice, he thought. Mature. Dressed like this, he didn’t feel so much like TJ. He was Tyler-James. Professional. Adult. He always felt a bit like that after visiting family; it was something about being back in the old house with everyone he’d tried so hard to get away from for so long. It’s like it forced him to remember that he was supposed to be a grown-up. 

     He’d been travelling most of the day. His feet hurt. He had a headache banging sharply behind his eyes, and his fingers ached from where they’d been hanging onto his heavy suitcase for far too long. But it was only another hour or so on the train, and he’d be home, back to Aiden and their bed and his warm, comfortable life. That thought made everything a little more bearable. 

     The lights in the station were a sterile yellow and reminded him of school, the weirdly illicit feeling of being in school after dark, waiting around for a play to start or end. He took a seat on one of the plastic benches and leaned back, closing his eyes. He was glad the place was empty and glad that there was a train running this late and glad he’d managed not to completely lose his temper with the man in the ticket office who’d told him he’d need to get a bus to a different station so late at night. He took a deep breath, in and out, in and out, and just tried to think about being home soon. 

     The phone on the other side of the platform began to ring. It had a terrible, shrieking ring, like someone screaming. It made him twitch, shot right into the back of his skull like a drill into a tooth. It made it hard to think. After a few seconds of noise, he stood and picked up the receiver, holding it to his ear. The moment’s silence after the ringing stopped was a blessing. 

     “Teej?” His brother’s voice bit through the quiet. 

     “Harvie?” He couldn’t think of anything to say so he just said, “How’d you get this number?”
     “This number? It doesn’t matter, TJ, listen—” He sounded rushed, distracted. TJ could imagine him standing outside a house party, holding his phone to one ear, and pressing a hand over the other, trying to hear over the music. The thought made him angry for some reason. “I wanted to say sorry for making you miss your train this morning. You know, I never meant it to happen, obviously.” 

     Harvie, the baby, never needed to pay attention to anything in his life. TJ remembers their father snapping his fingers right in front of TJ’s face, before Harvie had even been born, and saying pay attention, pay attention. TJ had worked so hard not to become his father, but whenever he talked to Harvie he got that urge to snap. Harvie never knew that version of their father, and sometimes TJ thought this meant that Harvie had never really known him at all.

     All the anger drained out of him. “Yeah, Harvie, I know.” His brother’s voice was hurried, like there was something else he’d really rather be doing—he usually did, when he was talking to TJ—but he also sounded sincere. He always sounded sincere. TJ wondered when he himself had stopped being sincere about anything. It was a feeling he felt the urge to clingfilm over so no one else could touch it. “I’m almost home, anyway. Just waiting—” 

     On the other end of the line, someone called his brother’s name. Harvie shouted back,      “Just a second,” embarrassed. 

     “The next time you’re here, we should go to that gallery in the city, like we said we would,” Harvie said. His voice sounded kind of thick, like he was trying to hold back tears. 

     “Oh.” TJ had forgotten that he’d suggested they do that. “Of course. Yeah, of course, Harvie.” 

     “You promise?” Harvie said, like a child.  He was one, TJ reminded himself, quickly. Seven years between them, which might as well have been a lifetime. Enough time that TJ sometimes considers saying things like, [italics] listen, I remember what being sixteen is like. He doesn’t say things like that, though. No one had ever said anything like that to him. And he resents the fact that Harvie is happy, he does. He’s grown-up enough to admit that. Not enough to stop feeling it, though. TJ sometimes thinks that he’ll never have the opportunity to stop being a sad sixteen-year-old.  

     “Yeah., I promise.” 

     “Good.” The statement was quiet, mostly lost in the crackle of the phone line. TJ felt like there was more to say, something he felt often when he was speaking to Harvie. He didn’t know which one of them wanted to say it. His hand was sweaty on the plastic receiver. 

     I love you, Harvie, is what he wanted to say, but I have no idea how to talk to you. 

     “Every time I talk to you, Teej,” Harvie said, “I feel like it’s gonna be the last time I ever get to talk to you.” 

     The train squealed to a stop behind him. TJ hadn’t even heard it coming, hadn’t felt the ground shake as it pulled into the station. He didn’t want to get on the train. He wanted to keep trying to talk to his brother, to keep trying until he hit on the right thing to say. But he also had a bed and a boyfriend and a life at home, closer than it had been in days. 

     “Harvie—” His voice caught in his throat. “My train’s here. I promise I’ll talk to you later, alright? I promise; I will.” 

     “Yeah,” Harvie said. “Tell Aiden I said hello.”

     “I will.” 

     The conductor called behind him, saying they were going to shut the doors if he didn’t get on now. “Just a second,” he said to the conductor, then to his brother, “Goodbye, Harvie.” 

     The line was dead. He put the receiver back on the hook and ran to get his bag, then onto the empty train. He nodded to the conductor. As the doors closed behind him, he swore he could hear the terrible, shrieking ring of the phone again. But by then, they were already moving.