December 16th, 2016.

New York City

– You've done what? –

Malik got off the subway train hitting with his shoulder someone who, near the doors, was only waiting to dive into the wagon that would bring them where they probably didn't even want to go in the first place: to work. He didn't apologize to anyone, too busy trying to keep in the animal instinct of throwing his cellphone against the first advertising poster.

– He did seem a bit reluctant,though. –

Kadar kept on talking, ignoring the obvious surprise in his older brother's tone. As far as he was concerned, he didn't have anything to get angry about, and Kadar was going to make him understand that.

– Tell me it's a joke. –

Malik latched to the wait for that yes as a newborn to a mother's breast, going up the steps of themobile stairs, to put more hurry to what was already there. Kadar laughed from the other side, finding his frustration cute – or maybe he only was amused.

– I swear, it took me ten minutes to convince him. –

Kadar kept on, ignoring his brother's questions the same way a raincoat washes away the rain. He was only waiting for Malik to lose his patience, because at that point he would also stop joking.

– I had told you to leave it be. –

Malik said with a tougher tone. He passed through the ticket barrierand turned right, sliding inside the crowd, oblivious to his torments. He thought he had given Kadar a fairly clear picture of the subject when it came to Altair. In which other way would he have to insult him to make him get it? Or maybe it was just that: the more he tried to keep Altair away from him, the more he disregarded him, the more Kadar played the asshole. At that point, he didn't even know anymore if Kadar was doing it on purpose, out of spite, or if he was seriously interested.

– You had told me what? –

Kadar asked, articulatingeach syllable, with the same calm of someone who wants to both reprimand and caress. Those were some bursts of maturity that sprung outlike sneezes: lightning quick and unpredictable. But it did have its effect, because Malik stopped at once, feeling caught out. He had just finished walking up the stairs, and the freezing air was sawing the top of his ears, same as his good mood. But in that moment, he couldn't care less for the cold. He slowed down, observing the cars stuck at the intersection. He could feel it coming: the ranton individual freedoms.

– That you don't like Altair? –

Kadar rubbed salt into the wound, with the tone of someone who knows they're right and is enjoying it a bit. Malik sighed angrily and raised his eyes to the sky, without elaborating an answer yet. Kadar wanted to push him with his shoulders to the wall, and he hated to admit that he was succeeding. It wasn't the first time that they brushed against the edges of that one topic.

– Yeah, yeah, I remember. –

Kadar said more softly, letting his grip slightly go as he sipped his tea in bed. At that point it felt like talking to himself, a monologue on the phone.

– And that's why I am dating him, not you. –

And with that he finished his provocation; he hoped Malik had digested some of it and elaborated into a constructive argumentation.

– Are you done? –

Malik growled – he was starting to be bothered at being reprimanded like a child. Maybe one that wasn't that bright, too. His pride was agitated,and his nails were asking to be bared. He served sarcasm, he didn'tsuffer it. Especially from Kadar.

– No, the question is: are you done? –

Kadar finally got to the bottom of the question, and Malik's eyes became wide as when you gained a couple of pounds and someone asks you if you actually lost it. The first blows only bothered him, but this last scratch had wounded. Malik stayed silent, kept on walking, now faster, because if he couldn't find a way to ventwith his voice, he had to do it with his muscles. He was vexedand upset, reluctant to recognize that he had to take the hit.

– Relax. –

Kadar started, knowing that he had hit exactly where he wanted to – and where he needed to. It was a complicated art, balancing reprimandand encouragement, when one talked to Malik. Well, a lot of things were complicated when you talked to Malik.

– You're ending up in the red zone, you know. –

Ah, right, that one. A zone that included not being able to mind one's business, manipulation, emotional blackmail, mind games that are fair game because people are either stupid or weak, lying, total control, the I-me-mine, humiliation, not letting go, distrust, rancor, spite.

That one zone. What could he say, he always looked great in red.

– I understood. –

Malik growled – at that point he'd have told Kadar that it was all true just to shut him up, because at the end of it he knew that it was all true. He huffed and a small cloud of vaporleft his mouth as he felt the snakeof shame slide under his shirt. He hated that feeling. Kadar locked down his lips from the other side of the call, but he was smiling a grin more mature than the age he actually had. Malik seemed to have understood. Now he was only kicking around a bit, which was fine, because Kadar was far enough and wouldn't get hit. That it was protection instinct, a sound reason to worry or visceral instinct, Kadar couldn't allow Malik that uncalled for interference.Because boundaries existed, even in between brothers. And he was a witness to how this kind of behavior had cost Malik sympathies, friendships and relationships – Holly being the last of them. But he would never let it ruin their relationship. Rather than that, he was all right with giving a couple of hits to that slightly patronizing aggressivenessof his brother's, and tame it.He wanted to bring him back to reality and remind him that this is not how it works.

– Hey, maybe he really could be an idiot, what do I know. –

Kadar said after what seemed like an infinite amount of time, laughing with irony, as light as aloe vera on a burn. Malik's mouth grimaced,bending to that invite to let his nerves calm down along with his ego. He understood that Kadar didn't want to spare him that bitter pill, but he was putting some sugar on it at least. Anyhow, not even maple syrup would have done anything to turn off the emotional gastritis that was raising up in his esophagus.

– That's your fucking business. –

Malik said, with a bit of irony as well, but also serious as he tried to send that digout of spite. He was seething,and there was no cure in the world for that kind of burn.

– Yeah, yeah, sure. –

And there Malik's dig completely missed its target as Kadar's shield deviated the hit completely; and that shield was having a sense of humor. Malik sighed and shook his head, stopping as he waited for the streetlights to turn green and biting the inside of his lip. He only wanted to hang up and think back in solitude on his behavioral ghosts and intrapersonal fractures.

– I've got to go. –

The cook finally said, and when he decided to stop the communicative exchange he usually boltedmouth, thoughts and feelings as it happens in cases of sharp vaginismus. Kadar took a bit of time to answer. His internal scale was trying to sum up the consequences of this call: after all, it hadn't gone badly. If Malik was angry, then he acknowledged that he made a mistake, and he was only bothered because he had been reprimanded and made fun of. So: mission accomplished, pretty much. Now he only had to let him be for a while so that he had time to lick his war wounds.

– Okay. –

Kadar said calmly, actually smiling. He knew he didn't owe Malik any excuses.

– Bye. –

Malik let out an angry greetingthat was actually meant to be go fuck yourself. A bit to Kadar, a bit to Altair, and a bit to himself, too. He hung up, without waiting for an answer from Kadar. He slid his cellphone into his pocket and kept on walking with his head down and a fast pace, if only to avoid crashing into someone else. His skin was tingling, his stomach was boiling like water on fire and his hands were itching from wanting to wrap around someone's neck and tighten the grip. He tried to stop his instincts and that emotional abscess that was ruining his day. He had to reason. Better to not lose his cool, or at least not in front of an audience. He was still going to work, towards the immersion inside a kitchen that would distract him from his thoughts and internal impulses.Someone might guess that he was angry, but the important thing was to deny, fake, smile with lips strung tight like wireand, if asked, answer with a nice shrug.

Oh, who was he kidding?

Work meant Altair. And Altair meant a pain in his ass.It meant remembering that Kadar might have been either rather serious about it, or that he was being a complete asshole. Hard to say. But in any case, it meant risky business. The kitchen would not distract him, same as working on the menu. His thoughts would win, eventually. How was he supposed to behave with his coworker? Should he be aggressive? Should he pretend everything was fine or, even, to not know in the first place? Should he encourage him? The idea of finding an answer when he was less than five minutes from the shop suddenly gave him anxiety. He hated being unprepared. He hated not having control. On himself, on the others, on things and on what happened. He hated the let's see how it goes-s because he had to decide the way it went; he didn't like being surrounded by others when he needed to think, and he hated acknowledging he was wrong, because he had to prevent the mistake, not to deal with it.

Malik eventually got to the Half Moon and everything he did was going ahead with a bent head, mutter a hello toLucy and run into the changing room. Thankfully it was empty. He changed quickly to avoid running into other people, like Altair, who had the same shift as him that morning. He still hadn't come to terms with his consideration, and not knowing well who was in the wrong and who was in the right, and consequentially how he had to approach Altair, made him anxious, vulnerable and insecure. He was missing the solution of the equation, and he didn't want to guess the answer. He had to understand, pretty much, if Altair was a friend or an enemy. Well, maybe friend would have been pushing it, regardless. He opened the changing room's door with a violent shove that the door didn't deserve and walked straight towards the kitchen. But as he turned a corner, he saw him: Altair, with his old and ruined backpack held on just one shoulder, that walked with his earbuds on, also heading for the changing room. At that sight, he felt his balls squeeze. Rage hit him, but he didn't know who he was angry with. And as soon as Altair raised his eyes from the tileson the floor, he took off the earbuds quickly and slowed down. Not like Malik, who went faster instead.

– Hey Malik, cou- –

– Not now. –

Malik doubled Altair without even looking at him in the face. He had cut him in the middle like hatchets through wood, stopping every chance of interaction for the simple reason that he couldn't afford it. Because he wasn't ready. Altair stopped at once and saw Malik pass next to him, almost running, denying him any visual contact, after silencing him the way an adult would with a five-year old kid asking for attention. His eyes latched to Malik's back, the only thing that Malik had conceded him, and saw him disappear inside the kitchen. That upset him.

Malik seemed in a bad mood, not that lately he had been in many other moods in the first place. But the suspicion that he might have learned of what had happened the evening before brushed his mind. He stayed there staring dumbly into space, because doing two things together like walking and thinking required extra effort. Maybe he was exaggerating or worrying about nothing. Could it be that in the span of twelve hours the brothers had talked and Kadar hadn't lost his chance to tell Malik about his attempt to put a move on him? It sounded a bit childish to him, or too formulated,or maybe just weird. It also was true that Malik might be nervous for other reasons, also considering how things were going lately. But, but, but.

He huffed, already feeling tired before he even started working, feeling caught in between two fires.He started walking again and got into the changing room. He threw his backpack on the bench, same as he wished he could throw his hopes in the toilet. He was really putting effort to succeed in something that even he couldn't define, except that the world seemed to go against him. It wouldn't be worthy of him to give up, because his stubbornness only could find a worthy rival in reinforced concrete, but it was undeniable that the situation was stressing him – and maybe even dampening his mood. It's nothing, he told himself as he changed, trying to calm himself down. It's highs and lows, it's like a wave, luck comes and goes around. But suddenly, his eyes burned. Not because he wanted to cry, but a thought hit him straight, like a kick to the head: what blame did he have? What was he responsible for if Kadar was being an idiot and flirting with him? Was he doing it on purpose? Did Kadar suspect that Altair was interested in Malik? But how could he know? Nothing in that situation made sense, at least not to him. Altair left the changing room with those thoughts heavy on his shoulder and that feeling of unfairness that made him feel like a victim of events.

So, that morning there were two employees in a bad mood.

Malik and Altair didn't run into each other for a few hours. The cook hadn't left the kitchen and Altair hadn't gone inside it. Everyone had his thoughts and his skeletons in the closet to deal with.

– This goes to the dish rack, right? –

Yusuf asked Malik with a smile that openly contrasted the Syrian's mood.

– What? –

Malik asked with his hands in the fresh falafel dough, his thoughts leaving a far and deserted planet and coming back to Earth.

– Oh, right, yes. –

He immediately added, quickly linking Yusuf's question with seeing what he had in his hands. Yusuf winked at him to thank him and then went on with his job. Eventually, Yusuf had been picked as the new help in the kitchen and was in his first week of trial. As far as Malik could see, he could hold his own; he was bright, he knew how and where to move and he could keep his cool even in stressful situations. A blessing, given the times lately. During the trial, both Malik and Rebecca were supposed to work with him, showing him every possible detail inside that reign of fire, each preparation and each ingredient; and then they would have separate turns. Malik and Rebecca would alternate in the kitchen with Yusuf helping them out. So, work would cause Malik less stress, probably. Oh, and talking about stress.

Why did he still feel so damned tense?

Malik let out an exhausted breath that joined the ovens' timers, the washing machines' whistling, the blenders, the voices, the Spotify playlist coming from the main room. Why did he keep on getting worked up? Why couldn't he manage to relax? Seriously, until a couple of months before he would have justified everything to himself: he had been dragging himself through an exasperating sentimental situation, he was unhappy and unsatisfied, always on a highand sharp as a knife's edge. He had all the rights to be fucking angry; insufferable; surly.But now? He left Holly, he had his money back, he was fucking all he wanted with whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted, he had fun and enjoyed life without commitment or thoughts he didn't need. Why did he keep on acting like a raging asshole to the point that Kadar had to reprimand him? Was his sin the unwelcome intromission into his brother's business? Because it wouldn't have certainly been the first time. He knew about his own faults, deep down.

He stir-friedthe vegetables in the pan while a memory slot into his thoughts: You're obsessive; you're a manipulator; you're inquisitive; you're distrustful.How many of those things had Holly told him during the months of their relationship. And the fun thing? Hethought Hollywas right, at the bottom of his subconscious. And Kadar only intervened at the climax of that progression of character trash that he was very good at breaking out when conditions were favorable. So, in the end: was he really wrong? Did he exaggerated without realizing it? Maybe yes. He took advantage of the situation and used other people like some kind of relief valveand some kind of punching bag? Maybe yes. Did he think he could dictate his will on his brother just because he had decided that he disliked someone that much without even bothering to know them deeper? Maybe, yes.

He huffed heavily, hating to admit to himself that he was wrong, he had overstepped his boundaries, that the reprimand he got was healthy and right. He didn't know if he was more bothered by being wrong or that someone pointed it out to him. He wasn't good at digesting mistakes. But it was time to take a deep breath and calm the hell down. He had to relax, let himself go a little, enjoy his moment of luck and, in the best of chances, be more gentle and tolerating.

– So, you speak Turkish? –

Malik got unhorsedfrom his little island of muddy thoughts and was harshly brought down to the present from another language he hadn't been expecting to hear; and he was surprised not because it was unknown, but because he understood it perfectly. He raised his eyes and saw Yusuf in front of him, busy preparing hummus: a very large steel bowl full of chickpeas, tahin sauce and spices. The new arrival looked at him like a Labrador looks at his owner while he has a bone in his hand. Malik shook his head and immediately let himself be immersed in the moment, momentarily ignoring the reflections on the essence of his character. Yusuf had just spoken to him in Turkish, which was not surprising as Yusuf himself was Turkish; what had made Yusuf so emotional was most likely knowing that Malik also spoke and understood his language. Malik smiled, letting his muscles relax and filling his ears with sounds he hadn't heard in a long time. And it seemed like a great way to start saying stop to dark moods and bitterness.

– I could even insult you in Turkish. –

Malik said with that same language Yusuf had spoken to him in, with a cunningsmile that didn't leave room for interpretation: he was joking. Yusuf laughed and glanced at Rebecca, who was smiling as well. He looked emotional like a kid.

– Amazing! Rebecca said you studied in Turkey. –

Yusuf kept on in Turkish, as if he had just found an old friend after years. His voice boomed louder than the pots and his full-toothed smile was tougher than Malik's foggy anxieties, and so Malik was very happy to reply, amiable.

– In Istanbul, more than two years. –

Yusuf was about to go on with the questions, his eyes as big as apples, but someone else reminded the two of them that not everyone spoke Turkish in there.

– Hey, hey, hey. Would you mind including me in that conversation? –

Rebecca ironically protested, her lips curved without offense. Yusuf turned to her with a hearty laugh, taking a couple chickpeas from the bowl to test both flavor and consistency.

– I'm sorry, you're right. It's the enthusiasm. –

Yusuf answered again in English, winking at Malik. Rebecca grabbed a wooden spoonto stir the broth in the large poton the stoveand put her other hand on her hip.

– They were nice sounds, I like it. –

The cook said, looking at one of them first, then the other. Malik nodded, feeling momentarily happy that he could listen to different music than what he was adjusted to.

– It's more musical and softer in comparison to Arabic. –

Malik explained, finding it weird that they were talking about languages and phonetics in the kitchen of all places, with Rebecca. She nodded. She looked curious.

– Then you could teach me a few words. –

She proposed, unleashing Yusuf's reaction – he nodded so strongly, you'd think he was ready to headbutt someone. He turned over the chickpeas carefully and slipped everything into the food processor.

– Of course! You're going to like it. –

Yusuf got close to Rebecca and handed her a spoonful of chickpeas so she could taste. She approved, only suggesting to add a bit of lemon and parsley.Yusuf obeyed, fully charged and fully willing to learn everything to perfection: Malik observed in silence the scene, full as well of something pleasurable that he couldn't define nor give a shape to.

The power of sharing was strange.

A couple hours had gone by, and Malik had kept cooking his own thoughts other than food, moving from one consideration to the other, forcing himself to deal with things from a different point of view, remembering Kadar's words and, less willingly,even Holly's. They burned on one side, and pushed him on the other. He had been so concentrated on the orders and on preparing the food that Rebecca had told him to take ten minutes of break during a quiet moment. He had tried to kick back and refuse, but Yusuf was doing great and she had already taken a break, because she didn't have masochist tendencies. So Malik let himself be convinced and left the stove. And, like a conditioned reflex, the moment body and mind register the message pause, he felt an impulse come out naturally, and reminded him that in the last few hours he had neglected an important activity… such as pissing. He left the kitchen, not caring to take a look at the main room to check the situation. After all, it wasn't in his job description. He went towards the bathroom with a tired breath, feeling his bones getting heavier. But as soon as he turned a corner he noticed that the bathroom's door, not far away, was being opened, and going out of it came the moththat had infested his brain since morning: Altair. Malik stopped in surprise, or maybe it was just simple necessity since in order to get inside the room he should let Altair out first. Altair seemed more surprised than him, and as his first reaction he stared at him in the eyes with a look that was both distracted and disappointed.

– Hey. –

Was everything that left his mouth, because Altair had spent the entire morning thinking about things as well. Specifically, at how much that situation was starting to weigh on him and mess with his mood and his lucidity.

– Hey. –

Malik answered in the same way, with a serene tone of voice contrasting the tough expression on his face, but that was just due to being tired. He didn't feel like attacking him; for now. Being rude required motivation, concentration and energies, and right now he didn't have any of those things in a sufficient level. He didn't want to use Altair as his emotional punching bag anymore; or at least, the idea was trying not to. Congratulations to Kadar, who had managed to make him feel ashamed of his rudeness. Altair opened the door wide and got out of the bathroom entirely, not without a certain clumsiness to it. It was obvious that he was thinking about something he had in mind.

– Malik, listen … –

Altair started, looking downwards, which wasn't exactly typical of him.

– I know that you hate me and everything… but can I talk to you for a moment, like, if you have the time? –

His statement hit Malik in a weird way: for the first time he realized that the consequences of his actions went beyond personal enjoyment. Okay, Altair wasn't his favorite person in existence, that was sure, but the reasoning with a clear head that Kadar had forced him into offered an analysis of his colleague that was way less tough, drastic and cruel than what he had thought of Altair until now. For the first time, it was crystal clear how, if you repeat I hate you to someone for months, it's not so surprising if they end up believing it.

Maybe he had made a huge mess out of that.

– Wait, wait, wait. –

Malik said quickly, shaking his head and raising a hand to stop Altair. It didn't have to go that way. Altair stopped talking while Malik took a deep breath, the kind that means, and where do I start from now? He hadn't even started talking and he already felt tired. He put a hand on his forehead and then massaged his eyes, quickly reaching the conclusion that it wasn't a conversation they could have in the hallway, in front of the toilet's door and on the clock.

– Do you have a few minutes when our shifts are over?–

Asked Malik, exceptionally proposing, proactive and not aggressive, which first made Altair suspicious and then pretty much shocked him – he was looking at Malik the way you look at a drunk man walking.

– Do you want to talk later? Could it work? –

The cook immediately added, letting his hand slip behind his neck, on the nape, massaging muscles that were hurting for thinking too much. At that point he was the one insisting for a confrontation and to have at least the chance of clarifying a couple of things – which didn't only concern Kadar at that point. He hated that sense of guilt that his brother had planted into him in the morning and that was keeping on growing like cancer cells. But that dark sensation immediately was dampenedby the expression painting itself on Altair's face: his eyes, which were usually a little more than a couple slips, were now dilated as he had never seen them; he was surprised like a caveman in front of a smartphone, and his mouth was betraying his will to talk, but it was obvious he got stuck somewhere on the road between will and action. It was fun. And not in a sarcastic way, this time: Malik wasn't cynically enjoying seeing him having a hard time, he wasn't out to insult him nor to make fun of him. He wanted to give him a respite, in that sense. It was fun just because his face was amusing. Altair, on his side, had no intention of appearing amusing,but the shock had been such that his facial muscles just got stuck, and he was taken by such a pleasurable stupor that he was put in a difficult place. If he had a few minutes to talk to Malik on his own when their shifts were done? Of course he had. Even all night, if you want to, he felt like answering. But he preferred to push on the brakes on both his tongue and his mischievousness and avoid messing it up because an occasion such as that had never come his way.

– Sure. –

Altair said, as brief as possible. He couldn't risk anything. He put that brake on his instincts, hid his emotions and shrunk every reactions to the minimum, as he was exceedingly good at: a small Big Bang of happiness, ready to explode at the right time. Malik smiled quickly, only expecting a confirmation from him.

– Okay. –

Said Malik, who didn't have much else to add. They were going to talk later, after all. He grabbed the door's handle and slipped inside the bathroom, saying goodbye with a last, peaceful glance. The door closed and the curtain fell, letting Altair alone in the theater, with turned off lights, in front of an invisible audience. The door's lock turning was the sound pulling him from that metaphor, reminding him that he didn't have time to waste wallowing around,that he would see Malik again later, and that finally they would talk. And for a moment each clotof negativity, the feeling like crying or screaming from that morning vanished, brought away like dust in the wind from a hope that now he felt concrete, near, announced. And which, for the first time, didn't come from his own initiative.

Malik sat on the low wallin the alleyat the back of the restaurant, that place that for all the employees meant taking a break, a pause, a bit of solitude or, on the contrary, of socialization. From November to March, it also meant a lot of cold. Malik had gone out wearing his heavy jacket, but underneath he only had the t-shirt he wore in the kitchen, so it wasn't really working out great. A bit like changing into clean clothes without washing first. He checked his emails on his cellphone and waited. Waited for Altair. A few minutes before he had taken off his apron and said he'd meet him later. Altair, who had in his hands the greasy plates from the hall, had nodded vigorously and ran into the kitchen. It seemed like he had imagined that moment for a long time, even if Malik had no idea of why he might. Anyway, he wasn't nervous. The main topic of conversation would inevitably be Kadar, but there were interesting implications to take advantage of, in case. He could ask for confirmation of a few intuitions of his, have answers to a few doubts, and maybe for a moment they could both give up on playing games and mischievousnessand be clearer, more direct, more transparent. That didn't scare him, he wasn't afraid of Altair. And it seemed like Altair wasn't afraid of him, either.

The slightly rusty door opened and that bothersome squeakdistracted Malik from his phone. He saw Altair leave the kitchen's warmth and look at him with an expression that seemed sewn on his face, as if he was afraid that his face's folds might take unexpected curves, inconvenientor dangerous. For the first time as he saw him appear, Malik considered him more important than his cellphone's screen.

– Here I am. –

Altair said, letting the door close behind him, his arms naked, no jacket on, absolutely indifferent to the difference in temperature.Malik put his cellphone in his pocket, thinking about how could Altair not die of cold in that conditions; but he also thought he didn't care that much.

– I won't steal too much time from you. –

The cook immediately specified, not so much for courtesy but to remark the fact that Altair didn't belong to the circle of people that he'd pick to hang out for a long time. But there wasn't the need to tell him that. He needed to stop with being rude.

– I'm not in a hurry. –

Altair replied, coming closer. He was in full mind of letting Malik steal as much time from him as possible. Malik looked up at him and Altair sat next to him without talking, eliminating their height difference. He wasn't in any hurry to start that conversation and fill that pleasurable silence with some superficial comment of circumstance. They were alike in this: none of them particularly minded silence, even if for different reasons. Malik kept on staring in front of him, concentrated on the cars' lights at the end of the alley.Yellows and reds were mixing like in summer fruit, even if summer was a far memory right now. Malik sighed, thinking that it was finally time to start that conversation. Quick and painless was an approach that he also hoped Altair shared.

– I think we both have in mind to talk about the same thing. –

Malik started, with a serene tone in his voice, as if he was about to talk about his newly bought shoes. He didn't know the details of the previous evening and he had to give to Altair, at least he had taken the initiative himself to talk to him about Kadar's advances on him, even if that morning he had brutally interrupted his attempt. He could give him points for honesty, if it turned out Kadar was indeed what Altair wanted to discuss.

– I think the same. –

Altair answered, equally calm, still not turning towards Malik. If the cook knew that Kadar asked for his number, it meant he had talked to his brother that morning. That was news to handle carefully: either Kadar talked too much, or he was big on oversharing his enthusiastic moments. In both cases, it wasn't the best philosophy Altair would have agreed with.

– Kadar was here last night. –

Altair added, finally voicing the fact for the first time. That was enough for Malik to have confirmation that they both were aware of the actual situation: he knew that Kadar was putting a move on Altair, Altair knew that Malik was aware of that.

– Yeah, I know the rest. –

Malik said, briefly, since he didn't like to waste time with repetitions and dribbles. For the first time he turned and looked at Altair, serious.

– Kadar is my brother, not my son. –

He said, using words that surprised himself; to the point that he stopped to consider whether he really thought that or if it was just a quick escape. If he had to spill his guts,he had to admit that Kadar's reprimand had hurt him, sure, but also made him think. And he wanted to be better than that. Better than he had been lately.

– He doesn't need my permission to ask someone's number. –

He added, feeling the effort of adapting to that situation. It wasn't an easy process to reverse,as his guts kept on screaming protect Kadar. From what, specifically, was hard to say. His only answer was: from everything.

– Hm, that's how it looked like. –

Altair replied without quite realizing that those words were dangerous. Malik's quiet stare turned into a glare. Was Altair insulting him? Making fun of him? Was he sending digs his way? Was he being polemical? Just one of those things would have been enough for him to take out his claws. He could accept Kadar reprimanding him, but Altair shouldn't have even have been considering the idea of judging him. The colleague must have understood the bad mood hintedbecause of those words, so he was quick to join his superficial comment with something else, hoping to downsizethe concept he had just expressed.

– But I thought it still was right to tell you. –

He said, clumsily trying to distract the cook from his irritationand to smooth his fur. Nothing could go wrong in that conversation. Still, Malik wasn't too impressed with his colleague's efforts, and he could understand people well enough to feel that Altair wasn't fully sincere in that moment. There was always something that he seemed to be thinking but didn't say, always something behind his words and actions: he gave people the idea of someone who wanted to scream his lungs out but forced himself to whisper instead, for some reason. And concerning speaking clearly: there was one thing that Malik wanted to know for sure at that point, because Kadar was also entering the equation, and so he really just wanted to put aside their little games and high-school subtext. They had enough fun.

– So, are you gay? –

Malik asked, his hands slipping thoughtlessly into his pockets. What he had known from Altair was that he slept with a man – if that information was true – and what he had known from Desmond was that Altair was into both men and women – if that information was true. If he had to pick, he'd have trusted Desmond over Altair. Now, he was curious to see what Altair would have replied if asked directly. And now he needed real information, not flirting information; and luckily, it was what he obtained. Altair scrunched his nose, not agreeing with Malik's supposition, served as a question. His eyebrows knitted together, thoughtful, like a teacher correcting a failed math assignment.

– I'm not gay. –

Was the muttered response, as usual. Malik's eyelids got thinner, trying to hid his suspicion. Maybe Altair was just someone who really cared about his language and identity, and Malik was going to respect it, if that was the case.

– Are you bi? –

Malik kept on, without exceeding and starting from the information he had received. If Altair said no, something was wrong: either Altair was schizophrenic, or Desmond was having fun telling lies about his cousin. Malik's eyes landed on Altair and stayed there, tense but curious. It was the final test. The toughness in Altair's stare softened, cocked his head on one side and shrugged. He seemed calmer now.

– Better. –

And Altair ended it there. Malik nodded, pretending he understood what that answer meant. Was that a closer definition to how Altair felt or identified? Or maybe he didn't like labels? It was hard to understand something with the meagerquantity of words that left Altair's mouth. It was frustrating because Malik hated wasting time with frilliness, especially when he needed a quick and precise information; but he tried to not let it show to not upset Altair, who seemed still well disposed enough. He sighed, ready to bring Kadar in the conversation, but Altair intervened again before he could ask the question, with a curiosity that surprised him.

– Are you straight? –

Altair asked, turning slightly on his side so he could give Malik his full attention. That answer was fundamental, even if he had received encouraging signals in that direction. From that, it depended what he was going to do for the rest of his days. He got a half-smile out of Malik. Now he was even more convinced that Altair was interested in him, but there was something almost sweet in the way he tried to not let it show. Given how aggressive he had been towards him lately, though, Altair's was an understandable precaution.

– I'm into men, too, if that's what you want to know. –

Malik answered without moving his eyes from the other man, as he wanted to enjoy his reaction. He didn't care about being too precise now. If he had done his math well, his colleague only wanted to know if he had a chance to fuck him. It seemed like he was a simple needs guy, after all; the kind who only needs food and sex to go on. Altair was staring at him, similar to a wax statue, and a slight movement of his lips upward only made him look somewhat more like an idiot. He saw him biting his lower lip, feigning nonchalance, look down, shrug with his shoulders as if to say that everything was fine and the thing wasn't his concern.

– Okay. –

Altair replied, out of courtesy, as his comment didn't add anything too brilliant to the conversation. Malik smiled, satisfied that he had caught in Altair little cracks,tremors, weaknesses that he liked to think were reserved for him. It could be enough for now: Altair liked men, too, so all the flirting and mischievousnessthrown his way had more sense now, a reason of existing. On his side, he had accepted to bare himselfas well, admitting that he also was into men. What would happen from then on couldn't be foreseen, but at least it would be more sincere and more aware.

– So, do you like Kadar? –

Malik asked, his interest for Altair's sexual tastes momentarily put to the side. The most important step, the next, was to understand what Altair was thinking when it came to his brother. Altair was momentarily taken aback by that quick-fire question, but a part of him knew it would come, sooner or later. He opened his lips to answer, shrugging to show disinterest.

– He's the one putting a move on me. –

He said sincerely, because there was no reason to lie. Malik knew perfectly how it went, anyway. At least he could say Altair had no blame in that. Kadar was the one being a pain in the ass with that first crush enthusiasm. Blaming Altair for that was unfair; he couldn't do that if he wanted to go back being the rational, mature and sensed person he always was proud to say he incarnated.

– Yeah, I know. –

Malik let a cloud of vapor leave his mouth. He needed to be sincere but also well-mannered, straightforwardbut also humane; not that raging beast he had turned into in the last months. So, he tried to find the right midway.

– Listen, I'll be sincere with you. –

That premise both interested and frightened Altair, who, in self-defense, turned and only looked at him turning his head, his elbows on his knees and his hands joint.

– I'm not too thrilled with the idea that Kadar is sniffing around you. –

Malik started, with the tone of someone who has a lot to say.

– But he's also an adult who can choose for himself. –

Well, maybe he did hesitate a bit on the world adult, and he took a pause. For a control freak such as he was, what he was about to say wasn't easy.

– You don't have to ask me permission for anything. Do as you like, it's not up to me to decide. –

He said it. He really said it. Whether he lied or not, he felt that it was the right thing to do. Or at least, it was what Kadar wanted him to say. He stopped looking at Altair because he wasn't too sure of his facial expression: his feelings at that point were a problematic mix of you did good and you were an idiot.

– If I gave you that impression… –

He kept on, feeling the delivery contractions in forcing himself to put his pride aside.

– Well, that's not how it is. –

He finished, huffing, a bit in a hurry, not wanting to go as far with stuff like I'm sorry or desolated. A bout of cold wind passed in between them, and none of them said anything else. Malik kept his head low, concentrated on elaborating his next move, the hardest one, while Altair was entirely meaning to leave him his spaces, feeling in his bones that the cook hadn't finished sharing his thoughts. Or at least, he really hoped so. He never had the chance to hear him talking like this, of personal business, of relationships or happenings that concerned him, or the both of them. It was a new discovery, an early Christmas present, and he didn't have the slightest intention of rushing through its conclusion. That pause in between them went on, sadly for Malik, because he was hoping Altair would say something to help him postpone a part of the duty that he still had to fulfill, what he knew he had to do, to say. But no, whether he was aware of that or no, Altair managed to have one on him every time someway. If he was aware, secretly, then he was a genius; if it wasn't intentional, then he was just lucky, but in each case the result didn't change.

– I know I haven't been very… friendly, lately. –

And with lately, he meant: the last four months. As in, since they met. And since Altair kept on not talking, Malik gave up and resigned himself to the idea of becoming the protagonist of that conversation, which he hoped wouldn't stay a monologue for long.

– I had a stressful period, in between Holly and other things. –

He added with a calm he hadn't expected from himself. Maybe saying it out loud would be good for him, so that he could also convince himself better that he could close that bracket of bad moods and that there was no need to latch to it for so long, voraciously. He could accept the fact that he wasn't angry anymore. He shouldn't use the others as a punching bag for nerves that had long evaporated. He could put skepticisms on the side.

On his side, Altair had been listening carefully, his eyes on Malik like two magnets. He felt blessed by a miracle; and not because, while clumsily, Malik had been trying to apologize without really saying sorry, but because they were talking about something in the larger sphere of personal matters. For the first time. It wasn't work, it wasn't menaces, it wasn't regurgitations of bad moods because of something he didn't even know, let alone something he was responsible for. For the first time, he was listening and talking to the Malik he wanted to get to know. The one that inspired him,that he kept on finding a nice guy regardless of his lack of manners, the one he wanted to sleep with, but also to understand. He was hanging off his words like a thirsty man to water, and he was far from satiated. Altair tightened his fingers together, trying to find an outlet to the wave of feelings that he felt burning through his limbs. Thinking about how he was feeling that morning, he could say that it had been an emotional rollercoaster of a day. For him this would have been enough, he didn't need Malik's apologies, too.

– You met me in the wrong moment. –

The cook added, with the usual tired sigh. He kept on blaming time-related circumstances, as if he wanted to tell Altair that he had just gotten the when wrong. But the truth was that Malik had always found incredibly hard to apologize openly. It was just a word, just to syllables, but he couldn't just take it out of his mouth sometimes, even if he knew he was wrong. He preferred indirect messages, gestures, one action, stares. That was what he was good at: the unsaid.

– Usually I'm not… how do I say it… –

He kept on, beating around the concept he wanted to express, taken by some kind of linguistic constipation. It was starting to feel irritating. But Altair came to his aid unexpectedly, with the irony that Malik liked so much (but both of them did, after all). Altair was going to help him and take that weight in his stead.

– … such an asshole? –

The both of them looked at each other in silence. Altair had on his face a calmexpression but it was obviously ironic, and it was easy to understand how what he had just told him wasn't a real insult. Malik, instead, soon added a smiling crease to his lips other than surprise, which then evolved into a sort of stifled laugh, just to keep his dignity to himself. It had been fun. And he had smiled. He had saved him from that hassle bysaying something true – he had been an asshole those last few months, after all – but without being really rude. He was surprised to see how Altair could actually be mature when he wanted, and smart as well; and it was most likely confirming one of his suspicions, as in, that he wasn't as stupid as Malik had thought. Maybe.

Malik shook his head with still some traces of that half-smile on his mouth, accepting the humor and accepting also that hidden reprimand. He wanted to take his own responsibilities, and he was ready for a truce. The stubborn insistencewas over.

– Yeah, that. –

Malik finally answered shrugging his shoulders, and a lot more thoughts from his head with it. Maybe it was just self-suggestion, but he felt a lot lighter now. He didn't lower his stare nor turn his face. He stayed there looking at Altair who was reciprocating with a satisfied smile and swollen chest, but not with arrogance.What he was expressing with his body language wasn't a finally you apologized but more of a finally I reached you.

– It's all right. –

Altair added with a motion of his hand that was taking the blame off Malik. The rude replies, the sinisterstares, the messing upand the offenses: everything was already forgotten. What Malik had offered him was a lot more, the first light towards a civil coexistence.Malik seemed satisfied of how things had gone, that he could say sorry without really saying it. For once it went better than he had imagined. He could let his scowl melt and let go. Most of all, let go of the rest, the past, his mistakes. Okay, to digest the news that Kadar had serious intentions with Altair and really wanted to date him, that'd take some time; but it was a first step. One thing at a time, without hurrying.

– Well, then… –

Malik said, standing up and feeling all the cold air squeezing his ass. He straightened his trousers and half-glanced at Altair, trying to turn.

He said what he had to.

– So? –

Altair asked, moving towards him, with the impulse of someone who doesn't want to be left alone; or at least, not yet. What for Malik was the end of the conversation, to him was the drastic annihilation of a beginning. A beginning in which he'd have liked to ask: And so what do I do now with Kadar? Are you feeling better now then? Can we talk some more then? So can I come close a bit or will you be mad? But when Malik turned to him and he read in his eyes the forced end of that meeting, he sighed and picked carefully which and so…? to ask.

– What do I do about Kadar? –

He asked, confusedbecause of that harsh ending. He felt like taking a step forward and two backwards. He wanted to be sure of Malik's answer because he wanted to be sure to not make mistakes. And as it was, he'd have accepted any answer. Any order. He was literally hanging off his words. It was ironic to see how Kadar, regardless of being the center and origin of that confrontation, was in truth the farthest thing from Altair's mind right now. Simply, it wasn't what mattered now. And Malik put effort in pretending that the thing wasn't mattering to him that much, after all.

– It's not up to me to tell you. –

Malik slid his hands inside his jacket's pockets, thinking about what words he could use. He was going to listen to Kadar and respect his wishes, and he had thought for a long time about the reprimand he got. He wasn't going to be an asshole anymore. But. He was going to point one thing out, without remorse.

– Behave nicely, like a normal person. –

He said, raising his eyes to the sky: he didn't have an instruction manual to give him. The dynamics were easy: Kadar was only a young man, almost twenty-three, and as such, Altair would treat him respectfully and kindly; but he also was his brother, other than a young man of almost twenty-three, so Altair would have to treat him with a lot of respect and a lot of kindness.

– Because if you fuck up, you have to deal with me. –

He finished, his tone inflexible.He wanted to convey a menace through it, as fear was always the best exhortation.One false move and he'd have torn Altair into pieces. If he treated Kadar badly or made him suffer, he'd have never forgiven him, that was for sure. Malik's eyes kept on staring at Altair waiting for a confirmation, because in that case he wasn't going to accept that silence is as good as a yes. He had to say yes; make him understand that he got it; take responsibility for his future behavior. And Altair understood what was said between the lines along with the whole message, knowing that the risk Kadar was, still was a step towards Malik. And he wasn't going to let that occasion slip between his fingers. He wasn't a pro at treading carefully in human relationships, but Malik had tested him enough in the last months.

He could manage to not fuck up.

– Got it. –

Altair said, crystal-clear. His face kept on staring up and Malik nodded, almost like a military gesture. He also let out a mental relieved breath: he managed to say everything, he made peace with himself, with Altair – presumably – and he would with Kadar, soon. He felt like he could call it a score on the chartof maturity, in some kind of return to the origins. Then he turned, hiding a self-congratulating smile, and took a few steps towards the door.

– Hey. –

Altair's voice stopped him, and made him do a three-quarters turn. He let his hand reach the door's handle, ready to lower it. He didn't want to linger much more. Altair was bent, his elbows on his knees and his face turned towards Malik's: a sinister figure that seemed to want to stay outside for a long time still, in solitude and in silence, thinking back on who knew what.

Nothing was transpiring, of the euphoria he was feeling inside.

– Your brother is cool. –

Altair said softly, like a handful of boiled oatmeal on your hand's palm. He was aware of the risk of that compliment: it could sound like an attempt to look good, to buy off Malik, to make sure he was on his right side, distract him, use Kadar to get in his good graces. But Altair wasn't about to kiss anyone's ass. Adding all the times he had met Kadar, and thinking back on the last one specifically, he did seem to him like a really adorable guy, bubbly,with humor, brighter than his age would let on, transparent in the best sense of the word, and perfectly at ease in showing himself to the world the way he really was. It was a personality type that went fairly well with Altair's tastes, and he respected it. Because of that, he didn't have any reasons to hurt a being so lovely and curious, even if unknown yet. Malik could chill. He had his word.

– I know. –

Malik answered after a while. Altair's comment had struck him and, of course, made him suspicious, but he couldn't deny the obvious reality. Of course Kadar was cool. With the same pride a father has, even if he was his brother, his breast filled with esteem,he nodded, confirming Altair's words. And at that point the cook preferred to not linger there on his feet in the cold, conjecturing on his coworker's words. He tried to put slyness on the side and force himself to take them for what they were: a harmless compliment. Malik opened the door and finally turned his back to Altair, going back in the warmth of the kitchen and feeling a shiver run down his spine, because of the temperature change.

Kadar was cool. Yeah. He was also a little asshole, but a cool little asshole. He wasn't sensibleor contemplativethe way he'd have preferred, but he had that dose of fresh spontaneity that would often make one forget about the rest of his faults. He still hoped that Kadar didn't proceed on the Altair-named highway, but he had broken his head long enough on the it's not your business wall. And it was partially true; still, it was rankling his ass anyway.He would have to live with it. Malik said goodbye to whoever was staying at work and took his backpack in the changing room, where he left it. Leaving the joint, he didn't see Altair again – he stayed on the wall outside, celebrating without sounds or dances the fact that luck had come back his way. He had had a completely passive role in this entire business, but it had allowed him to reset his relationship with Malik, toasting to a brand new start. Not even the cold on his arms could have gotten through him at this point, given how he felt lightenedfrom the inside because of an emotion he had given up on thinking he'd ever feel again. His muscles melted inside that warmth, and all the negativity and tension he had accumulated during the day, the weeks and the months, went into air along with the last sigh he let out of his mouth before he went back inside, too.

Malik didn't hate him; and that was enough to not hate himself.