Mathias sat outside the door, his eyes on the chandelier hanging above him. Where did Lukas learn to play like that? And where did he even get the instrument? Did his father know about the secret violin? There were lots of questions inside the boy's head but he tried to put them to rest as well as he could. Lukas was keeping secrets, sure. But he had his reasons. Probably.
Right then the door opened, hitting the Dane hard on his back. He let out a yelp of surprise, shooting up onto his feet. Lukas' dull blue eyes were watching him, an eyebrow raised questioningly.
"Bror, what are you doing?" he crossed his arms, trying to look intimidating, before realizing what he had called him. Mathias cocked his head to the side, a lop-sided grin filling his face.
"Did you just call me "brother"?" he laughed slightly. By now Lukas' face glowed a light scarlet. He pouted.
"No, it never happened."
Mathias' cheerful laugh reverberated off the corridor walls. "I liked it, you should do that more often." When Lukas didn't reply, he added, "You don't have to if you don't want to ya know. I just said I liked it, don't take it so seriously."
Lukas shrugged, waiting for Mathias to change the subject. The older blond rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
"Your violin performance was good," he smiled, "Where'd you learn to play like that?"
Lukas looked taken aback for a moment. He pursed his lips, immersed in thought, contemplating whether to share or not. At last he replied, his words slow.
"Mostly, I taught myself," he shrugged like it was nothing. Mathias' eyes widened in wonder. What he had heard barely moments ago what brilliant playing. How did a ten year old manage to teach himself all that?
"'Mostly'. What about the rest of it?" he pressed the question. The Norwegian sighed, sliding a lock of hair behind his ear.
Why was Mathias so interested in this? Well, 5 years in and the younger boy had grown on him immensely. He could be harsh, but he was a brother to him. However, he tended to be very distant from everyone, and quiet, keeping everything to himself. Even Emil couldn't get everything out of him. Lukas would do literally anything for his younger brother; saying he loved him a lot was an understatement.
"It's not any of your business." Mathias had expected that answer. He bit the side of his bottom lip, before looking the boy in the eyes, getting lost in their depths. What lengths he wouldn't go to to feed his burning curiosity. But what could he do? Five years of experience have led him to know that even if he did a mountain's worth of good deeds for him, Lukas wouldn't say a thing. After all, he hadn't spoken about his life in Lofoten much. Mathias had heard nothing about either of the boy's parents. Most of what he knew was from what his own father had told him when he asked, which was little as Érik knew that Lukas' past deserved privacy.
But it was alright. He was curious, but, contrary to popular belief, he could control himself. To a certain extent. Some of the time. Darn, the questions were eating him up from the inside. He figured it would only be a matter of time before his whole being would explode from overwhelming curiosity.
And yet a year passed. Followed by another. And another. Neither Nordic was giving in to the long running contest for answers. Yet, by now it had become the norm. So much so that both of them could tell what the other was thinking and what they were going to do next. Mathias found himself sitting outside the other boy's door everyday, secretly listening to him playing his instrument, and in turn the younger boy found himself watching the other blond go about his business. Those moments were like short-term, temporary truces from their game that could go on forever. Both of them knew that, but neither was weak enough to let it go.
Mathias knew that if he kept being persistent, the boy would give in sometime. But something that he was beginning to notice started worrying him. At first he ignored it, thinking it was just something that came with growing up in Lukas' family. Both he and Emil smiled fairly rarely, so he assumed it was in his genes. The older sibling showed it so much stronger though – he spoke monotonously and spoke less and less. God only knew what was happening. Yet a single event made everything take a turn for the worse.
And then there were 4. God I look forward to writing the next chapter, more than I probably should be. A lot more than I probably should be. It will probably turn out twice the length of this one. Go figure.