Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"You wanna visit your asshole little brother?"

"Yeah." Finral tried to keep the concern out of his voice. "I think I have to."

"You don't. Fact one. Your brother's a bastard, Finral. The last time you spoke to him, it was for him to yell that you weren’t taking responsibility for your position in the family, or weren’t doing enough to advance yourself or whatever. I have never heard him say something polite to you. Ever."

"I know that..."

"And fact two. This argument, which included the instruction, ‘Stay in your fucking village with your loser friends and your stupid husband and enjoy your terminal lack of ambition,’ happened a year ago. During which time he has never tried to contact you, returned a text or even sent a Christmas card.”

"You remember all that?"

"I remember what people say when they insult my husband, Finral Sukehiro. And fact three. You’ve got to work in the bar. It might be winter, but people still come here to eat.” Yami waved at Yuno who was drinking coffee and adding the final touches to some kind of fantasy drawing in his sketchbook.

"Yeah. But..."

"So, no. There is no reason for you to go and visit Langris. It’s just gonna cause a world of hurt."

Finral pushed the newspaper across the bar to Yami. Yami read the title and the story beneath.

"Ah, fuck," he muttered when he'd finished. "I'll get Vanessa to cover your shifts." 

Finral pulled his phone out of the glove compartment where he had stowed it as he drove. He would have resisted reading the message, because checking his phone as he drove would be just the thing to bring a cop down on his ass even on the empty highway. But there was something about the message tone that made him nervous. The only person who texted him was Yami, and that was usually a reminder to buy milk. They had talked at the last rest stop, so if it was Yami, it would have to be important enough for him to text after they had spoken half an hour ago. Yami was more likely to phone anyway. He hated messaging.

Probably spam, Finral thought as he pulled the phone out. He was going to risk losing his license for a stupid, "TXT for LVRS in UR AREA". He confirmed the road ahead was clear, and there was nothing in his rear mirror before glancing at the screen.

The number was unknown.

Shit. Finral pulled to the side and put on the hazard lights.

The message ran down the screen in perfect, punctuated English.

'Hello, Finral. You don't know me, but I know your brother. My name is William Vangeance. I've been working with Langris. You might have read about it in the newspaper? He hasn't answered his phone for the past twenty four hours. Have you heard from him?'

Finral typed in 'No' , then 'On my way. 3 hours out. I read paper. ’

The reply took a moment, then, 'Good. If I have to, I will break the door.’

'Sure. How did you get this number?'

'I saw it on your brother’s phone. I'll be in touch. Thank you.'

'Ok. Thanks.'

Finral resisted the urge to call Langris himself. There was no way he would answer a call from Finral if was not speaking to someone he worked with. Finral pulled back onto the highway and let his speed creep a little above the limit.

As he drove, Finral tried to guess who William was. The brothers never spoke, but Finral did keep abreast of what Vauditren was doing. He knew the names of all the executives and most of the junior staff that would be working under Langris. Yami called it stalking, but Finral had been soaked in the company for years and it had been hard to step away when Langris was there.

The more Finral considered, the less likely it seemed that William worked for Vauditren. The message implied that William was involved in the stuff from the newspaper. William could be a lawyer, but there was no way the Vaudes would pay for a lawyer that would text Finral. They were probably paid not to text Finral.

Finral wondered if, perhaps, William was Langris's friend.

It was easier to think about that than it was to acknowledge the fact that Langris had Finral’s number on his phone. He had changed his phone since Langris had last called. How did he know the new number?

An hour later, there was another ping of a message. Finral pulled over into a rest area before he unlocked his phone to read it. 'I had to break the door. You should come.'

Ah, shit. Finral sent a message to Yami saying that there was something wrong, and he would call when he knew more. Yami did not reply. He never did, but the message flicked to read as soon as it was sent. Then he replied to William. 'I'm two hours away. At services. Should I bring anything?'

'Not clear yet. I will let you know.'

Finral pulled out of the parking space and past the drive through coffee shop, even though he had skipped lunch and a coffee would have been welcome. There was a pit of nausea in his stomach. He knew he would throw up if he tried to eat something.

Maybe Yami was right and this was a bad idea?

Langris’s apartment was in an expensive tower close to the financial district of the city. Finral remembered every place he had ever been, so he had no problem finding it.  But the one way streets had changed, and there were new traffic lights where there had not been before. He got snarled up in jams and found himself going the wrong direction more often than he had before. Of course, there was no parking outside the block, and he was turned away from the dedicated underground garage because he did not have written permission from the tenant. In the end he left his car on a side street and paid the exorbitant charge on his credit card. He texted Yami to let him know he had arrived then slipped his phone into his pocket without waiting for a reply.

He hated the city.

The superintendent of the building was an unimpressed fifty-something year old man who looked like he had been sitting on the same seat for the past forty five birthdays. "If you ain't on the list, you can't come in," he said before Finral could open his mouth.

Finral fiddled with his phone in his pocket. Maybe he could use the messages from William to convince the man that it was important that he get to Langris's apartment.

"I'm just saying, because I've never met you,” the superintendent continued. “You could be anyone. One time, this woman tried to get in, and it turned out she was number seventeen’s ex-wife and she was here to get her kid. And I didn't let her in, even though she stood right where you are now, and had a grown-ass tantrum. She was kicking and cussing like you never heard, and I had to get the police. They said if I'd let her up the stairs to the apartment she mighta kidnapped that kid. But she wasn't on the list, so she wasn't gonna get past me. Course, two weeks later she got full custody, cause number seventeen was taking hookers up there when the kid was sleeping. But like I say, the hookers were on the list. Between the two of us, they were better behaved than the tenant.”  The man winked.  “I know all the people who come in this building and all their friends. And the rules say that you have to be on the list."

"Please. I need to get to my brother's apartment. Number twenty three."

"Twenty three. He doesn’t get many visitors. Don't think I've ever had to check his list."

"I know. It's important. I know I'm not on it, but if I can get someone from the apartment to call down, could you let me in and..."

"Only if you're on the list," the superintendent said as he peered at Finral's driving licence, "Fin-ral Suck-hiro." He began to flick through pages in a black binder so slowly that it looked like it would take a month to get to number twenty three.

Finral tried to smile and gripped his phone tighter.

Finally, the man reached the correct page. "Most of the apartments have forty or fifty folk on these lists. Some of the names turn up on a few apartments. Old Gus in number seventeen’s mostly. They're the prostitutes. That girl Shaniqua and her sister are nice girls." He glanced down at the page. Briefly, Finral wondered what he would do if Langris had forty prostitutes on his list. Maybe he would try to forget that this conversation happened

"He's only got one name on here. Your brother don't got a lot of friends, does he?"

"I know. So, if I called someone from the apartment, they could come down and let me in. It's really important, I think he's in..."

"Now, hold on a minute. Like I said, he's got one name on his list." The man lifted the binder so that Finral could read the name through the glass. Written in Langris's neat script was, 'Finral Roulacase Sukehiro.'

"That's my name," Finral said. He sounded like an idiot.

"That's what your driving licence says. Number twenty three is on the eighth floor. Let me call the elevator for you."

"He wrote my name? I haven't seen him in more than a year. Our parents aren't on that list. Why would he put my name on it?" Finral's feet were frozen to the floor.

The man levered himself up from his chair to waddle towards the elevator. He pushed the call button. "No idea, Mr Suck-hiro. Maybe because you're his brother and there isn't anyone else. You going upstairs or not?"

Finral hurried into the elevator and pushed the button for the eighth floor before he let panic overwhelm him, or worse, got stuck in another long-winded conversation with the superintendent.

Just as the door was beginning to close, Finral realised that William had said he had to break the door into Langris's apartment. How had he got past the superintendent? "Someone else wanted into number twenty three? Their name isn't on that list."

The elevator door was closing as the man said, "Well, he was a cop, wasn't he."

"Wait..." But it was too late.

Finral stared at the metal doors as the elevator began to ascend. William was a cop. It was the only thing that made sense. He was involved in the investigation into the Vauditren’s shady shit. No wonder he was looking out for Langris. They would need him if they wanted all the dirt that the Vaudes were hiding. If Langris was freaking out, he would be no good to the police.

What did not make sense was that Langris had Finral's name as an approved guest to his apartment. Not only that, it was his married name, with his mother’s maiden name crossed out, as though Langris had been keeping it updated. The fact that Langris did not have a large group of friends did not surprise Finral. Langris was, well, Langris. He had work, and Finral knew it was a busy position that did not leave room for much else. There was no long list of prostitutes either, which was, Finral admitted to himself, a relief. But their parents were not on the list. Finral had assumed that Langris would have included them. Finral may not want to spend any time with his parents, but he assumed that Langris would. Instead he had wanted them to stay away too.

Even after their last argument, the only person Langris had wanted in his apartment was Finral. He felt a sob choke his throat. He had taken Langris at his word. He had never tried to talk to him again, and he had never come back. All this time Langris had been hoping he would.

Shit.

The elevator doors opened. Flat twenty three was out of sight around the corner. Finral walked past the identical doors with their neat name tags. Each one was closed, with no clue of what might be happening inside. For a moment Finral was hit with a wave of homesickness. He missed his little flat above the bar and the mismatched houses whose occupants he knew well. This felt like an impersonal hellscape.

He shook himself. Stop being overdramatic. Flat twenty three’s door was at the end of the corridor. It had been their parents’ suggestion because it was the most expensive. Finral recalled the floor to ceiling windows in the living area and the modern open plan design that looked like it came out of a magazine. He also remembered the impersonality of it. Langris had lived there for years and it still looked like the brochure photograph.

The door was ajar because the lock had been broken by the application of force from someone who knew what they were doing. Finral knocked quietly, and, when there was no answer, he pushed it open and stepped inside.

The living space was just as Finral recollected. Light shone through the windows onto the clean aesthetic lines of the showroom furniture. There was art on the wall that looked like it had come from a mid-price hotel, and the shelves held ornaments that had been picked by a well paid interior decorator. The only difference from the last time Finral had been here was the smell of bleach and the man filling a bucket at the sink. He was a little older than Finral, with short cropped hair, jeans and a plain shirt. His most noticeable feature was the scar across the top of his face, but it seemed to enhance his kind smile rather than distract from it. He did not look like a police officer.

"William Vangeance?" Finral asked.

"Yes. You're Finral."

Finral nodded. "Where is Langris? Is he okay?"

William shrugged. "No. He isn't. I put him back to bed and bandaged him up."

"Bandaged him up?" Finral could feel his face pale. It was worse than he imagined. He knew Langris was prone to self-destruct, but did William mean what it sounded like? "What happened? He hurt himself? Did he do it to himself? Are you meaning he…" Finral could not complete the question.

William looked apologetic. He guided Finral onto one of the uncomfortable armchairs. "I don't mean that. No. No, he hasn't hurt himself. Well, not deliberately."

"You need to tell me everything. Now."

William sighed. "You've been reading the papers?"

Finral nodded.

"I met your brother nine months ago. I was leading a team investigating financial irregularities at Vauditren. I specialise in corporate and financial crime, which isn't as glamorous as it sounds."

Finral thought it sounded deathly dull, but did not say so.

"We never found anything, because it was sewn up as tight as a miser's purse. But when we left, I gave everyone in the office my card. I always do it, because you never know where your next tip off is going to come from. Five months ago, Langris called me. He had been collecting evidence that went further than tax misdemeanours. We're talking connections to drug distribution, money laundering and human trafficking. We kept the worst of it out of the newspapers, because your parents still think this is about a bit of fiddling on the VAT returns. It goes much further than that."

"My brother has been giving you evidence of all of this?"

"For the past three months he's been stripping the documents of Vauditren for every shred of evidence of what they are really up to. I couldn't have asked for a better mole. Even without his oral testimony, the files and paperwork he's found will shut down more than just Vauditren. I filed the casework with the attorney's office five days ago and no one has been allowed back into the office while we complete our work.

Five days, Finral thought. Langris had not been at work for five days. Now that he looked, Finral could see the evidence of the agitated stress cleaning that was a mark of Langris under pressure.

"I've been keeping in touch. He wouldn't let me visit, and he wouldn't come to me, but at least he was answering my calls, and replying to messages. Then yesterday, he stopped. I figured that he was catching up on sleep, because he hasn’t been since I filed the papers.  Maybe before then too, because undercover takes its toll no matter how good at it you are. He was heading for a crash. Today, when he wasn't picking up my calls, I texted you and broke in. I'd have broken in whether you answered or not, but it's good that you're here."

This morning, Finral would have disputed that. Then he saw the list with only his name on it. He nodded. "What happened when you broke in?"

"He's been drinking. A lot. I found him passed out in the bathroom. There was blood and alcohol everywhere, and at first I assumed what you assumed. But I think he slipped and broke a glass, and wasn't in any state to realise that he cut up his hand and face. I got him cleaned up and into bed, with a fair bit of encouragement." William shrugged, as if that was an understatement. "I'm just finishing sorting out the bathroom. You should go and see him."

Finral felt like he had swallowed a clump of iron as he walked towards the bedroom. The house was bare and the strong scent of cleaning chemicals made his head hurt. A million questions ran through his head as he stared at the pristine white bedroom door. When was the last time Langris had eaten? Was the cut on his hand bad? How long had he been having a tough time without Finral knowing? How would his little brother react to suddenly seeing him like this?

There was no answer to any of those questions, and that terrified him, but he could not turn back. His hand trembled as he gathered enough courage to open the door. 

The sight that greeted him had his mouth gaping open in shock.

In contrast to the rest of the apartment’s unlived state, the bedroom looked like a tornado had torn through it. Piles of clothes and books were strewn across the floor. Coffee stained mugs littered the desk against the wall. They smelled of mould. His little brother, who was horrible at taking care of himself at the best of times, seemed to have worsened his habits. The compulsory stress cleaning hadn’t been enough. If Finral dwelled too much on the mess in the room then he felt like he was going to start crying.

He hurried to the bed where the huddled form of his brother was curled up under a blanket. His face was nearly as pale as Gordon’s and there were dark rings under his eyes. If it was not for the rise and fall of his chest Finral would have thought he looked dead.

A heavy pressure built up against the back of his eyes. Taking a deep breath he blinked away the tears. He refused to cry yet.

He kneeled beside the bed and gently touched his brother’s shoulder, taking great care not to disturb him. Langris didn’t only look thinner, he had definitely not been eating properly for a while. The stench of alcohol was heavy on him.

“It’s okay.” Finral wasn’t sure whether he was trying to reassure Langris or himself. “You’ll be okay now.”

Langris sighed, but did not show any sign of waking. When Finral finally sat back, he ran his fingers lightly through Langris's hair. It was sticky with alcohol and dried blood. The lacerations on his cheek and above his right eye were closed with uneven paper stitches and there was a dressing on his hand. Finral took this hand to smooth the corner of the bandage. There was dirt under his brother’s fingernails.

Five months, William had said. Langris had been trying to hold this together for months. Possibly more, because deciding to betray their parents to the police would not have been something that Langris had decided to do without preparation. All that stress and paranoia had built up to this.

Swallowing the tears that threatened again, Finral stood up. "You know," he said to the sleeping shape. "Vanessa would say this was some kind of metaphor. The rest of the place looks like it came out of a good homes’ magazine, and in here looks like... like this. This is what it's like inside your head isn't it?"

There was no reply.

"You've got your whole life picture perfect on the outside. Good car, great job, pension and benefits.  It looks like you've got it all mapped out. And then, inside, you're falling apart. It isn't just this one thing, is it? I'm... I'm sorry I never noticed." Finral swallowed again. "No. I noticed. Of course I noticed. That's why you push people away. Because you can't hide this when they come too close. I'm sorry I let you push me away."

Langris mumbled something incomprehensible.

“So, I was planning to get a hotel room nearby, but maybe I should stay here instead. You've got that guest room that never gets used, and really, this place needs to be fumigated. We should probably get you sobered up too. You might need to get that hand checked out, but that can wait until later. Oh, god, Langris. What the hell is this?"

There was no response, so Finral picked up the decaying foodstuff and dropped it onto a discarded newspaper. It was all going in the trash anyway.

"You left my name on your approved guest list. So, I'm taking that as it's okay for me to stay here, because you need someone to look after you. When was the last time you ate properly? Or had a shower? Or drank something that wasn't whisky?"

It took an hour for Finral to collect most of the debris and stuff it into trash bags that William found. Anything that he could salvage he put to one side so that it could soak it in the sink, or put it in to wash on some kind of decontamination cycle. William finished up in the bathroom, and offered to get take out for them both. Langris had not moved, but perhaps having some food in the apartment would be enough to rouse him.

"Can you give me a hand with the bed first?" Finral asked. He had found clean sheets in the closet of the spare bedroom. Between them it would be easier to manhandle Langris so that they could get the bed changed.

"You said you were going to get a hotel?" William asked.

"I was, but I think I’m going to stay here." He shrugged. "I can't leave him like this."

William nodded.

They were throwing out the sheets when Finral asked the question that was annoying him.  "William, why are you here?"

William looked up, as though surprised.

Finral tried to explain. "I mean, you only know Langris because of what he was going to tell you about Vauditren, so does that make him an informant or a witness or something? Whatever he is, I don't think cops come round to clean up the vomit and blood for them very often.”

"I don't quite know what I am. I would have said friend, but you're right, the relationship is skewed by investigation. I would like to call him my friend. That's why I came. He's been brave, principled and, well, I like your brother. He can be a bit acerbic at times." Finral smiled at the understatement before William continued. "I don't think he has many friends."

Finral snorted. "No. He never did have any friends. We were always under so much pressure from our parents that there wasn't much time for anything more than the business and our studies."

"What about you then?"

"Me?"

"You seem to have friends and a husband. I bet they’re not cops."

"I was the failure. As soon as I could get out of there, I did. My husband helped. And, yes. I found friends. I'm happy and it's a good life." He glanced around the room which, despite their efforts, was still in a sorry state. "Better than this."

"I understand."

Finral leaned down so that he was at Langris's eye level. "Hey, Langris. Probably best to get out of those clothes seeing as me and William are changing your bed."

At last, Langris opened an eye. It was bloodshot, and he was having difficulty focusing, but he managed to slur, "F'nral? Wha' you doin'?" He let his eye close before Finral could reply.

"Looking after you, dummy. Come on, clean pyjamas."

"Don' wan' you," Langris mumbled as he pulled away. "Go 'way."

"You left my name on your guest list," Finral replied. He was keeping his tone light, but the tears were threatening again.

"Shoulda ta'en it off."

"Too late for that now. Come on. Clean clothes."

There was nothing clean in the drawers, which did not surprise either Finral or William, so they raided Finral's overnight bag, and manhandled the pliant arms and legs into the right place. Langris murmured something that might have been threatening if they could make out the words, but he lacked the coordination to protest properly. Neither of them commented on the bruises that littered Langris's body, nor the prominence of his ribs. No wonder he did not have the strength to resist. It was not just the alcohol. He had weighed more as a twelve year old.

They were finishing up when the phone started to ring. The unexpected sound cut through the air like a steak knife.

William and Finral exchanged looks.

"I'll answer it," William said after a few more insistent rings.

Finral could not help but feel grateful. He was in no state to talk to someone on the phone.

Langris mumbled something unintelligible. Finral smothered his hair back in what was hopefully a comforting action.

Finral thought himself as a patient man, maybe too patient at times according to his husband and friends. He avoided conflicts and was generally pacifistic in nature. He had been that way since he was a child. But right now, Finral felt none of that. His blood was boiling with an anger foreign and unfamiliar to him.

This was their parents doing. They had pushed him and Langris into more than they could have handled as children and scarred them both with their poison. For the first time in his life, Finral felt the desire to track down their parents and scream at them for ruining everything they came near. Even knowing that they were in prison did not change that desire.

William returned more quickly than Finral had expected. It had been a very short call. At first Finral thought it must have been a wrong number, then he saw the look on William's face.

"We have a problem."

Finral resisted the urge to wave a hand at his unconscious brother and the room that they had tidied so that it looked like only one bomb had gone off in it, rather than ten. They had already established they had a problem.

"A bigger problem. Look at the road outside," William said when Finral did not reply.

The bedroom window looked out onto a green park then the city beyond. At this height, unless you stood at the glass itself, it was impossible to see the road. Finral looked down to the main door that he had entered by. The street had been empty when he arrived. Now, there were a few cars parked up, and people milling around as though waiting for something. He thought he could see a couple of video cameras and there were a lot of smart clothes and expensive hair cuts even from this height.

"That was a reporter," William said. "They want a statement."

“Well, that’s not going to happen, is it,” Finral said as he waved a hand at Langris.

William did not look any more relaxed. “At the moment, they’re wanting to speak to anyone high up in Vauditren. They don’t know that your brother is the one speaking to the police. But, it’ll come out, and then, well, reporters will be the least of our concerns.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Your parents are powerful people, Finral. I’ve spent months investigating their activities. You know about the enforcement arm of the company?”

Finral nodded. “Poizot and Lugner’s department?”

“Yes. I can link them to a hundred different assaults and disappearances. Some petty, some, well, not so petty.”

“And you think my parents could send people like that after Langris. He’s their son, and they’re in prison.”

“Finral. I’m not sure you understand how big this is. The information Langris provided me with is enough to link your parents to all of those assaults and disappearances, never mind the child trafficking and money laundering. Your parents are going to jail for a long time. Vauditren is finished. That’s going to make a lot of people very angry, and not just your parents.

“When Langris came to me initially, we discussed the danger he would be putting himself into, and that, unless anyone came forward to confess what Vauditren was doing, he would need to testify in court. He knew he was painting a target on his back, so I suggested he enter a witness programme that the police department funds. They would arrange for a new name in a new city and no one would be able to track him down. Even I wouldn’t know where he was.”

Finral knew his expression had fallen. He felt sick. He looked at his brother as he slept. The bruises and wounds were dark against his pale skin and he was far too thin. He looked ill, in a way that was not just the alcohol. “I wouldn’t know where he was either? What happens if he does this again? No one would care.”

William shrugged and did not answer. What could he possibly say?

“Langris can’t do that now. If we hadn’t come here, he could have died. I won’t let you take him somewhere that he doesn’t know.”

“And what do you propose? He can’t stay here. The press will get bolder. Do you think he’s in any state to speak to a journalist?”

“No.” Finral sighed. There was only one choice as far as he could see, and neither Langris or Yami were going to like it. “I’ll take him home to Tyr with me. When my parents disowned me, they were scrupulous about wiping me from everything. I don’t think the press could find out I exist.”

William nodded. “They wouldn’t be able to connect you to Vauditren. I don’t think anyone could. I only knew about you because of Langris’s phone.”

“That’s settled. Once Langris is feeling better, he can come back here, or… or do that witness thing you talked about.”

Langris must have heard his name. "Finral?" he murmured. "Why're you so loud?"

"It's okay, Langris. Go back to sleep."

"Then stop talking in my bedroom."

"Sorry. Yeah."

The phone rang again. William and Finral shared a look, and neither went to answer it. "No. Actually, no, Langris. It's not fine. We are going for a trip."

William volunteered to fetch Finral's car and bring it into the parking garage while Finral got Langris ready. William would dodge past the group of journalists on foot, then negotiate the cars and vans on his return without arising too much attention. He could use his badge to get the car into the underground lot.

"And all I have to do is get Langris ready to go in a car?"

They both looked at Langris, who had curled up and fallen back to sleep.

Once William left, Finral tried to pack a bag, but the only clothes fit to be worn were smart suits in their dry cleaner bags. There were no holdalls or even a suitcase, so in the end he gave up. Langris would have to share his clothes and Vanessa could make alterations if necessary. Langris really had lost too much weight.

"Hey, Langris," Finral said. "You ready to go?" He tried louder. "Langris."

Langris mumbled and pulled the blanket over his face. It was not quite a coordinated movement, but the intent was clear.

"No, Langris. Wake up. We need to go."

"Fuck off, Finral." It was the clearest he had been since Finral had arrived.

"I can't. We need to get out of here."

Finral confiscated the blanket despite Langris’s attempts to hold onto it. Langris objected to being made to sit, but his protests were no more effective than batting at Finral's hands and mumbling angrily.

"Leave me 'lone," he sulked once Finral had him mostly upright and pushing his feet into slippers.

"I told you. I can't."

"You shouldn' be here. Don' deserve it."

Finral stopped what he was doing. "What do you mean?"

"You should go. I did somthin'. I made a mess."

Finral glanced around the room, then realised that it was not what Langris meant. "You spoke to William."

Langris met Finral's eyes for the first time. "They're gonna be so angry."

"Yeah. I think they are."

"William was here?"

"He's gone to get the car. You're coming home with me."

Langris stared. It was as if Finral had switched to an unknown language.

"You can't stay here," Finral tried again. "I'm going to take you home with me until you get sorted out. So help with your slippers."

Langris blinked then let his eyes closed. He tried to lie back down, but Finral grabbed him in time. "Langris. Help."

This time the, "Fuck off," was less clear, but definitely intelligible.

Finral waited for William to return so that they could manhandle Langris up to stand together. He was a deadweight between them so it was easier to just lift him. He tried to resist, but it was no use. "Langris," William said. "Stop fighting."

"Lea' me alone. Tired."

"You can sleep in the car."

Langris grumbled, and leaned into Finral's support. William grabbed Finral's bag and Langris's keys on the way out. "I'll come back and sort the place later," he said as he pulled the door closed behind them.

Langris tucked himself into Finral's side and seemed to fall asleep on his feet as they descended in the elevator to the garage. Once they arrived, William was free to check for any sign of reporters who might have sneaked inside. There were none, but there was no guarantee that it would stay that way for long.

William had left Finral's car beside the elevator, so Finral lifted his brother off his feet and deposited him onto the passenger seat. William tucked a blanket around him and Langris pulled it over his head. "I hate you," he managed to say, then relaxed back to sleep.

Finral fastened the seat belt around him, then closed the door.

"I'm going to take Langris's car," William said. He pressed the key, and across the garage a dusty black sedan blinked its lights. "I don't think he drives it very often."

Finral knew that Langris had never driven it. He hated driving, and had only passed his test because their parents forced him to repeat it multiple times. The car would be in their parents’ name, and would have never been out of the garage.

"Wait five minutes," William continued when Finral did not elaborate. "Then you should leave and get out of the city. I don't think anyone is going to follow your car when they think they are tracking Langris."

Finral looked at his own car, which would have politely been called an 'old banger'. One wing mirror was held on with gaffer tape after being sideswiped by Magna on his motorbike. There was a dent on the rear door and scratches across the hood. Langris's car was expensive and almost new. There was no way that someone would assume that Langris would be in a car like Finral's.

"Call me on the highway,” William said as he shook Finral’s hand. “It was nice to meet you. I'm glad you came."

"I'm glad you were here too.  I think you are Langris's friend. Thank you."

William gave a nod, then went to the sedan. Finral climbed into his own driving seat and started the engine so that the heater would take the chill off the air. He patted Langris's arm. "It's going to be okay."

Langris did not answer.

Finral waited. After what he was sure must have been five minutes, he glanced at the dashboard’s clock. Two minutes had passed. He leaned back against the headrest with a heavy sigh.

God, what a mess. He felt like he could sleep for a day if it wasn’t for the constant gnaw of anxiety in his stomach. A quick glance at his brother showed that Langris hadn’t moved a muscle and was still fast asleep.

Finral squirmed in place. It felt too quiet here despite the noises of the city drifting through the air. He couldn’t help but be hyperaware of everything around him. The flickering shadows made him jump more than once. Finral was reminded again that  he did not belong in the city. His place was in Tyr, the tiny village that harboured his crazy hooligan friends and the husband who was in possession of his heart. He missed home.

Finally, after what felt like hours of waiting, five minutes passed. Taking a deep breath Finral manoeuvred the car out of the garage and onto the empty city streets. He did not see any sign of the journalists, so they must have taken William’s bait. But that did not stop him checking the rear mirror frequently until they reached the highway.