〔 ♠ 〕 KRISTOPH GAVIN is no good with emotions. never has been, never will be ; they’re messy & disorienting & distracting, and in most cases he thinks we’d all be better off without them. they’re easy to play off of ( much too easy ) , but so difficult to engage with genuinely – a tangle, impossible to sort out without hurting or being hurt, and yet the attempt to do so is UNAVOIDABLE. it’s all, in his eyes, a rather enormous waste of everyone’s time. ——& yet, here he is, knocking on the door, searching for an entryway into the BOMBED-OUT WASTELAND that currently makes up his brother’s psyche, ready to start sifting through the wreckage. ( he can’t quite bring himself to leave his brother to begin the rebuilding all on his own. even though that’s the easy thing to do. )
KLAVIER GAVIN is usually the one out of the two of them who is good with this sort of thing. not tonight. he’s trying to look unaffected by hiding his eyes behind dark sunglasses, but it’s still obvious he’s been crying – voice choked, face tear-streaked. ( perhaps that’s why he’d been playing so loud. to drown out a sadder sound. ) ❝ you haven’t got any more replacements ? —— that’s alright. we can go out & get one tomorrow. for now, can i come in ? ❞ he tries his best to give his brother a smile ; it almost works, but he’s trying to be authentic rather than fake, and that means a little of his concern still seeps into the expression. ❝ if you’ve got no string, you can’t keep practicing tonight, and i’ve already made this tea. ❞ he nods down towards the tray in his hands ; two mugs sit on it, steaming. ❝ we might as well drink it before it gets cold. ❞
WITH ANY luck, that should convince his brother to at least let him in. —— & even if it turns out there’s nothing more he can do, that his usefulness at providing comfort begins & ends with bringing over some tea, at least that would mean his brother isn’t just … sitting there alone. he may not have much to offer in these situations, BUT SOMETHING IS BETTER THAN NOTHING.
It was a rare occurrence to see his brother acting this way. He was nervous, obvious in his expression; after all, Kristoph was always the type to be able to disjoint his emotional state from his thoughts. For that, Klavier had always envied him; beside the man who felt his heart shake and breath fall short whenever something so close to his emotions tattered and shattered him, he often wished he was able to disconnect like his brother did.
But seeing this — seeing him so nervous and so vulnerable and so... unlike Kristoph... there was something warm about that. Something flattering. Something soft. Kristoph was the type to find vulnerability a weakness that absolutely had to be quashed at any moment. And to allow himself that ‘weakness’ just to comfort Klavier... words couldn’t describe how grateful he was for it. To Kristoph’s question, he scoffed slightly, his voice dry and dead. “I do... somewhere... I just don’t know if they’re here or at my office... and I don’t care to look.”
He eyed the cup of tea sitting daintily on its saucer, then to Kristoph, his eyes surprisingly soft, and concerned. It was a nice look on him. With a sigh, he relinquished, “I guess you can come in... help me find them once you get a chance.” And he ducked out from the doorway to allow entrance.
His room was an absolute mess, more than usual, a pile of memorabilia consisting of the gifts Daryan had given, including Klavier’s cellphone, lay discarded in the corner. He didn’t comment a word on it, sitting on his unmade bed and crossing his legs, not looking Kristoph’s way. “You didn’t have to do all this...” he repeated, “It’s just heartbreak; it was bound to happen eventually.”