A/N: I do not own anything. Anything. ANYTHING! Inspired by Always Gold - Radical Face. Please listen to perfection that comes in song.
Where One was Gold and the Other was Stone
Erik was two when his brother Charles was born
and three when their father had died.
He was five when he noticed something untoward
and seven when he stopped and sighed.
1
Erik and Charles were always known as: The Brothers in More Than Name. Mr. Johnson had whispered that Erik had dove into a pool when Charles was in way too deep and Mrs. Johnson had said that Erik shouldn't've been the one who pushed Charles in the first place. Mrs. Carrey gossiped that Erik was a violent child and Ms. Smith replied that if Charles had heard that, "your posts would suddenly stop arriving in your mail and no one will know who took them," and just for emphasis, she had leaned forward and whispered, "no one…"
Yes, Erik and Charles had grown up close (and that had meant very far away).
Through their childhood they were very aware of an impenetrable accumulation of difference and petty lies and ambivalence but had learnt to love each other through the stretch of unknown.
Charles, who was an innocent and innocuous little thing, was Erik's little brother whom he'd sworn to protect (not that he needed much protection). Charles, although kind, was as unwavering as a hammer and his mind was going to take him to happiness.
It was no surprise that Erik would keep his word through and through. When Charles was eleven, he was small (he's still small) for his age. Cain was not what Erik would call a bully, because a bully signified a sense of fear and dominance.
When Erik had found Charles all beat and tired, Cain was all smug and proud. So he had released an angered scream and swung his arm with all the force he could manage in the direction of Cain's revolting face. He could hear the blood surge in his ear and his heart hammering against his chest and it took a long moment to realise that Charles was tugging frivolously at his arm and crying, and Erik cannot bear a crying Charles.
"Stop, Erik, please," he needn't be told twice. The teachers had already started to congregate at the scene and accuse him culpable and crooked and cruel.
2
His mother had not been pleased with the news, much to Erik's predicted surprise. She had never been 'pleased' with Erik. It was as if he were a defective version of a son that she had warrant.
"You're not to leave your room besides attending school. Alfred will bring food over and make sure I do not see your face."
Stone stubborn Charles had argued and protected Erik for hours. His voice was clear and sharp and Erik could hear it pierce his mahogany door.
Erik had allowed his shame and guilt to tumble upon one another and compress into an anger that seeped through his flesh and bone, gradually eating away what was left of his petulant innocence and upon looking back, had created a cold and chilling emptiness within him.
Charles voice reverberated until the night and when their mother had had enough, she had grabbed Charles, immaculate nails digging into the young boy's skin.
"One more word, Charles. One more..."
It was nearing midnight when Erik's door blatantly opened and Charles unceremoniously stumbled through. "It took me a while finding the key. And then I had to pee."
Erik, who had been staring holes in the ceiling had smiled and involuntarily wiggled over to make room for Charles to crawl in. "We could run, far, far away from here and live like hermits."
"I hear Indigenous Aboriginals were nomads. We can live like them."
Erik sighed a laugh, "Right... because I know what Indigenous Aboriginals are."
They had vowed that through Charles' words and Erik's ability to implement action they were going to touch upon the sea and endeavour the horizon. They would fly across the world twice ("no, thrice!") and Erik had promised himself that he would annoy all the purity from Charles.
The truth, however, was that Charles was brilliant, and he could charm himself a cup of free coffee even though Alfred knew Charles was too young to drink. And by saying that, Charles ability to weave the most enchanting web of lies could persuade anyone to offer themselves willingly as food for the predator.
But Erik isn't anyone and his mother is living proof of it. And it's not by her spiteful words that made Erik a 'no one' but by the lack of acknowledgement of Erik's carved timid roses of paper piling outside her bedroom door every year until he was seven and until one of the maid had to take them away.
What was truly sad about this was that the rose was born and nurtured with delicate fingers, incongruous as Erik's are roughened and calloused. It was truly sad because it showed the extra mile of care Erik had put in.
Wasted.
And thus, if Erik was not anyone, he would not be deceived into a tempting fantasy. So naturally he didn't believe that it was Charles' mutual dream of escaping to a world of language and culture with him. He had denied the initial thought though, piled layers and layers of black ashen lies to veil the truth because he wanted to love Charles. Or maybe he already loved Charles. It was hard to know because anger appeared indelible and all things good were ephemeral.
Charles would sail the seven seas with him.
"I love you," someone had admitted to the dark.
3
When Erik was seventeen he had escaped the clutches of shame and surreptitious hatred and fucking lies.
It was in the night, after another customary fight with Sharon that ended with an uncovered secret and a reason.
"You aren't even my real son!"
And it was in this dead of night that Erik's inexorable hatred for Sharon grew and grew so uncontrollably vast that Erik had thought it would all but consume him.
It was nearing two in the morning when he realized a quiescent presence outside his locked door. He had gotten up, feet cold once they touched the marbled floor as hatred had burned through his skin and unlocked the door. Charles was lying curled at the bottom of the floor and Erik nudged him with his foot.
Once awake enough to open his eyes, Charles had wordlessly slipped inside and snuggled deep under the covers, leaving Erik wondering if Charles was ever a somnambulist.
He had lied awake, trying to find the fire within him once more but felt that it had been extinguished by Charles' quiet company.
It was a sort of… relief to finally find reason for what separated everyone from him. Maybe he could even be at peace now because he had done no wrong to Sharon. Or that there was not ever something wrong with him. He could leave without regret because Charles was not his, he belonged to only Sharon.
He shouldn't blame Charles, but he did. Could he love someone he envied, wished to be in their shoes because his were worn and torn and theirs was shiny and new?
Would Erik swap his shoes for Charles'? Yes.
Would Charles willingly trade his shoes for Erik's? Yes.
"Does everything go away?" Erik had asked and then answered when Charles had not responded, "Yeah… everything goes away." He hadn't meant the residing hatred (no longer a fiery inferno) but the scintilla hope of being numb because peace all of a sudden seemed too innocent.
Peace was never an option, really.
4
So this was why Erik had, after a long time coming, finally left Faversham with a duffle bag of clothes and a pocket of change. He was leaving to London, to Dublin, New York, Germany, away from Faversham and the chasm of lost love and helpless hope.
When Erik had reached town he had hitched a ride to Maidstone and from there, with the weightless coins that was in his pocket, Erik had bought himself a sandwich and sat staring into the trees on a park bench.
Numb was what he had wanted to be but cold was what he was (where was the fucking fire?). He had no clue for accommodation. What do runaways do for shelter, especially in a town they know nothing about?
In the end he sat stagnant on the bench when night began to fall and if he cried there, it was long overdue.
5
It had been two months since Erik had left Faversham and he had gotten himself a dilapidated apartment that was almost uninhabitable, but desperation can take you anywhere. He had fortuitously stumbled upon a job at a dodgy pub called Hellfire where the smoke became addictive and the drinks weren't far off.
Some nights (because it was always the nights) it would just get so hard and Erik would wonder if it was all worth it and it didn't help that the neighbours back at Faversham had thought him of no worth.
One night, after countless of other arduous nights, Erik was forced to sell his rich-man's watch that only Charles had gifted him when he turned seventeen to pay his rent.
He had sold it for a measly $220.
And he doubted if he could care less. He was tired and his limbs were heavy and life hadn't been good to him just yet.
But it had given Erik Charles…
But then it had taken him away…
But he was the one who had gone away…
But –
There were people howling loudly in the back of the Hellfire Pub and Erik had just finished his night shift. It wasn't that the nights at Hellfire were quiet and peaceful, quite the opposite but Erik had years of training in the practice of sniffing out animosity.
"Hey, you!"
Fuck.
He stopped and turned around, "yeah?"
There were five boys and one of them had began cracking his knuckles .Erik could not stop a loud scoff.
In retrospect, it was a fucking idiotic thing to do.
They were on him like a pack of lions to a zebra but there were a couple of metal hard punches that Erik had thrown.
He was even proud to say he had knocked one out.
What he was not proud of, was when Emma of all people had found him and then there was a sudden brightness of red and blue against black –
If Erik could have a different, happier life, of course he would take it. If that place had the sound of waves lapping against cliffs and the taste of salt that blew with the wind and a house that was made of stone then he would take it.
If that place had wooden floors instead of marble and pictures of two young boys, one with his hand saturated with dirt and the other with his hands clamped behind his back, laughing, then he would take it.
If the windows had turned brown from all the dust that had amalgamated and a bookcase of gold and stone then he would take it.
And if the front door hinge was worn from all the opening and shutting and slamming and the grandfather clock looked peaceful then he would take it.
Because this stone house was a peaceful home and this home was built just for Erik.
And Charles didn't need much protection.