By the time everybody had returned, it was coming up to 6 o' clock, and Two had almost finished dinner, with the assistance of Eight. One emerged from his room to find Eight laying the table. He peered over Two's shoulder, to see what he was stirring in that stupidly enormous pot.

"Did you get that pot out by yourself? I'm impressed." He commented, drily. Two huffed, pretending to whack him with the spoon. "No, actually. Eight did. I wanted to make something different for a change and it called for using this pot. It's good, really, we never use it for anything else." He said with a smile. One raised a thin eyebrow. "You could use it to bathe small children." He muttered, and Two chuckled.

He stalked away from the kitchen, and sat down at the table, watching Eight lay the rest of the cutlery. He stayed awkwardly silent for a moment. One, similar to Eight, was also verbally challenged, but in a different way. Eight always wondered why. It wasn't that he couldn't talk properly, or find the words to say, he just found meaningless chitchat troublesome. He could order people around, god knows Eight knew that, but if somebody approached him for a casual conversation, he'd struggle.

Similar to Two, he was also kind of a hermit, except he was much more secretive than Two. He kept himself to himself and never bothered others about their personal lives but secretly, Eight had always wanted to know a bit more about him. Perhaps asking Two was the best way to go; they had lived in this house longer than anybody.

"Thanks for doing the laundry." One muttered, fiddling around with the fork on his placemat. Eight was slightly taken aback, but shook his head. "Nah, it's fine. Gives me something to do, yeah?" He said, laying down the last fork. One remained silent, and Eight returned to the kitchen, just in time for Six to come thumping down the stairs.

Six rubbed his mismatched eyes tiredly. It was evident that he had just woken up, most likely hunched over one of his artworks. Eight couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance. Six never had a regular sleeping pattern, which led to him sleeping at random times during the day. Despite people's initial impression of Eight, he was a lot more caring than he seemed. He was silent and stoic at first, and maybe a bit prickly, but deep down he cared. He cared a lot about Six.

"You should stop sleeping during the day. It's not great for you." Eight commented, quietly. Six looked up at him, plain faced. "It's not like I can help it." He said, shuffling towards the table, and Eight felt like an idiot. He felt a strange knot tie itself in his stomach. Two, being Two, obviously noticed this. He gave Eight a small pat on the back.

"It's alright. He can help it, he just doesn't want to." He said, with a small smile. Eight appreciated the reassurance from the older man, but that didn't help with his feeling of helplessness. No matter how much he wanted to help, something he'd say or do would just rub people the wrong way and he didn't know why. He vowed not to say anything like that again because, if he did, it would only cause trouble for them, and make him feel worse.

He looked downcast and Two hadn't a clue what to say.

A few minutes later, Seven walked through the door.

Seven, Eight found, was a lovely girl. She had short white hair, similar to him, which was swept to one side, and tanned skin. When placed beside each other, anybody would mistake them for siblings. Truthfully, Eight did see Seven as an older sister, but he'd never tell her that. She flashed a grin at him, dropping her bag by the door.

"Smells good. I can tell you cleaned the place again." She said, with a smirk, and Eight flushed. Why he felt embarrassed, he didn't know, but her knowing smirk really put him on the spot. "I...left your clothes outside your door. Like normal." He mumbled, awkwardly. Seven sighed, resting against the kitchen counter.

"You don't have to keep doing that. I'm capable of doing my own laundry." She said, and Eight felt...guilty? Why did he feel guilty? He was torn between offering a lame apology, or an even lamer explanation.

"It's okay...It gives me something to do." He assured, uneasily. Seven looked as if she was about to retort, but decided against it. She smiled, and sauntered off to the table, leaving Eight standing there.

"That...was painful to watch." Two remarked. Eight sighed.

"I know."


As it turned out, everybody enjoyed the new recipe, and Two vowed to cook it on special occasions. (After all, the pot had virtually no use if not for cooking that dish). Eight slowly chewed his vegetables, tuning out the chatter around him. It was painfully apparent that his everyday life wasn't interesting to anybody and truthfully, he preferred it that way. Being put on the spot and made to talk about your day sounded stressful.

One finished first, like normal. He got down from the table, washed his plate and cutlery, and stalked off upstairs. One thing Eight found respectable about One, was that he never left his chores to be done by somebody else. He never left his dirty dishes in the sink and always cleaned up after himself. He'd gotten used to Eight doing the houses laundry, so he politely left it in a basket in the laundry room. Saved on detergent, anyway.

One by one, the rest left the table, discarding their dishes in the sink. Eight had always been a slow eater. It wasn't like he didn't enjoy his food. He certainly wasn't a picky person, but he merely preferred to savour his food. Six was a slow eater as well, although Eight didn't know whether he was picky or not. He just pushed his food around his plate, and eventually ate it. Six didn't really eat much and Eight found that...worrying.

"Maybe you should eat a little more." Eight coaxed, gently. It was just him and Six at the table now; everybody else had either gone to their rooms, or were sat in the living room. Six didn't look up from his plate.

"Why?"

"Huh?" Eight stared at him, vacantly. Why should he eat more? Because he's stick thin? Because if nobody fed him, he'd probably starve to death? This kid didn't look after himself at all and Eight found that both worrying and annoying.

"Why? Because you don't eat properly. You only eat what we feed you." Eight remarked, snappily. Six looked up, his expression steely, and Eight felt sick. He shouldn't have said that. It just...it annoyed him so much.

Six stood up and left the table without a word, leaving his bowl on the table, still full of food. Eight wanted to slam his head down onto the table. He fucked up. He fucked up big time.

Truthfully, Eight always found the artist to be...cute. He was talented, good looking, so why wouldn't he harbour very small, very minute feelings for him? It wasn't a big deal, but Eight had always become increasingly worried about Six. Unfortunately, a situation like this made the fact that Eight and Six would never be a thing, incredibly apparent. That fact seemed to make his tiny, minute feelings for the artist flare up.

Well, Eight could live without him. It wasn't like he really, really like-liked him. But he couldn't help but feel extraordinarily guilty. He looked down at his own food. He couldn't eat any more. He picked up the two remaining bowls, scraped the leftovers guiltily into the bin, and placed them in the sink. He'd clean them later...

He shuffled upstairs, passing One on the way, who flashed him an unreadable expression, which was promptly ignored. He wrestled with the door, before entering his room and flopping down on the bed. He really messed up.

Was what Two said true? Were they really a...

Thinking about it was cringy. He sighed. You can't have a family of two. There was no way Six would consider him his family now, or anything else for that matter. And the others? They could live without him, of course.

It was now that he contemplated moving back to Brazil. About a year before his mother had given birth to his youngest sibling, the family moved back to Brazil. Eight, however, stayed behind. It was strange. Moving from Brazil caused trouble for him, and then moving back years later had the exact same effect.

He thought about his family back home.

He didn't realise he fell asleep.


When he woke up, the room was pitch black. He rolled over to face the window, seeing a faint beam of moonlight streaming through the tatty curtains.

Ten minutes later, he sat up. He knew he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. He fumbled for the light switch, flicking it on and going to his small workbench.

He had...

...nothing to do.

His last piece of work was a stone age spear replica, fairly simple, for a school classroom. That had been about two days ago. He hadn't any personal projects to work on either, like Two did. He had nothing to do and all of a sudden, his hobby began to feel like a chore. He didn't want to do it.

He stood there for about five minutes, thinking. He might as well make a start on the dishes. Even if it was three in the morning.

He quietly crept downstairs, in a fashion that belied his bulking figure, and slid into the kitchen. He was curious to find the lights already on, and somebody sat at the table.

One was sat, by himself, at the table. A half empty bottle of alcohol stood before him and he was gripping a small glass tightly in his hand. He apparently hadn't heard Eight, until he walked through the door, into the kitchen. He lifted his head slightly, and Eight held his breath. This was...a mistake.

"What are you still doing up?" He asked, croakily. Eight paused, before deciding to tell him the truth. "I came to...do dishes. I had nothing else to do." He said, lamely, as he shuffled towards the table. One raised an eyebrow. "And sleeping isn't an option?"

Eight took the chair beside him and shook his head. "I fell asleep earlier, but I can't fall asleep now." He mumbled, and One poured himself another drink. His face was slightly flushed, and it looked like he was about to fall asleep on the spot. He looked utterly exhausted.

"Are you okay?" Eight asked. One brought the glass to his lips, tipping his head back and swallowing the drink down thickly. He placed the glass back on the table and rested his chin on his hands.

"I'm...not sure." He said, truthfully.

Eight knew One rarely admitted his own feelings, it was in his nature after all, so it seemed like he had a rather difficult problem. "What's up?" He asked in a (forced) casual tone. One closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. "It's...nothing to bother yourself with." His words were becoming quieter and quieter as he spoke.

"I'm serious. I wouldn't ask if I didn't care." He said, and a rather unpleasant image of earlier's situation flashed in his mind. He internally winced. One was thinking quite deeply, his thin lips pulled into a line. His expression looked grim.

"It's just somebody else. It's not a big deal." Eight raised a thick eyebrow. People problems? It wasn't especially surprising, but something took Eight off-guard.

"What do you do if you like somebody."

He had said it in a snarky voice, as if he had no choice. He knew it was a cliche line of questioning, and he didn't want Eight to take him seriously, but Eight looked oddly thoughtful. His expression was replaced by something a little more dismayed.

"Depends who it is." He muttered, thickly. One thought back, as far as his inebriated mind could take him, back to when he crossed Eight on the stairs. He looked visibly destroyed and One had wondered why. He outwardly flinched. He'd probably hit a nerve. Wonderful.

"It looks like you're having the same problem." It was a long shot to assume such a thing, but when Eight didn't deny it, One knew he'd hit the nail on the head. He twirled his glass around on the table, between his fingers and contemplated the situation.

"I'll help you if you help me." He said, after a while. Eight stared at his own warped reflection in the glass, before nodding, gesturing for One to begin. One looked partially uncomfortable with the situation, but he swallowed down his pride and spoke.

"Uh...Well. Imagine a person who you've been around for a very long time. Not family, obviously, but...you know you're friends but you don't know the true extent of your friendship, nor the other person's opinion of you. You see each other every day and you'll probably continue like that for a while."

Eight nodded in understanding. It wasn't like the situation he had with Six, but he understood it all the same. One continued.

"And...well obviously, you like that person and as time goes on that becomes stronger I suppose. I...I don't know." He said, which sounded remarkably closer to a whine, than anything else. Eight smiled in an assuring manner. Until it hit him, then his eyes widened a fraction.

"Wait...are you talking about...? Two?"

One visibly flinched, and tapped his glass against the table. "Shut up!" He hissed. "He might be as blind as a bat, but his hearing is annoyingly good. He'll hear you if you keep making a fuss..." He muttered, almost bitterly. Eight felt an odd grin stretch out across his face.

"That...that's kinda cute." He said, and One went pink. "It isn't, and you will never say anything like that again, understand?" He said, sharply. Eight nodded, solemnly, stifling a grin that was threatening to appear.

"Good." One cleared his throat, clearly flustered by this whole ordeal. "What about you?" He asked, clearly trying to shift the embarrassment onto Eight.

"Oh...um. Six." He said, bluntly.

"..Six?" One looked surprised by this, before shrugging. "Fair enough, I suppose."

"Well...I don't know. I guess I have a tiny thing for him, but it isn't much. It's just...earlier I told him he should eat more, and he asked me why. I told him he doesn't eat what we don't give him and he stormed out." He grimaced. "It's...been eating at me for a while now." He admitted.

"Hm..." One hummed. "I see. Well, in this situation, I'd take your side. He can't look after himself properly and, you're right, he wouldn't eat if we didn't feed him. It's obvious why he'd be offended by this but he has to learn." He said, and Eight felt both relief and guilt. What if Six was listening? It wasn't like he slept during the night. What else would the night be for?

"It's apparent that Six has his own problems but he can't rely on you all his life." Eight went a bit red at this. Six wasn't relying on him, was he? One continued, "He's been a bit prickly lately as well. I'd say it's best to leave him. As for your...problem. I'd develop a better relationship with him before I'd say anything. Unless it is, as you say, just a tiny thing." One wasn't sure whether or not to tell him not to bother altogether, or pursue it. Both seemed like absolutely awful ideas...

Eight stood up suddenly, jerking the table backward.

"Thanks." He said, quite sincerely, before heading back to bed, leaving One sat at the table alone.

"You're welcome."


I have no earthly idea what I'm doing with this.