'Meet on balcony in 10.' Virgil had sent to Scott. Sitting on one of the chairs on the upper balcony, he had a glass of scotch for Scott and a bottle of cider for him. There wasn't much left of January 2nd, the day having been taken up by rescues, but there was enough for a toast for their dad on his birthday.
It’s half past eleven in the evening when Scott gets the message but it’s closer to quarter too when he appears out on the balcony, his hair still damp from a much-needed shower and a heat pack on the shoulder that’s aching too much for him to ignore.
Scott’s ignored a lot today. He’s ignored the heavy, invisible cloud that always descends on the villa today. He’s ignored the headlines in the media delivering the yearly reminder to the rest of the world about how many years it’s been. Scott doesn’t need a reminder when it’s the first thing he thinks of and his last thought before sleep finally takes him away. He hasn’t asked if anybody’s okay today because the answer’s always the same and there’s not much he can do about it anyway. Some days are just harder to get through than others.
Scotch makes it easier. Scott sees the glint of moonlight on the glass first before he spots his brother beside them. He sinks down next to Virg with a grunt he doesn’t bother to hide because he did way too much today to avoid doing nothing. Doing nothing’s the worst on days like today.
“Pass me that?” He asks, as softly as the clouds drift across the moon and once the glass is in his hand, Scott lifts it towards the sky.
“To dad.” He gives a simple toast. “Happy birthday, wherever you are.”