Work Text:
Luke, Kieran, and Mephistopheles were both the greatest treasures and the greatest torments of Sylus’ life.
Equal parts chaos and charm, they were the cutest troublemakers who resided this side of the Zephyr River.
Mischief, mayhem, miscreants. Over the years, they had been called every name in the book, mostly by you. They were three little master manipulators with hearts made of... well, not gold.
Sylus blamed your indulgence for their endless troublemaking. You blamed the fact that they were triplets, and therefore always had an accomplice and an audience.
Whatever it was causing these compulsions, it needed to be nipped in the bud.
Fast.
And, in that moment, each boy wished that it had been nipped three minutes ago.
The three of them stared at the scene in front of them. A shattered window. A broken vase.
Behind them, the door had been haphazardly shut by one of them, blocking them from any curious eyes that may have seen them in the process of the act.
The air was still. Filled with guilt and anticipation, choking them in suspense. Beside them, a clock chimed brokenly in disrepair.
Mephisto was the first to speak, his light gray hair falling into his eyes as if it wanted to shield him from the consequences of their actions. That morning, the boys had been told no less than twelve times to be careful. To pay attention. To not throw their football in the house.
And yet, here they were.
“We’re so dead,” Mephisto muttered, his voice flat with certainty.
“No, not dead—” Kieran interrupted, already shaking his head, dark curls bouncing with the frantic motion. His red-brown eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape hatch that wasn’t there. “Not yet, at least. We’ll just… we’ll just say it was the wind. A really strong breeze. Windows break all the time at this time of year from residual tsunami gusts in the East, don't they?”
Luke, who was the only one of the three to have retained both the straight hair as well as the introversion of their father, spoke last. “I’ve never heard of a draft strong enough to break a window. Or a clock. Or a vase.” Luke crossed his arms, his sharp features set in determination. “We need a proper story. Something believable. Something clever.”
The boys knew that the broken window was of little importance. It was no more than glass and stone, something that could be easily replaced in the blink of an eye. They would know.
They also knew that the broken clock was of little importance. It was no more than iron and wood. A pretty thing that you had bought on a whim a few years ago to brighten up the boys’ bedroom.
The broken vase was the issue.
Each boy had wondered if it would be enough for them to simply hide the broken vase from their father until their birthday next week. It was a big one, after all. They were turning twelve years old. A milestone. A grand occasion. A birthday that would certainly allow them to get away with a bit more mischief than usual.
Luke was the first to dismiss the idea. The vase had been a gift from Sylus to you on your first date together. Sylus had brought you flowers at the door, and the vase he brought them in had stayed with you ever since. And after the arrival of your three sons, you moved it into their room, eager to keep everything you fussed over in one place. And if it offered the perfect excuse to slip inside under the guise of changing its flowers while secretly keeping an eye on whatever mischief they were plotting, well then so be it.
No, the vase was too important. There was no hiding it. You would notice that it was missing as soon as you came in to read Mephisto his nightly bedtime story (while the other two pretended not to eavesdrop). There had to be another way.
When Kieran had considered hiding the broken vase, he too quickly dismissed the idea. He knew that his father kept a clean house. He would notice straight away if something was out of place or missing, and after the ‘shelf incident’ two years ago, the boys knew better than to hide their mistakes from him. In fact, each of their thousand handwritten lines of “I will not turn furniture into climbing frames” was still stapled above each of their beds as a reminder.
He also decided that they needed to find another way.
And when Mephisto thought about hiding the vase from their father, he had gotten quickly distracted by the smell of rosemary bread wafting into their bedroom from the kitchen downstairs. His thoughts quickly shifted to thoughts of butter melting into the warm crust, and then to the honey you would sometimes drizzle over it. Eventually, Mephisto had stopped thinking all together in favour of remembering just how much he loved his father’s cooking.
The boys had to call his name three times to wake him from his daydream.
“We need to focus!” Luke said. “This problem isn't going to just fix itself!”
“Right,” Kieran chimed in. “We need a plan. Something brilliant. Something... incredible. Oh! Like ghosts! Or—”
“No Kieran!” Luke groaned. “No ideas from you! They usually get us into more trouble...”
“Not if you do them right,” Kieran shot back, eyes bright with that dangerous brand of confidence only a middle child could muster.
“We just need to make it look like the vase didn’t break at all,” said Mephisto. He was proud of himself in these moments. It always took him immense amounts of courage to speak when his brothers got like this.
Luke raised a brow. “And how are we going to do that? Glue it together with Kieran's snot?”
“No,” Kieran said, puffing his chest out. “We... We’ll glue it together with actual glue. And maybe some paint. I think I can do it. Father was so impressed with my papier-mâché dragon yesterday. He said it looked lifelike. This will be a piece-of-cake.” Before any of the others could intervene, Kieran dropped to the floor, grabbed at the broken porcelain, and started to match the pieces up.
Luke pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath about fools and footballs.
Mephisto, meanwhile, perked up. “Can we add glitter to it? I like glitter.”
“No glitter!” the other two barked in unison, horrified. “Do you want him to notice?”
Mephisto tilted his head thoughtfully. “Maybe if it sparkles enough, he’ll be too dazzled to remember we broke it.”
For a moment, Kieran looked like he was actually considering this.
Luke groaned again.
“Do you think they know we know that they broke the vase?”
You tried to hide your smile as you snatched another slice of bread. Above you, your sons were having the loudest conversation known to man. It was a surprise that they were related to you. Surely you had taught them better than... whatever they currently were doing.
Beside you, your husband hummed as he sautéed a few vegetables, failing to hide his own smile. “I wish that they would just come to us when they make mistakes.” He moved a few slices of roasted squash to the five plates in front of him. “I don’t understand why they insist on hiding things when it would be so much easier to just tell us.”
“I completely agree. The first time I broke that vase, I came straight to you.” You dodged the sauce-covered spoon Sylus threw at you.
“No, you didn't. It was the third time you broke it that you finally told me, and it was only because I was standing right behind you. I caught you. That's not the same...”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“Yes.” You dodged his hand again as it moved to swat your shoulder. Grabbing his wrist in your hand, you pulled him in for a kiss, making a mental note to hatch a plan to try and get your three boys out of trouble later.
When the two of you separated, you grinned, letting your fingers linger on his arm. “Well, I guess they might get it from me.”