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Klavier should’ve known better than to drive himself to Daryan’s that night. But he’d just gotten his license, so of course he was eager to put it to good use, could you really blame him? It was just supposed to be a simple get-together with the band, anyway, to celebrate wrapping their final recording session for their first album.
But, of course, this was a party planned first and foremost by Daryan, which meant it was only a matter of time before a bottle got passed around, and, well. Klavier should’ve known better. Or, at the very least, shouldn’t have drunk so much.
It was a bit late for that, though. He wasn’t completely out of it; he was lucid enough to get himself home, if nothing else. His head felt sodden and heavy, and the sidewalk beneath his boots was far less stationary than he would’ve preferred, but it was a short walk. It was a shame to have to leave his car behind, but he wasn’t about to risk getting booted out of Themis over something as juvenile as a DUI, especially when he had less than a year left before he could take the bar. He could pick up his car in the morning. For now, he had to focus on getting back in one piece.
The walk was nice enough. It was warm out, certainly, but the mosquitos had long since turned in for the night and the street lights were humming in their stead. Klavier almost wanted to pause a while, to enjoy the stillness, but then a wave of nausea roiled over him and he pushed himself to hurry home, stumbling over the uneven pavement.
Klavier mounted the porch steps, treating each one as if it was his last. And, in all fairness, it could be. One wrong move would be all it took to send him crashing headlong onto the porch, fucking up his face and waking the whole neighborhood in one fell swoop.
Against unfathomable odds, he was able to make it up all three steps without busting his ass. He would’ve felt proud of having overcome such an arduous obstacle, if he wasn’t busy fumbling to remember where he’d put his keys.
In the midst of his fumble, he felt a box-shaped lump in his back pocket and froze. He pulled it out with unsteady fingers, only to find the exact thing he’d been praying to god it wouldn’t be; an old Altoids box, scuffed to high hell and dented around the corners. He shook it, listened to the cigarettes inside bump softly against each other. He had been certain he’d given it back to Daryan before he left, but… well. It had all been sort of a blur.
His lungs felt like they’d been filled with concrete. It was bad enough that he was sneaking into the house six hours past curfew, but if he got caught with smokes, he was actually, literally, quantifiably dead.
That was only if he got caught, though. It was four in the morning. Kris should’ve been asleep by now, right? Surely. Klavier just had to keep it down, that was all.
He slipped the dinged-up tin box into one of his cargo pockets before finally finding his keys. His hand hovered a few inches from the keyhole as he peered through the glass pane in the door. The lights were all off, bathing the first floor in black.
Indulging in a final, shaky breath of fresh air, Klavier unlocked the front door, praying in vain that the clumsy clacking of his keychains wasn’t as painfully conspicuous as it sounded. The door groaned, opening smoothly on its vintage hinges and leaving Klavier to face the empty yawn of the foyer.
All he had to do was make it up the stairs, and then he was home free. One foot after the other, avoid the squeaky floorboard, try not to bump into the wall. One, two, three, one, two-
“Klavier?”
The liquor in his stomach curdled.
There was a click from the family room, and a shaft of yellow laid itself across his boots. Klavier turned to face the light on instinct, wincing as it bit harshly into his eyes. He could just barely make out the shape of Kristoph, perched stiffly in their father’s armchair with one hand still lingering on the beaded cord of the lamp.
“Where have you been?”
“Daryan’s,” Klavier said, hollow and brusque. His fingers curled tightly around the railing, desperate for the support as he felt the floor spin beneath him.
“Yes, I do recall you mentioning something like that when you left-” he checked his watch- “about ten hours ago. What on earth were you doing out for so long?”
“Why does it matter? I’m home now, aren’t I?”
“Do you have any idea what time it is?”
Klavier huffed, resigning himself to the argument. His eyes had finally adjusted to the light, and he was taken aback by how disheveled Kris looked– wrinkled pajamas, hair falling in loose sheets around his shoulders, the skin under his eyes an irritated red. It made Klavier uncomfortable. He ran his thumb tirelessly over his rings as he spoke.
“We lost track of time, that’s all. I’m sorry I was out so late. It won’t happen again.”
“I was worried sick , Klavier.”
Gott, he sounded so much like Mama when he hissed like that. It made Klavier angry, blisteringly angry, but why? He couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter.
“You could’ve called me.”
“I tried, ” Kristoph hissed again, low and sharp like Mama did, “but you didn’t pick up.”
Somewhere in his foggy memories of the night, Klavier recalled hearing the irritating bleat of his ringtone and putting the thing on silent. The anger in Klavier’s chest cooled and hardened, making way for a guilt-laden rock to form in the pit of his stomach.
“I’m sorry.”
“‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’” Kristoph mimicked, annoyance creeping into the lines under his eyes. “That’s all you ever say, Klavier, and yet nothing ever changes. You apologize and you plead forgiveness, and then the second you get it, you go right back to refusing to do the absolute bare minimum I ask of you. Do you really think I wanted to spend my evening worrying about you? I have to be at the firm in five hours and I haven’t slept a wink. Do you really think that’s fair to me?”
“It’s not like I asked you to wait for me. I’m old enough to brush my own teeth and tuck myself in, you know.” He knew fighting back would only make the situation worse, but it was hard to care. Unfortunately, he had to care, assuming he didn’t want to end up with his head on a pike. His tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth, and he burrowed his teeth into it in an attempt to keep himself in check.
Kristoph just shook his head, fingers restless where he was picking at the chair’s armrest.
“I’m very worried about you, Klavier. You’re losing sight of yourself.”
Klavier couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. It dredged up the taste of whiskey and smoke in the back of his throat, and he was quick to swallow them back down. His tongue, now freed from his canines, felt jagged and dry.
“‘Losing sight of myself?’ What, by- by getting record deals? By finishing at the top of my class? That’s what you call losing sight of myself? Or is it really just because I broke curfew one gottverdammt time? Just because- just because you got a cushy job by never letting yourself have fun doesn’t mean I have to do the same shit, Kris. I don’t need you hovering over me all the time, I don’t- I don’t fucking want you hovering over me all the time! I’m fucking sick of it!”
“You-” Kristoph stopped himself with a sharp inhale, a surefire tell that he was two wrong steps from pushing Klavier into a one-sided screaming match. Which would’ve been fine. Klavier didn’t mind screaming. Maybe he’d take the two wrong steps himself, just to get a chance to lash out. He had to take them where he could get them, after all.
For now, though, it was safer to wait. To see if Kris would make a step on his own. He could feel himself slowing down, fatigue eating into his muscles, unsteady on his feet.
The old grandfather clock in Kristoph’s office ticked, ticked, ticked. There was a prickle at the nape of Klavier’s neck. Tick, tick, tick. Kristoph was staring at him, or was at least facing him; it was impossible to guess where his eyes fell with the light glaring off his glasses so obscenely. Tick, tick, tick.
Kristoph tilted his head to one side, letting the glint slide off his eyes. They were their usual ice-grey underneath, shadowed by the furrow of his brow. He looked miserable. Tired. Klavier’s ribs squeezed tight in his chest, biting into the sides of his stomach.
“I wish I didn’t have to look after you so closely, Klavier. I really do. But you just can’t be trusted with yourself. You know that, don’t you?”
Tick, tick, tick. Klavier’s head swam, was drowning, felt heavy and full and empty, empty, empty. Kristoph was looking at him and he was so, so dizzy, he wanted to go to bed, he was tired, he was dizzy, Kris was waiting.
“...What?”
“Klavier.” Kristoph’s voice fell to a hush as he stood, movements slow as he made his way closer, measured and gentle and the lamp light haloed him in gold and he looked so damn tired. Klavier’s muscles ached from the effort of holding them still, thrumming with fearful energy. He stayed put. Barely dared to breathe.
When he’d drawn close enough, Kristoph laid a gentle hand on Klavier’s shoulder, only a ghost of a touch, barely there at all. Klavier looked past him, gaze stuck on Papa’s armchair.
“What were you doing at Mr. Crescend’s house, Klavier?”
Klavier swallowed. His mouth tasted like whiskey and smoke and bile.
“We were watching a movie,” he finally said. His lips were bone dry, the chapped skin scraping against itself, and he wished they would bleed so the taste would cover the acrid stench in his throat.
“Is that all?”
Klavier only nodded. Papa’s armchair looked so old. When he shifted his weight, he could feel the tin of cigarettes knock against his leg. He wished his lips would bleed.
“Oh, Klavier,” Kristoph sighed, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly. “You always were quite the terrible liar, weren’t you?”
“I’m not-”
“Come now,” Kristoph tutted, “just because I’m usually a bit of a teetotaler doesn’t mean I can’t recognize when someone else has partaken. Especially when they can barely stand without swaying like a sailor just returned to shore.”
There was a furious sting in Klavier’s chest now, searing lines of shame running across his lungs, his stomach, his skin. He just wanted to go to bed.
“I’m sorry.”
“Ah, there it is again,” Kristoph sighed, mostly to himself. He went to move a bit closer, but stopped abruptly, his nose wrinkling as the pitying half-smile fell from his lips.
There was a pause, then, lengthy enough for Klavier to muster up the will to meet his brother’s eye. Kristoph was looking him over intently, his expression perfectly blank, thoughts hidden behind the coolness of his pond-surface eyes, undisturbed. Almost eerie. Only Klavier, experienced in dissecting every minute detail of his brother’s face, could see the disgust in the twitch of his cheek, the disappointment in the pout of his lip.
Kristoph’s hand tightened on his shoulder again, stronger this time, nails digging into cotton and flesh.
“You smell like an ashtray.”
“Daryan smokes,” Klavier croaked, nearly cutting Kristoph off in his haste to answer. That had been one of the few excuses he’d bothered to prepare beforehand.
Kristoph quirked a brow, clearly unmoved. Maybe he’d been a bit too eager on that one.
“You spend plenty of time with Mr. Crescend,” Kristoph said, not without a bitter scowl, “and yet you’ve never come home smelling like a crematory. I wonder why that would be?”
Klavier hated rhetorical questions, and he especially hated when Kris expected an attempt at an answer.
“I hope you realize I’m not hard on you just because I can be, Klavier.” Kristoph’s voice softened again, and he let go of Klavier’s shoulder entirely. “Or because I don’t want you to enjoy yourself. But this… this is unacceptable. Surely you see that.”
Klavier stayed silent. It was hard to think straight, everything felt so heavy, why was it so late? Why couldn’t he just go to bed?
“You’re wasting your life right now, simple as that,” Kristoph continued. “Using up all that time, and for what? Liver damage? Lung cancer? You saw where that got Papa. I won't let you find yourself on the same path, Klavier, no matter what I have to do to ensure that. I’m worried for you, Klavier. You understand that, don’t you?”
Klavier nodded. He was so tired. He wanted to go to bed.
“Well,” Kristoph said, corners of his mouth tugging back up as he spoke, “I’m glad you’re at least somewhat willing to see reason, but we will need to talk about this more tomorrow. And we’ll need to discuss it with mother once she’s home, of course, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Let’s get you to bed now, hm?”
Klavier let himself be led up the stairs, guided by a gentle hand at his back. He thought, distantly, that one of them should turn the lamp off first, but he supposed it really didn’t matter, in the grand scheme of things. He was going to get hung out to dry tomorrow regardless, so what was the point? Leave the damn thing on.
The hallway felt unbearably long, and yet he barely had time to blink before Kris was pushing Klavier’s bedroom door open and herding him inside. He heard Kristoph mutter something along the lines of “pigsty” under his breath as he stumbled over a stack of CD cases, and Klavier couldn’t help letting out a breathy giggle.
Kristoph scoffed as Klavier kicked his boots off, letting them fall with a clunk amidst the rest of the floor’s clutter, and fell backwards into his pillows. He was too exhausted to change into pajamas, or even to get under the covers. This was good enough.
“Well. There we are,” Kristoph sighed, moving back towards the door. “Get some rest, now.”
Klavier watched his brother retreat, watched him pull the door shut, cutting off the shaft of light from the hall. It was getting darker, Kris was leaving, his head hurt, his eyes felt hot, he was scared-
“Kris?”
The door stopped, putting the encroaching darkness on pause.
“Yes?”
“...Do you really have to tell Mama?” He felt impossibly small, too weak to even lift his head, his words barely a tearful whisper.
He could hear Kristoph breathing, could see the shadow of his face on the carpet.
“We’ll talk about it more tomorrow. Get some rest.”
“Okay,” Klavier whispered, burrowing his cheek into the pillow beneath his head. “G’night.”
Kristoph lingered in the doorway, listening as Klavier’s breaths slowed to a peaceful rhythm. He poked his head in, just to ensure his little brother had drifted off peacefully enough, before he let out a weary sigh.
“Good night, Klavier.”
Kristoph put himself to bed without much ceremony. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, exhausted as he was, and the melodic chime of his alarm came far, far too quickly.
He went about his usual routine in an unsettling silence, the air occupied only by the chirping and cooing of birds on the windowsill. Usually, he would’ve been able to hear Klavier bustling around the house, early riser he was, putting on a pot of coffee and childishly bidding good morning to the house plants.
Instead, the little rock star was sleeping off a night of drinking. Par for the course, Kristoph thought with a huff, caught somewhere between a laugh and a sneer. He’d expected this sort of thing to happen, had been opposed to Klavier’s musical aspirations for exactly this reason. It was a risky business for him to get into, especially with the predispositions Vater had left them both with. He’d tried his best to set a good example, staying away from liquor and tobacco whenever Klavier was around. Fat load of good that seems to have done.
Kristoph would have to keep a closer eye on him from now on, that was all. Klavier would hate him for it, of course, but it was for the best.
He poked his head into Klavier’s room one last time before he left for the office, just for peace of mind. He was still dead asleep, although fitfully so, if his pinched scowl and sweat-slicked hair were anything to go by. He was certain to have a terrible headache when he came around, but at least he’d gotten home in one piece.
Kristoph left two aspirin and a glass of water on the nightstand, and he took care not to wake his little brother as he shut the door behind him.