@mouthstrous
in the late night stillness of the kitchen, the extra shift of fabric rings like the snap of a broken branch underfoot. prey animal startles, fearing teeth, so sharp to turn he nearly fumbles and drops the box of black tea leaves clutched in his fingers. he had nearly thought himself used to this by now, the unearthly nature of his husband's brother. or, at least, the ghost of him they have brought into their home.
it unsettled him deeply at first, how someone of such size could lack any sense of presence at all. danny came and went like a shadow, a mirage that faded out to be looked at directly. he wanted nothing, he thought nothing, he did nothing, for days into weeks on end. danny was frightened, he was soundless absence, and gradually … he wasn't. one written, cautious line at a time, there have been questions, progress, life. the notebook has not left him that mike has noticed.
it is new, relatively speaking, this brave endeavor to reach out to try to grab the world he no longer understands. mike recognizes it at once, and silently nods acquiescence to sit at the counter while he turns back to pull down a pair of mugs.
" tim's still asleep? " he expects no answer either way as he works, which makes it all the more jarring when danny speaks. it is not the first time he has heard it, that motheaten rasp that sounds like a breeze through dead january branches, the sound of someone dead. yet, mike cannot remember that danny has ever used it for him, and so unprepared for it, it takes him a long beat to even recognize what he is asked.
‘ how many people have you killed? ’
" ah ... um - i ... let me think. " he does not want to break the spun glass fragility of danny's bravery by letting him think he is in trouble, not after the last time, yet it is hardly a lie to say this is not the conversation he'd like to mark in a book of firsts. " half a dozen at most? i'm, uh, guessing, anyway. i don't have a good tell, if I'm honest, once the sky takes them, i don't really ... know. "