In some ways, the best part of talking to Klaus was that he didn’t listen. Not really. He just kept pushing drinks Luther’s way--and fuck he used to be able to hold his liquor better--and bobbing his head along like he was paying attention. But he obviously, obviously wasn’t in any capacity.
Or this was some sick joke about Luther being too close to Allison and that’s how Klaus had made the leap to strange. Too close. Fuck, he’d really believed that for so long, but he could see it clearly now. That it was just some bullshit Dad had pushed on them, to make them stop talking to each other. Comforting each other, supporting each other. Being normal siblings who didn’t want to fight each other to death.
None of that mattered now. Luther had destroyed that relationship. Destroyed his relationship with Vanya, too.
They were going to leave him alone in the house. Again.
Shit. He was crying again. Even with Klaus’s truly bizarre non-sequitur and his brother’s hands pressed up awkwardly against his cheeks. The touch sends a shudder down Luther’s spine because he can’t help but feel like his body is wrong and monstrous and shouldn’t be touched in anyway by anyone.
Luther reached up to take Klaus’s skinny wrists in his hands and pull hands away from his face. He flashed back to hugging Vanya--because she’d so desperately wanted it, needed to know she wasn’t hated--and squeezing and squeezing until she’d passed out because he’d been trained to exploit weakness. And then he loosened his grip on Klaus, almost dropped him altogether. Closed his eyes and hiccuped, tried to stop fucking crying like a child.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he finally managed to say, words slurring together.
His fingers twitched-- he pulled away like he’d been burned. Like a red hot stove top burner against the pads of his fingers. He thought he did anyway. It was really more a slow tug, but he moved away nonetheless. Any part of his body being encircled by his brother’s grip set him on edge, made his fucking teeth hurt. He didn’t trust him anymore, not after... things.
Klaus missed the days he just worried that he might make Luther mad enough to hit him and break a rib or something. Not that he may make him angry enough to snap his fragile little bird-bones like a single strand of dry spaghetti, too long to go into the pot. He’d say a twig, but it would be even easier than that for the big guy.
“Hey, man...” he muttered, “Hey, stay with me here. You’re fine. It’s fine. Whatever you’re crying about probably won’t matter anyway. You’re gonna die eventually, right? And I promise you, nothing’s gonna matter then. And all this crying’s gonna be for nothing. So.. you could just stop. And get some pussy, or whatever you’re into, because maybe it would make you feel better..?”
Ben insulting him again registered in the back of his mind. He continued to ignore him. There was nothing he could do to him in retaliation as long as Klaus stayed fucked up.
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