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The small bell hanging over the entrance to the bar jingles pleasantly as a slim body tucks itself inside, away from the chill of the late afternoon and early-setting sun. It’s quiet for a bar, but it’s Sunday afternoon and the patrons hanging around are older, quiet, not-quite-alcoholics who want a beer or eight to sleep off before their 4am Monday morning wake up and trek to the shipyards. With the sun in position as it is, blinding through the high front windows, Viktor knows he won’t be able to see who it is coming in; he doesn’t bother looking up from the glass he’s cleaning as he calls out to them.
“We’re closing in 30, you can tell me what you want, but you can’t stay long.”
“Kinda early closing time for a bar, don’tcha think?” The glass slips out of Viktor’s hand and he scrambles to save it from shattering on the floor, and is (mercifully) successful. Five watches him with a discerning, almost condescending eye before he goes “And kind of a crap welcome for your favorite brother, huh?”
Viktor’s eyes dart around like he’s a rabbit in a snare. His patrons don’t really seem to care about this news, but his bartender gives him a sidelong glance with a raised eyebrow as he pulls another beer.
He ignores the second question. “We close for a few hours between lunch and dinner on Sundays. You want a drink?”
It’s at this point that someone sitting at the bar inserts himself into the conversation. “That kid even old enough to drink, Vik?” He’s older, gruff, his face ruddy and nose swollen from years of drinking.
“He’s fine, Hal.” Viktor says at the same time Five goes “I’ll take gin on the rocks, twist of lime.”
Viktor cuts him a look. “You want the good stuff?”
“Well I don’t want the shit stuff, Vik.” The nickname half the town calls him sounds wrong on his brother’s tongue, saccharine and stupid. It makes him hate it suddenly.
Viktor pulls the Bombay from the higher shelf on the bar and pours him a glass.
Glass still in hand he eyes the peeler sitting in its resting place behind the garnishes, tubs of olives, wedged limes, lemons, and slices of orange. He looks at his brother and rolls his eyes, throwing a wedge on the rim of the rocks glass before sliding it down the bar. Fucking twist .
Five catches it, reflexes quick as ever. He matches Viktor’s expression and takes a sip. “So how long til the bar closes, again?”
Viktor looks at the clock. “You’ve got 20 minutes.”
Five turns to Hal, who’s still looking at him with guarded suspicion. “Did y’know Vik here plays a mean violin?” Viktor glares at him, thinking that with this unexpected drop-in Five has set a new, personal record for how quickly one of his siblings could manage to get on his nerves. His brother pointedly ignores the glare and continues his train of thought to a confused, tipsy Hal. “Seriously, would probably stop Prokofiev in his tracks. Make Bach and Stravinsky keel over, I mean–”
Viktor can feel himself getting red and his patience is waning by the second. “Alright, alright – can you please stop bothering my patrons? Have you and Klaus switched bodies or something?”
Five puts on an affronted look at the comparison, which Viktor knows has some truth to it in the details of his facial expression – the way his eyes look, his brow furrowed in a way it wouldn’t be if it was all for show. He doesn’t wait for his brother to throw out some snarky retort before continuing.
“Did you come here for a reason?”
“Obviously.” Five’s voice lowers and he leans across the bar, away from Hal and into Viktor’s space. Viktor can feel the moment he starts holding his breath. “But it’s not exactly something I can talk about with your drinking buddies here.”
“Christ, fine.” He slaps a hand on the sleek wood bartop and suppresses a self-satisfied grin at the way Five jumps at the sudden noise. “Alright everyone, finish your drinks and close your tab! Five minutes! We’ll be open again at 7:30 – come back or don’t, I don’t care.” His voice starts as a loud call and diminishes by the end as he watches small groups of old men drain their glasses and start milling their way up to the front of the bar.
Like ‘em or not, at least these guys had learned not to bitch if he made an executive decision to close the bar early, whether by a few minutes or a couple hours. A grumble here or there was usually all he heard, and even that was usually cut off by a quick nudge or elbow to the side by another regular. Viktor suspected most of them had a twelve pack of Labatt’s sitting in their fridge at home to help maintain equilibrium.
It’s impressive how quickly they clear out; Viktor waves off the other bartender – “it’s family shit, I’ll clean up. Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you tomorrow?” and doesn’t waste time pulling a beer out, cracking the top open in one quick, easy movement. He doesn’t leave his space behind the bar – it feels more comfortable, less exposed.
Five catches onto this immediately. “What, not going to join me?” He pats the stool next to him, movements exaggerated, it’d be absurd if it wasn’t a little charming, if there wasn’t some honest want in the way he does it. Viktor shakes his head. His mannerisms are so old for such a young face.
“I shouldn’t. Not after–” He stops, not really of his own volition. The memory flashes fast, a culmination of his desire and stupidity at another end of the world. His hands on Five’s face, his mouth inches away, Five’s widened eyes. He takes a swig of the beer to wash it away. “Why are you here? I don’t really feel like saving the world right now. Or is it one of our siblings?”
“Viktor–” The mocking is gone, any bit of pretense. Five’s eyes, dark and expressive, are pleading. “I’m not here for the end of the world. I’m not here for our siblings.”
“Then what the hell are you here for, Five?”
“Please just come over here.”
Viktor won’t oblige; but gives his brother a taste of his own medicine. Crossing his arms he leans over the bar, close, maybe an inch from Five’s face. He can smell his shampoo, feels it when his breath catches. “It’s been four years. Why are you here?”
Five doesn’t flinch, it doesn’t work the way Viktor thinks it will. Instead he stays there, letting Viktor into that space that the others don’t get to cross. It’s a game of chicken now, and Five brings his hand up to cup Viktor’s face.
“Do you really want to talk about what happened back then?”
Five lets out a breath, a huff that’s almost a laugh, and brings his other hand up so that he’s holding Viktor’s face completely.
“Does it look like I want to talk about it?”
Viktor isn’t sure who closes the distance first, only knows that it’s no longer there. And God if he’s not glad for it. Five feels so familiar and so different at the same time, the years having changed both of them for the better. His hand has traveled across that space, up into Five’s hair.
Kissing him feels right, it feels good; different than all those years ago. Less scary, more certain. It makes Viktor move with confidence and Five comes right up to meet him. They’re both practically on top of the bar, fighting to close the space between their bodies.
“Bet you’re wishing you had come over now, huh?” Five says breathlessly, somehow managing to form words between their mouths, tongue tracing along Viktor’s lower lip.
“Shut up.”
“I thought you wanted to talk?”
Viktor lets out a laugh into his brother’s mouth and still can’t stop kissing him, pushes more of himself over the top of the bar even though it feels ridiculous.
“Five, I said shut up.”
And finally, this time, he does – when Viktor kisses him like that, and has his hands on him like that, it’s hard not to do what he’s told.