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Macau learned early on to trust his instincts.
Vegas had made sure of it—that Macau could survive on his own.
Macau had taken to these lessons quickly, as any eager child would, learning to hide behind his own skin before he even grew into it.
It was crucial, to understand what was going on beneath the surface; to watch for the subtle signs that someone was close to breaking, to understand how to fracture them further to shards of glass. Macau learned to observe where people hid their bruises; he was careful to dig the blunt end of a knife between a set of ribs and twist.
His brother taught him to be ruthless and clever. Macau knew to assess even the smallest details of a new environment, and the quickest way to take advantage of them.
Macau knew how to handle himself in his brother's world, where pride was often weighed against survival.
Only, in this new, wholly unfamiliar place, Macau is forced to admit that his brother's teachings have not adequately prepared him for this—
A kind street-stall Auntie.
Who, upon first glance, with her eyes lit up so bright that Macau could hardly look at her directly, decided that what Macau needed was a warm meal at this very moment.
It becomes immediately clear, just as Macau’s gearing up to offer a sort-of polite refusal, that she was never going to take no for an answer.
She looks beyond Macau, right at Pete, who has been trailing just a few paces behind him.
At Pete's answering smile, Macau instinctually relaxes.
(Macau realizes he should have assumed that she knew Pete; really, it didn't matter how far from Pete's Grandmother's house they ventured out, because Pete seemed to be familiar with even the most unassuming of street vendors.)
"Auntie Mae," Pete starts, finally catching up with Macau, "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner—"
She frantically waves him off, as if the apology had never been necessary.
"Nonsense! I knew you'd show up eventually, dear," she says, looking Pete over, taking stock of him, "and you've grown taller since the last time I saw you, haven't you?"
Pete shakes his head, not without a hint of amusement, "Auntie, I haven't grown in a few years now."
"Oh, is that right? Then, what about you, young man?"
She turns to face Macau then, and Macau tries very hard not to fidget, despite having grown accustomed to being scrutinized by strangers.
Though, Pete's entirely relaxed stance is reassuring enough that Macau exhales, managing a weak smile in her direction.
"I think I've also finished growing, Auntie," Macau offers.
"Ah, I see now!" she says, nodding wisely, "Pete has been raising you well, then! You're so tall!"
Macau blinks. From his side, Pete covers up his laugh beneath a polite cough.
"Thank you," Macau says, "but—"
"Pete's always wanted children!"
Macau fumbles over his words. "Wait—"
"It's been so long, that my dear Pete had a son without even telling me," Mae croons, a dramatic hand pressed over her heart, a clear directive at Macau.
Any offense Macau can possibly muster feels worth it though, from the sharp laugh that Auntie Mae brings out from Pete.
Pete fights his grin. "Auntie Mae—"
"You didn't tell me you had children! How could you not bring him around to meet his own Auntie," Auntie Mae continues, ignoring Pete's protest and moving to pinch Macau's cheek unsuspectingly, earning a bewildered squeak from him.
"Pete, he even has your eyes," Mae giggles, pinching Macau again, earning yet another confused emote from Macau, "and he looks just like you!"
It takes a drawn out moment before Macau finally clocks that Auntie Mae is wholeheartedly joking.
And when he does, Macau lets out a startled laugh of his own.
Auntie Mae grins down at him. "He laughs!”
Macau turns back to Pete, who only looks fond. He steers Macau forward gently, towards Auntie Mae, who gestures for Macau to stand next to her.
He goes easily, feeling something akin to warmth bloom in his chest when Auntie Mae wraps an arm around him in greeting. She squeezes his shoulder affectionately.
Pete inclines his head carefully, searching Auntie Mae's eyes.
"Auntie, this is my husband's brother, Macau."
At that, to Macau's utter bafflement, Mae promptly falls silent. Her wide smile vanishes almost as quickly as it had appeared, but before Macau can make an instinctive judgment to snap at her with all the venom he reserves for those who disrespect Pete, Macau realizes that her eyes are suspiciously wet.
"Oh," she breathes, voice barely above a whisper, "Pete."
Pete meets her expression delicately, with such open, earnest fondness that Macau finds himself letting go of any last reservations he had saved against her.
Pete doesn't hesitate in wrapping Mae up into a hug, squeezing gently. Macau watches as their conversation grows softer with every word and gesture exchanged, until eventually Pete pulls away, and Mae gives a watery little laugh before turning to Macau.
"I'm sorry I couldn't meet you sooner," she says, offering Macau a warm smile, which seems to light up her entire face, "and please don't feel bad about calling me Auntie, alright?"
Her earnestness makes Macau's throat close up. He swallows the lump in it with difficulty.
"Thank you," is what Macau manages to croak.
“And you," Auntie Mae starts, rounding on Pete with a faux air of severity, "I better see this husband of yours in the next few days, or I'll raise him hell!"
Pete smiles and ducks his head. "He's flying in tomorrow, Auntie."
"Well then," Mae wipes her eyes discreetly before looking back at Pete, "I'll be back with a plate, so stay here! Don't think I've forgotten how spicy you take your curry—though, I worry about Macau here."
"I can handle spice," Macau assures.
At Mae's quirked eyebrow, Pete only smiles.
"I'll leave it to you, Auntie," Pete chuckles.
With an exaggerated wave, Auntie Mae leaves them to it, heading behind the curtain of her stall. Macau stares after her for a few seconds more before glancing at Pete.
"Does everyone here always..." Macau clears his throat, feeling strangely choked up, "do they always talk like that?"
Pete's expression softens.
"Yes," he answers simply, "but I hope you don't mind. She means well."
"It's not that—I didn't mean it like that," Macau mutters, rubbing absently at his forearm. He tries again, "I just mean—"
Macau stops himself, realizing there's no real way to explain himself other than to mumble, "...it's kind of nice, actually", before shaking his head to dislodge the last bit of sentimentality clinging stubbornly to his tongue.
But, Pete's smile still remains, warm and reassuring.
"Auntie used to deliver us vegetables, every Tuesday. She would put aside her best selection for Grandma," Pete explains quietly, "she would always promise that it was no trouble, to share her food with us."
It feels strange, listening to Pete speak of his memories from childhood, as if someone else was narrating his story for him. The nostalgia in Pete's tone is tangible, but at the same time, there's something detached about it, like he's reliving a dream.
It strikes Macau as incredibly lonely.
Pete catches Macau staring, and Pete squares his shoulders.
"Sorry," Pete laughs, shaking himself out of whatever reverie had taken hold of him, "I suppose I'm getting a bit sentimental. You know how it is."
Macau nods slowly, unsure of exactly what Pete means by that.
Evidently, neither does Pete, because the smile he offers Macau is brittle and unconvincing.
They lapse into silence after that, leaving Macau to ruminate over Pete's words while Pete gingerly cuts up an assortment of vegetables in front of them, spread across the small bench before them.
"Do you miss it?" Macau finally asks, surprising both of them.
He hadn't meant to say anything; the question comes out in a rush, before he can stop himself. It occurs to Macau, belatedly, that his question could be misconstrued.
Would you be happier here, in your childhood village? goes unspoken.
To Macau's relief though, Pete merely tilts his head to the side, eyes crinkling up in amusement.
"Of course I do, little brother," Pete replies easily, "though this isn't really my home anymore. But, I don't think I ever stopped loving it."
Pete's response doesn't surprise Macau, but the sting in his own eyes does.
"Still, you must want to move back here, one day?" Macau presses further.
Pete only glances at him, contemplative.
"I think," Pete muses quietly, "that I wouldn't be able to live here ever again. It takes more than just old memories to be truly happy, you know?"
Macau nods slightly, unsure of what he should say to that. His fingers tap against the table anxiously, but he forces himself to mull over Pete's words.
The warmth in Pete's gaze makes it obvious that he's being completely honest, and for that alone, Macau believes him.
Later, when Macau stuffs his face full of curry to avoid any more questions from spilling, his tears burn the creases of his eyes and roll down to pool at the fabric of his collar.
If Macau were asked, he’d definitively lie and say that the curry’s spice was indeed too much for him to handle.
Luckily, Pete is kind enough not to say anything.