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"Peter!" A brightly colored cardboard box crosses his sight, slamming onto the floor in front of him. It's a triumphant move, and he can see why as he reads the bright words.
It shouldn't be here. It requires at least two players. Nothing like that is allowed in Moorland house. The small plastic pieces rattle inside, and he's forced to look into the face resting above it. Blue eyes like his, hair very carefully pulled back into tight braids. A wide smile, gaps of missing teeth. Judith. She can't be more than eight but, of course, none of them know their birthdays. His brother is with her, smaller than them both. Young enough to still stick his fingers in his mouth, as they are now. The other hand is curled into Judith's shirt, a balled up, damp fist.
Peter wrinkles his nose and gets up to leave.
"Peter! Wait! Please," Judith pleads.
He doesn't know why he stops. Perhaps he just isn't old enough yet to brush off the emotion in her voice. But he stops, and Peter looks at her, waiting. She looks so happy that he does. There’s relief in her eyes. A mesmerizingly strange reaction. He doesn't understand it.
“Aaron can't play this game yet. Pleaaaase? I'll sneak you my desserts."
"I don't want your desserts." Peter says petulantly, starting to walk off. He doesn’t want the camaraderie that would come from something so intimate. Judith chases after him, dragging Aaron with her. The box comes too, and Peter hates every jolt that sends the pieces scattering about it. The sounds of small pieces of plastic don’t belong in these halls.
"Wait! If you win, I'll leave you alone for three days! You won't hear from me."
Peter pauses, the thought of such a reward so very tempting. He’d be left blissfully alone...but not for long enough. "...A week."
Judith pouts. "Fine." A sparkle gets into her eye, then. "But if I win, we play tomorrow!"
He lost.
--
"Elias, stop it." Peter gasps out, head hitting the pillow behind him in frustration. His eyes screw shut, desperately trying to forget. But it's too late. Judith's face, gap toothed and so very similar to his own, is burned into his mind.
Elias laughs at him instead, sitting forwards on his stomach. His hand presses against his chest. His heart. Peter knows it's a test. "Is that why you like bets? Your twin? How very...personal."
"I'm an. Only. Child." He grits out.
Elias only laughs at him again, patting his cheek, and delves deeper.
--
He's waiting in his room a few days later, desperate to win so that he can go back to his solitary life. He tried ignoring her, but she had a knack for finding him. For hunting him down and putting the game down between them. So he waits.
Judith never appears. He's relieved by it, spending the morning of the next day wandering the house in blissful silence. Until he happens across his little brother in the hallway. He's sitting alone, crayons no doubt beyond the normal dampness, gripped so tightly in his little fists Peter wonders how they don't break. He’s not coloring the paper in front of him, just looking down at it.
There's a heaviness in the air that Peter does not want to participate in.
He turns to go, but old Moorland betrays him, wood creaking awfully below his foot. His eyes lift, just as Aaron's do.
He's crying. Dark eyes full with tears.
Peter runs. Down the hall, down the stairs, out the door. He keeps running even as he feels large water drops on his hand, knowing he doesn’t have a coat. He reaches the end of the driveway, skidding to a halt in front of the great, tall, gate. Looks back to the house. He can still feel Aaron's gaze on him.
Peter’s stomach turns, an indescribable feeling within it. Like the sinking of a ship into a whirlpool. He’ll know the pangs of guilt at a later point in life. But that isn’t now.
The iron in front of him is preferable. He scales the metal, breathing heavy as he drops to the other side. He keeps going, heat from his breathing warming the rain on his face.
--
"It was a clear day." A mouth murmurs against the skin of his neck. "The nicest day of the summer."
Peter shuts his eyes tightly. He can’t get the watery brown eyes out of his mind. "Enough." His voice comes out rougher than he’d like it to.
There's a hum, but the memory stops. "Tell me how it ended."
It’s not a question. It takes him a moment, but a pressure in the back of his mind gets him going.
"...I didn't have any money. I had to return a few days later, to steal. They were both gone by then.”
“No one told me. I had to check their rooms myself. It was like they had died, white sheets covering all of the furniture in their rooms.” He found out that they had been sent far, far away many years later.
"And you became an only child. How lonely ." It's worded as an insult, but Peter takes it as a positive thing. It had helped make him who he was, and he had no regrets. And he was lonely, appreciated by the only other being who could get it.
"Wasn't a compliment, dear." Elias says, amused. His teeth pull at a spot on Peter’s neck. Peter sucks in a breath.
"Get out!" Peter says indignantly, feeling that still vague pressure behind his eyes. "You've had your fun."
"Oh, do be a good sport about it, Peter. I have a few minutes left.”
Peter frowns as Elias moves his affections upwards, onto his jaw. The corner of his mouth. Peter turns, pressing their lips together and flipping them so he's over Elias. It could have been worse. Two faces is a small enough thing to remember for a small enough lost bet. No matter how painful. He’s inwardly a little grateful Elias hadn’t chosen his mother.
In any case. He'll make it a point to never lose another bet. Peter focuses on the kiss, instead, deepening it.
There's a vibration against his tongue that feels an awful lot like a laugh.