:::::::::In Isolated Instances -I::::::::::

It was already eleven in the morning, and Gilbert wasn't in the room when he woke up. For that reason, the night he spent in the manor seemed like a rare gift that had been wasted. The previous night was a blur to him, he didn't remember much of what he said or dreamt of, but he knew his sleep had not been solid. Gilbert had been with him, though, successfully soothing his night terrors. It was the raven who wiped his tears and whispered hushed words to him.

Oz pushed himself up in bed a little more, looking around the huge room and seeing a silver cart next to the bed. Even though he was still tired, he was very hungry too; he assumed that someone left the cart there for when he woke up.

He leaned over and pulled the cart closer to the bed, lifting the silver cover off of the main dish. A loud rumble emerged from his stomach at the madding smell and sight of four savory blood sausages, a pile of lightly fried eggs, succulent ham slices, and a heap of seasoned sliced potatoes. Next to that were smaller dishes containing three fluffy breakfast biscuits with a small dish of deep orange marmalade. Tea was also there for him, though he was sure it wasn't as hot anymore.

With grateful enthusiasm he began to devour the hardy meal, partially relieved Gilbert wasn't there to see him eating with such haste and classlessness. He paused for a moment and frowned down at himself; he would regret eating so much later, that he was sure of. His body was beginning to expect this quality and quantity of food all the time, in turn, deepening his usual hunger pains.

If there was anything he was an expert in it was hunger and how to deal with it-and he would certainly tell someone who was new to the sensation that hunger was much easier when it was a perpetual state of being, as opposed to teasing yourself with the occasional full stomach.

:::::V:::::

He had finished his delicious brunch fairly fast, and even in that time Gilbert had not returned to the bedroom. He couldn't help but wonder where the man was at the time, and his curiosity forced him from the bed and into the hallway to search.

Although, before he left the room he washed his face in Gilbert's private bathroom, and took a minute to search for his church clothes from yesterday. But just like Gilbert his clothes were missing. He considered if they were still drying after the raven took them to be washed last night.

The thought of his clothes simply lead him back to the problem that brought him to Gilbert's house in the first place – his father. The lying man was probably waiting at home ready to destroy him the moment he realized his son was nowhere to be found. Oz knew he'd be in a lot of trouble when he decided to go home. On one end the thought frightened him considerably, and on another end he felt numb about it. It was probably not going to help much that it was Monday, and technically he was supposed to be at work making money for the house (money he apparently didn't needed to make). The thought that he pointlessly had been working his life away instead of going to school sent a wave of sickness through him, but he took a moment to calm himself before leaving the room – it was then that he decided that he was in no real rush to go home.

Barefoot and sporting nothing but one of Gilbert long button-up shirts, he found himself aimlessly circling the large empty halls a few times before he passed by a familiar room where the door had been left ajar. He poked his head in and saw it deserted. Maybe it was an impulsive move, but still he headed straight for the piano.

For a while he simply gazed at the instrument, admiring its beauty and elegant detail. Then, his fingers lazily pushed down on one key at a time, reciting the scale in his head and listening to how it corresponded with his actions.

Do, re, mi, fa so, la….ti…do…..do, ti, la, so, fa, mi, re, do….do re mi…

He continued on that way until he heard unenthusiastic clapping coming from the right side of the room.

"Bravo, how exquisite..."

The blond boy looked over, fingers freezing over the keys. An uncomfortable realization filled his gaze when he saw who it was.

"Oh, you mustn't stop yet, you haven't provided your audience with an encore."

Oz felt his cheeks heat up -He's mocking me,a voice in his head whispered.

The older blond removed himself from his position against the doorframe and sauntered into the room. Green eyes watched intently as the man smoothly sat in an armchair across from the piano. There was an air around him that was potent; it gave off an - I own this place - kind of vibe... and Oz felt himself falter.

"What remarkable skill you have. No wonder my brother's so…occupied with you."

Oz wrung the edge of his nightshirt, bunching the fabric together inconspicuously under the piano. It was a way to give his embarrassment another outlet besides avoiding eye contact with the older blond. Is this really the man who's running Yawnington?

"I don't think we've been introduced," he said, hoping to bring the focus off of his nonexistent piano skills.

"No, we haven't," the dainty blond arched a brow and gestured toward him as if to say – well, go ahead and introduce yourself. Oz wavered, feeling extremely exposed. He felt like he was singled out under the hot focus of the sun; the only thing in the room that was being illuminated with an uncomfortable intensity.

"Oz," he said, forgetting to make a full sentence.

"Oz...?"the man made a light rolling motion with his hand, an indication that he was looking for a last name to go with the first one.

Reluctantly he stated it "Vessalius,"

It was slight, but he didn't miss the way the man's bi-colored eyes narrowed by a tiny fraction, as if studying him closely. It was a quick happening and the man recovered immediately - leaving Oz to ponder on what bells and whistles went off in the man's head at that time.

"I would say it's a pleasure to meet you, Oz. But I'd be lying if I did," a smirk, weak and slightly sneering followed the harsh words.

"I'm sure I don't need to fully introduce myself. You're already aware of my name and relation to Gilbert, correct?"

Oz decided not to answer. He was getting increasingly upset with the man's insistent rudeness. It was even to the point that he gave up on twisting wrinkles into his nightshirt and chose to instead grip the end of the leather piano seat to help him keep still. He thought of getting up and simply leaving the room, but he was almost too embarrassed to make any sudden movements; fear of provoking the mean-spirited man any further kept him in place.

There were a few minutes of uncomfortable quiet between them, and Oz began looking at everything except the other person in the room. Every now and then he'd glimpse over and notice Vincent's unremitting soulless gaze on him. The man's hand intermittently shifted through his very long hair as he watched.

Finally, he spoke, "Have you kissed him yet?"

Green eyes darted back to look at him, words seeming to gracelessly tie around his tongue and weigh it down, "I….um, pardon me?" he blushed deeply, looking for clarification.

"If you have…" bi-colored eyes looked tired suddenly as he turned his unfeeling stare out the window, "then know you're not his first kiss."

As much as he wanted to look unfazed by those words, this comment caused Oz to tense up. So what if I wasn't…that doesn't matter he told himself. But regardless of his attempt of self-assurance a few painful pangs sounded off in his chest and some foreign feeling caused his blood to thin; skin gradually losing color.

He never bothered asking about Gilbert's previous relationships, it never seemed important or relevant to know.

The past was the past, after all.

But when that soulless doll opened his mouth again, the only thing Oz wanted to do was block his ears before he heard anything else - looking back on it… he probably should have.

"It was me he shared his first kiss with, and many thereafter," Vincent dropped a light sigh between his sentences for good measure, "And I'm sure when he's finally bored with you…," the man looked at him again, expression bathed in sudden seriousness, "I'll be his last kiss as well."

He's lying….he has to be….

Oz felt his jaw lock, breath coming out in shallow intervals. It was only then that he really looked at Vincent, this younger Nightray, this so called "little brother" that Gilbert had. Now he had to acknowledge all the little details about Vincent that he didn't want to notice before. Or better yet, what he had noticed and decided not to dwell on. Like how mysterious his eyes were. Although his gaze was deadened, his bi-colored eyes were still captivating to look at; a rare characteristic, odd, with a seductive edge – if one could call it that.

Oz moved onto the man's hair observing how pretty and silky it was in comparison to the fluffy blond heap on his own head. The man also had a body that was long and delicate. And his fitted clothing only accentuated his slight frame. There were light fabric ruffles on the ends of his sleeves and ruby earrings glinting in his ears. Every gold button, cream crease, and sown seam in his clothes worked to accent his natural beauty.

It was like looking at a porcelain doll…the overly expensive kind that was meant for decorative purposes only.

"You look a bit peaked. Are you surprised by what I just revealed to you?" he smirked. "Disgusted, perhaps?"

Suddenly feeling like he needed extra support, Oz allowed his trembling fingers to reach up slightly to grip the piano fallboard – not realizing that he forgot to cover the keys with it. As a result, an unceremonious sound escaped the instrument when his hands landed there for a moment. The startling sound was enough to force him to respond, though…he chose his words carefully.

"Maybe a little surprised," he said, looking down and placing the fallboard over the keys.

"But I'm sure whatever you had between you…. was long ago," he tried to sound convicted to his beliefs, but the response he got was not what he wanted at all.

The man giggled a bit, "What makes you so sure?"

Those words further drilled the tiny seeds of doubt deep in him; each seed taking root in his blood and flourishing under the nourishing conditions of his painfully shifting heartbeat.

Is this what Leo was trying to tell me yesterday? Was this the big secret…the rumor that could destroy him depending on how it went?

"So nice of you to join us, big brother."

Oz was so caught up in his mind that he didn't notice Gilbert suddenly standing in the doorway. The raven's eyes were raging with a combination of emotions as he looked at Vincent.

If Oz had to identify one of those emotions he'd label the most obvious one as bewilderment.

"How…" Gilbert started, but didn't finish. The blond man lay back more comfortably in the armchair, slipping a set of keys from somewhere on his person. The doll held them out and dangled them from his delicate fingertips, "I had a spare made," the light smile he was wearing instantly dropped to a flat line and the air around him transformed from mischief to all business; as he crossed his legs and spoke.

"Your little friend and I were just getting to know each other. It appears that there were a few things you forgot to mention to him about me, or should I say… us?"

As Oz looked from Vincent to Gilbert he noticed that the raven was beginning to look sickly; it was the traumatic disturbed look someone had when they were being told that a love one just died. Oz also took note that even though the brother's fell silent they were still communicating somehow. That famous "brotherly bond" people have, a link siblings shared when they were so close that they didn't need words anymore -they just knew.

And now…Oz knew too. He didn't know nearly as much as the brothers did, but he certainly knew enough. How could such a thing not be true? How could gentle sweet Gilbert not be taken in by a pretty porcelain doll like that? Especially since they grew up together.

How was the man supposed to resist the temptation to perhaps….take that doll off the shelf when no one was looking…even if Gilbert knew he wasn't supposed to.

"Oz…would you excuse us for a moment?" Gilbert asked distantly.

He wanted to put up a verbal fight, demand a deeper explanation from one of them (it didn't matter who at this point) before he agreed to move anywhere. He didn't do that. Oz simply nodded and carefully got up from the piano. He felt stupid and young, like a kid that was getting kicked out of an "adult conversation". He felt like everyone suddenly realized that he was the only thing that didn't belong in the room.

His legs felt cold and weak as he walked toward the doorway that Gilbert was standing in. He didn't want to leave the room; the image of them alone together was too much to handle at the moment. On top of that, he was struggling to come to terms with the idea that he was the mobile one. He could be asked to leave at any given time while Vincent would remain a permeate fixture. Oz might as well had just been passing through.

The blond boy didn't realize that he allowed those thoughts to keep him paused at the doorway beside Gilbert, neither of them looking at each other. His feet wouldn't move anymore.

As if sensing his uncertainty, Gilbert's hand smoothed over his blond hair warmly, even though the man would not look at him.

"I'll meet you in my room in a minute," he whispered.

Oz heard himself sighing loudly, looking back at Vincent once more before he crossed the threshold into the hallway. He felt his eyes close when he heard the door shut softly behind him. A thin line of wetness gathered beneath his closed lids as he stood there and listened to the words that made everything all too real.

"What the hell did you just tell him?"

"The truth, of course. He has a right to know, doesn't he?"

:::::N:::::

Gilbert shook his head in disbelief…this moment couldn't possibly be happening to him. His secret was out, and the one person he would never want to know about it was now fully informed. His hands were shaking with a mixture rage and partial nervousness as he stared at his brother. Vincent stared back at him with apathy… relishing in his older brother's struggle to wrap his mind around what was happening.

How will I explain this to Oz…I could lose him over this…

Gilbert opened his mouth to say something more, though he was unsure of what dangerous words were going to come out of his mouth. He only stopped himself when Liam came into the room with a grim look on his face.

"My lord, I don't mean to interrupt." he said, speaking only to Vincent, "But that gentleman is here to speak with you."

"What gentleman?" Vincent asked with unmask suspicion.

Liam frowned, "Mr. West, sir. He's back again to make a plead-"

"Quiet," Vincent silenced him, glancing quickly at Gilbert before moving his eyes back to his servant, "I know what he's here for," Vincent huffed and sat back in the armchair, suddenly looking very drained. He closed his eyes and spoke, "Send him away, and do it quickly."

"I've tried; he refuses to leave until he speaks with you. This is the fifth time he's been here in the last few days-"

"Then get the damn guards to remove him. And if that doesn't work then call the authorities. Its not that hard, Liam."

If it was even possible, Liam looked even more dejected as he spoke above a mumble,

"He made a threat, my lord,"

"…What kind of threat?"Vincent asked, hesitance in his voice again.

Even in his blind anger Gilbert saw the gradual shift in Vincent from the moment Liam came into the room. For the most part, the raven came to identify his brother in three ways; needy, spacey, and psychotic. But right now he was none of those things. There were other times that he was scarily serious and could carry on as if he were four times Gilbert's age. Sometimes it was hard to recognize him as the whiney brother he grew up with.

"He said he'd tell everyone, sir," Liam almost said the words in a shamed whisper, all the more piquing Gilbert's interest about what they were talking about.

After a moment, Vincent dismissed the statement with a lax wave of his hand and an aged sigh, "Let him. No one will believe the moronic ramblings of a social outcast,"

"What is he going to tell?" Gilbert asked, half nervous that this person was also aware of his shameful past somehow.

Vincent slid his dead eyes toward his brother before he closed them and slowly got up from the chair. Even his body movements seemed to age momentarily. He made getting up look all but impossible…perhaps his body was prepping for its daily napping collapse.

"Nothing that concerns you," he finally said, voice sounding groggy, "Liam, I'll need you to prepare my room. I need to lie down,"

"Yes, sir" Liam quickly walked over so that Vincent could use him to help keep his balance, especially now that the man was beginning to sway.

Gilbert grabbed the younger's shoulder to stop him from leaving, forcing the man to look at him.

"We're not finished talking about what you've done," Gilbert ground out the words between clenched teeth "And why do you continue to leave me in the dark about everything?"

The blond gave him an indignant look, as if he had just finished explaining this very thing to him three minutes ago, "Because my job, dear brother, is to handle the Nightray business. Be grateful the hardest job you've had…is making sure you look cute every day," a delicate hand patted Gilbert's cheek in an open display of condescending comfort, "And might I add, you do that job quite well," After those words the man struggled toward the door, Liam beside him keeping him steady.

"Now…" Vincent's voice turned gray, dry, and burnt-out, back still facing his older brother, "Go run off and do what you do best…go play with your toys."

With those words the man left the room with Liam, but not before the servant gave the raven an apologetic look as he assisted the master of the house.

To say the least, the man's words stung him deep on many levels. Vincent always had a way with words that could stab you clear in the stomach if he so chose to wield them that way. But he never stooped so low that he would use their family roles against him. He never resorted to treating him as everyone did…like a child that was in the way…a good-for-nothing Nightray without a purpose.

But he had no time to dwell on that, no thanks to Vincent he now had a fuming beautiful blond boy to deal with in his bedroom, and possibly a relationship to try to salvage before it was too late. Even from his position down the hall he could feel that Oz was on the brink of making disastrous decisions, and Gilbert hurried to do his best to stop him.

He didn't know what he'd do if he lost the boy because of this.