Don't ship teaserviceshippy (how does it worrrrrrrk) but I was in the mood for a writing challenge and ore-no-double-stuffed-fanservice wanted more teaserviceshippy.
I accidentally my brain while writing this. aslfjalfsjdf;la;; I don't even /orz (quality not guaranteed.)
P.S. Toby is the most magnificent.
The first time it happens, III is ten.
Toby is snuggling against him that night, that huge bundle of fur and warmth to keep the cold away. III opens his eyes without notice, perhaps at the heat, perhaps for some reason beyond comprehension, and green irises are drawn to the moon hovering in the sky before ears detect a soft pattering at the windowsill.
The window, unlocked, slides open and allows a fully-dressed IV to jump out of their shared bedroom.
III turns, and Toby shifts at a sudden cuddle, then III is within the grasp of dreams to slumber peacefully until the next day. His brother's business is not his concern.
It happens again, a month later, just as the last instance has faded from his mind. This time it is Toby that shifts, a gentle rumbling in the back of his throat that translates into visions of thunder, and III snaps his eyes open just as the storm in his dreams becomes a blizzard and takes his family away.
The blizzard is a gust of cold air through the window, a window washed with the brightness of an astronomical dawn. III turns his head away.
It is that window the sounds first originate, and the figure of IV clambers inside. The stench of sweat and something thick and musty is carried to III's nose, and he doesn't move. IV closes the window and does not delay long enough to notice his brother's awake state, swiftly moving toward the bathroom. When III turns around again after the sound of running water, he notices the pair of pyjamas on IV's bed are gone and a series of grubby marks remain on the glass.
The water stops, and IV's quiet footsteps return from the en suite, only to pause at the spotless window. Then a creak of bedsprings precedes a soft snore, and III loosens the hand clamped around stained tissues before stuffing them beneath his pillow for later disposal.
Not once does Toby nor IV shift again, and not once can III cleanse his newfound involvement from his soul.
The Secret refuses to leave him be, as IV sneaks away the next night, the one after, and the one after next. III spends many sleepless hours lying there, pressed against the rise and fall of Toby's chest, unbearably warm as the anticipation of IV's departure grew with every minute. Sometimes he misses IV's leaving, exhausted after long days, but he always wakes without fail to that early dawn light and IV's return.
IV doesn't notice, as he still hasn't learnt how to enter without overlooking an unlocked window and oily marks on the spotless surface. Most likely he never would, as III always climbed out of bed once the water is switched on, a wad of tissues scrounged from his bedside table, and heads for the stains to complete his part.
The morning after, IV would tease the tutors and the staff and the rest of those in the house without fail, enviously, showing no trace of losing sleep at all.
There is no reprieve for the next few months, although IV pauses briefly after the start of summer. As if his reason for leaving no longer exists. It soon reappears, just as III grew hopeful of its end, forcing the nightly ritual to repeat again. The only breaks are Sundays, when IV remains home.
III has not once asked why, not that there has been an opening to do so. IV is older, has a later bedtime, and whenever he sleeps – if he sleeps at all – he becomes a mountain refusing to be roused.
The Secret hurts him, forces him to lie each time either V or their father asked if he slept well. And none of the others notice his hesitation, the fabricated excuses for his weariness coalescing into something gargantuan, something unbearable...
IV has no trouble. He lies with a grin.
One night, far too long since the first had come and gone, III finds himself jolted from slumber when IV enters and stumbles to the floor, hours before his normal return. Behind him, without a hand to slow it down, the window slams shut and the house shudders as if reduced to flimsy timber in a tropical monsoon.
III holds his breath and stays perfectly still, waiting for the footsteps that would follow such a noise. But the house is vast, and most live away from their room, and it is probably a part of his imagination.
When IV begins to shudder, and takes shaking, choking gasps, the consequences of discovery no longer matter.
IV doesn't notice his brother is awake, mumbling something about fanservice and revenge under his breath, until arms around his waist pull him into a warm embrace. The smell is far more pungent now that III is so close, and IV jerks self-consciously as if aware of that very fact, causing something firm to brush against III's stomach and butterflies streaming upon contact.
A sound escapes IV's throat, something like the sound of crushing candy.
III doesn't let go when IV tries to retreat, refuses to let go, burrowing his head into his brother's chest in the semblance of comfort that could be given. Eons pass before IV falls to his knees and squeezes III back, stubborn tears refusing to fall but clogging all airways until no choice remains but to breathe.
III closes his eyes. Sometimes IV could be so stupid, but he loves him all the same.