Julius has many sins. He lies. He kills. And above all, he loves his brother. A twisted selfless selfishness leads him to commit sin in the name of that love, a love that is sin within itself. A love that can never be consummated, only fabricated through encounters that leave him satisfied but never sated. Encounters that leave a darker stain on his heart than the one growing over his hand.

After killing so many, his heart should be dead and devoid of emotion, but each kill murders another Ludger, another grain in his depleting hourglass. He's witnessed it, done the act with his own hand, watched as the life drained from his skin, the light from his eyes. He's held him in his arms as the world shattered like shards of a mirror, a reflection of a pleasanter future which he could not hold onto.

In every reality Ludger opens his heart and legs to him; and as much as this wrenches his gut, it is also the adhesive holding his thinning sanity together, because if all of these Ludgers love him, then that means his Ludger loves him. The real thing is so close, though never the same—never the same. He never so much as mutters the words "I love you" anymore, feeling them as an icy stab to his chest knowing that he could never say them with the same meaning anymore—not after having known the lives that could have been. Not after having known his brother in that way.

Ashamed, he confines himself in the bathroom, where the water flows loudly to wash away his voice and proof of sin. Arm braced against the white fiberglass, he lets the water pour along his hair and shoulders as his fist works a steady pace. Ludger's shaking voice as he whimpers his name. His lithe body melding to him. His mouth that tastes of comfort and promise—not ash or death. Julius breathes hard as his baby brother does things he should never do by any means. His hand—his mouth—his heat—feels like heaven, and he's drowning. Shoulders quake, head tips back so that water pounds against his closed eyelids as his hand strokes himself raw until a wanton moan erupts from his throat.

His brother asks how his shower was—which sends gooseflesh over his arms. Julius lies; it's so easy to lie when it is what he does so on a usual basis. He tells him that it was fine, tells him that he must be off to work, off to help people. He does have work to do, but he needn't do it now. He does help people—but he hurts countless more—most of all the two of them. Julius does not tell him that he leaves for work more and more often now because by this point it is the only thing keeping him at bay. That Julius is so far gone, all he can ever think about are his brother's smiles and lustful cries. That the only thing that makes living in the real world worthwhile are the moments he spends outside of it, the moments he spends with Ludgers who he knows he'll never see again.

One of the minimal benefits of his job is that there is never any rush—which is a good thing because he would take his time regardless. Finding Ludger is always his first objective. He is usually waiting at home in the kitchen like a housewife, a thought that grips his chest until he meets a Ludger who is a housewife.

He meets him with a plate in hand and an apron that says "Kiss the Cook." His face is beaming as he calls his name, sets the plate haphazardly down on the kitchen table, and kisses him like he is the most important man in the world.

"You're home." His voice is like honey, and Julius feels himself melting against the head pressed into the hollow of his neck.

"I'm back," he says, uncertainly resting hands on the other man's hips who hums in response.

"How was your day?" He peels himself away to set the table. "It was as boring as usual here. I wish you would take more time off work."

Julius takes his seat at the table, smiling at the tomato pasta. "You know me and work."

"Yeah? Well, what about you and your husband? Shouldn't I be more important?"

He does not sound like his Ludger, but Julius doesn't care when this Ludger is so happy, so carefree. He stands and pulls him to him. Ludger releases a little puff of air in surprise, but wraps his arms around him again. "You are. You are the most important thing to me." His voice is deep, emotional. Tomatoes are no longer appealing. "Let's skip dinner."

"Skip it? But I spent so long preparing it."

"I've left you lonely. Let me make it up to you."

Ludger gives him a look of amazement. "Okay."

Julius loves the taste of his sweat, but his cum is somehow even sweeter on his tongue. Ludger's hands tug at his hair as his thighs quake. Julius licks his lips, and lets himself be pulled into a sleepy cuddle. It is peaceful—too peaceful.

"Love you."

Julius' chest tightens. "Love you, too." He holds him closer until his eyes close and his breathing evens out. Gulping the lump in his throat down, he extracts himself. Giving him one more kiss on the temple, he leaves the apartment without a second glance.

The catalyst is a little girl with a red balloon. He strikes her down as she is bent over petting a dog.

The world shatters.

The next Ludger is quiet. He acts more than speaks. They have not so much as exchanged twenty words by the time he has him pinned against the soft down of Ludger's own mattress. He grinds his ass down against Julius' groin, and he's already lost. Lost to heat and passion and feeling. Ludger is beautiful with glistening sweat as he rides him, and that is all that Julius has room for in his brain. He's so memorized he momentarily forgets that this is not his Ludger, but an imitation. He reaches a hand up to thumb across his cheek, lets his needy breath release. Brother. It is an admission, and his body flares as much as it does crumple.

Ludger takes notice of his sudden change and stops moving. "Julius?"

Julius pulls him down roughly. Damaging that mouth in his urgency, he flips them over. Ludger looks strangely nervous when he makes the first shift of his hips. His eyes are watery, and Julius rocks himself again and again—and again—until Ludger breaks. Until there are tears in his eyes and brother is on his lips. The word is liquid heroin coming in his quiet, hoarse tone. Kissing what's left with his mouth, Julius reaches for his brother's erection, pumps it until they are shuddering out together.

Leaving this Ludger is harder. Not because his future is brighter, but because he is the most analogous, and it is still difficult for him to assert that they are not one and the same. This is not the Ludger he loves. This is not a future he can live.

The catalyst is the apartment janitor. He stabs him while the man stares at him in pure terror, mop still in hand.

The world shatters.

Julius panics in the next world when he does not find Ludger at their apartment. Nor does he find himself or Rollo. The building is the same, but they do not live in it. He is at a loss, frantic to find his precious baby brother. He shouts at passersby on the street, ignoring their gossiping whispers. No one replies, all shaking their head when he shows the picture of the two of them close and smiling over Ludger's 18th birthday cake.

With heavy steps, he marches into Spirius Corporation, sure that they must know something. Vera gasps when she sees him.

"Where is he!" he snarls.

"He? M-mister Kresnik, are you feeling alright?" She pushes her glasses up, trying to recompose herself.

"You know damn well who I am talking about. My brother!"

"You brother?" she looks genuinely confused. "I was unaware you had a brother. That might have made this operation easier."

Julius feels his blood turning cold. Ludger does not exist in this reality. "How many are left?" he barks, not caring when she flinches at his tone.

"I—that is classified information."

"I don't give a fuck about what is classified information. You will tell me. Now." He shifts into the chromatus, hefting his blade right at her throat.

She gulps. "Twenty."

"What info do you have on them?"

"Not much."

"Ludger. What do you know about a Ludger Will Kresnik?"

"Ludger…" Her voice trails off before understanding fills her eyes. "You are not mister Kresnik."

"No, I'm not. Now tell me what it is you know."

"Nothing. But," she takes a step backward toward the information desk, "I can look him up. One moment."

Julius waits, feeling a sinking chill.

"I'm sorry, mister Kresnik. There is no information on that name."

Julius' body crumples to the floor. There are no more Ludgers.

Vera watches him hesitantly. "Will that be all, mister Kresnik?"

"Yes." He does not move.

When Julius returns home that night, the lights are off and Ludger is already tugged away in bed. Ignoring the voice in the back of his head, Julius enters Ludger's bedroom and joins him there. His body is warm against Julius' front, and he heaves a sigh, trying to assure himself that things are alright. This Ludger is still here with him.

"Brother?" he asks, stirring.

He is alright. Everything is alright.

"I…had a bad day."

Ludger places his hand over his. "Hey, it's okay. I'm here. Why don't I make you tomato omelets for breakfast?"

"Hmm." Julius presses his nose into his skin, smelling crisp soap and cooking oil. It has been years since they laid like this. He holds him until the sun rises.

He calls into work the next morning which earns him a raised eyebrow from Ludger. "Are you sure you are alright?"

"Yeah," he answers through his teeth. He isn't. This is the only Ludger left in all the world. He wants him with every fiber of his being, but this is the Ludger who he needs to protect most.

He gives him a skeptical look. "Julius."

His stringent tone and imploring eyes break Julius. Tears are in his eyes, and then Ludger's hand is stroking through his blond locks. "Shh. I'm here." They are the same words as the night before, but his voice is heavier and spoken near his ear. His brother's mouth is on his before he knows what was happening.

He never wanted this—any of it. The pit of his stomach chills as much as it boils from the touch. He has never been so scared of wanting something in his life.

"I'll always be here," Ludger says, and Julius caves. Because, while he lies and kills, most of all, he loves his brother.