On The Complicated Relationship Between Brothers

Klavier woke to the smell of bacon frying and the patter of a soft rain against his window. He started to open his eyes, but squeezed them shut again when a pounding headache developed in his temples. Groaning, he tried covering his head with a pillow, but to no avail. His headache wasn’t going anywhere.



Reluctantly, Klavier forced himself out of bed and into the bathroom. After relieving himself, he picked up his toothbrush, sat on the edge of the tub, and tried to brush away the taste of stale alcohol. Unfortunately, his body had other ideas. No sooner had he put the toothbrush into his mouth than he found himself leaning over the toilet, retching.



After a few minutes of expelling the remaining alcohol from his stomach, Klavier felt a bit better. Even his headache seemed to have calmed down. He washed his face in the sink, and finally looked up at his reflection in the mirror. He really looked like shit. What had he been doing last night?



He bristled. His brother. Prosecutor Godot.



Suddenly on edge, Klavier listened to the sounds of the apartment. Rain was falling. Soft jazz music played from down the hall. He could vaguely hear someone walking about in the kitchen. It all soundly frighteningly ordinary. Had last night been a dream? Had he really been that drunk? Was that a new toothbrush on the shelf?



Klavier hobbled out of the bathroom cautiously, and headed down the hallway. The sound of jazz grew louder in the air as he approached the living room. As he reached the end of the hall, a figure came into view. On the couch, reading a newspaper and lounging with one leg over the other, was Prosecutor Godot. He was humming quietly along with the music, and didn’t seem to have noticed Klavier’s arrival.



Klavier took a few steps forward and turned to look into the kitchen. Kristoph was standing at the counter, wearing a crisp, white apron over a dress shirt and slacks, his hair pulled back into a neat ponytail at the base of his neck. He appeared to be shredding potatoes, and looked as calm as could be.



Kristoph seemed to sense his brother staring at him, and looked up.



“Klavier,” he immediately chided, looking at him with hard eyes. “Are you still wearing your clothes from last night?”



Klavier looked down at himself and took in his rumpled outfit. Had he done it again? He had. He had embarrassed his brother in front of company again. Without warning, tears began to well up in his eyes. His temples started pounding.



“I...” he began, trying to explain himself before he started to cry. He squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to wish away his tears before he managed to embarrass his brother even more. “I...”



“Brüderlein,” interrupted a soft voice. Klavier looked up and found Kristoph standing not two feet in front of him. Beautiful, baby-blue eyes regarded him with concern.



“Shh...” Kristoph cooed, reaching out to brush his brother’s disheveled hair out of his face. Using his thumb, he wiped a tear from Klavier’s eye and gave him a reassuring smile. Klavier blinked up at him, transfixed by the rare, forgiving expression, unsure of how to respond.



“Now, there’s no need to get upset. Go and get washed up, and we can have breakfast together.”



Klavier could only look down at his feet in response. Suddenly, lean, perfectly manicured fingers wrapped around his jawline, tilting his head gently up and forwards. Klavier’s skin prickled at the feeling of his brother’s soft hands cradling his face. Dazed, he looked up into his eyes, but couldn’t quite place the peculiar expression he found there.



It was then that Klavier realized just how close Kristoph had gotten. Feeling his brother’s hot breath on his face, he was suddenly somewhat afraid. He tried to jerk backwards, but Kristoph’s previously gentle hands would not allow him to break free.



At the feeling of moist lips pressed, almost forcefully, against his cheek, Klavier’s body stiffened. Something that he didn’t quite understand stirred in his belly.



“Brüderlein,” Kristoph repeated, pulling back and looking at Klavier as if nothing unusual had happened. Apparently pleased that his brother’s look of despair had be replaced with something else entirely, he smiled, grasping him by the shoulders and urging him gently towards the hallway.



Thoroughly disoriented, but no longer on the brink of tears, Klavier allowed his brother to guide him. He turned and began to head back towards his room, but not before his eyes settled on a certain masked prosecutor, who was now leaning forward, watching the two brothers thoughtfully with one hand under his chin. Suddenly self-conscious, Klavier studied his expression. But, Godot gave no indication that anything seemed out of the ordinary.



“Good morning, Kitten,” the senior prosecutor finally spoke, smiling warmly.



“Good morning, Pros-... Godot,” Klavier managed to whisper before slinking off to take a shower.