"This is a nice place. Michelin-starred. Your tastes have changed," commented Ludwig as Gilbert took a seat across from him.

"I thought you'd like it."

Ludwig raised an eyebrow. "You chose it for me?"

Gilbert shrugged. "Why not? Figured I'd treat you. Lunch is on me, by the way."

Ludwig was about to complain that he got his own paycheck but bit his tongue when he remembered that wasn't true anymore; and by the looks of the white tablecloths, sleek chandeliers, selection of abstract art on the walls, and obviously well-heeled patrons, even the lunch menu was bound to be expensive.

"Well. Thank you."

"No problem. So… no admonishment for my tardiness?"

"What?"

"Come on, you always comment on it. Don't tell me you didn't notice I'm fifteen minutes late."

"Eighteen, actually."

"…Oh. That's not unnerving at all," muttered Gilbert.

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"How uncharacteristically forgiving of you."

"I'm in a generous mood." Ever since quitting his job two days before everything had seemed in flux, unrushed, unimportant—save for seeing Gilbert, of course. But it didn't matter that he had arrived late; all that mattered was that he was here now. It soothed Ludwig, filled the empty ache he'd been carrying around in his chest.

"Are you?" said Gilbert warily.

"Some things have changed."

"Ah-hah. Well, what do you say we order before we delve into sharing-time."

Gilbert ordered a bottle of wine and the prix fixe lunch—at 60 euros Ludwig was relieved his brother was paying—for the both of them.

"So," began Gilbert diplomatically, after a careful sip of wine. "Dare I ask what new development has you so…" He waved his hand vaguely. "Laissez-faire all of a sudden?"

Ludwig twirled his wine glass slowly by the stem, watching the deep, shimmering red slosh from side to side.

"I quit my job."

He glanced tentatively at his brother. Gilbert's eyebrows had disappeared up underneath his fringe of bangs.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Wow. I can't believe you actually did it."

"Me neither."

"Hope you told your boss he can go stuff it."

"In slightly different terms—yes, actually."

Gilbert ginned. "Hah, 'bout time. How long have you hated it there?"

"Too long."

"Well—" Gilbert shrugged. "That's great news. You can make a fresh start."

"That's exactly what I've been thinking about. But, what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Could you see yourself making a fresh start?"

Gilbert hesitated with his glass halfway to his lips. He placed it back on the table, eyeing the reflection of the chandelier lights in its curved surface.

"Actually, that's why I wanted to talk to you."

Ludwig's heart thumped faster. "Is it?"

"Yeah. I… am starting afresh, as a matter of fact. Somewhere new."

Ludwig blinked in genuine surprise. "What? Where?"

"…Munich."

Now Ludwig's brow was furrowed in pure confusion. "What are you talking about? You hate Munich."

Gilbert shrugged, not meeting his brother's eyes. "I dunno. Never really given it much of a chance. Just a biased Dortmund fan I guess."

"I don't understand," said Ludwig flatly.

Finally Gilbert met his eyes. "Elsi and I are moving to Munich, Ludwig. Company's expanding. She needs to oversee the new Munich headquarters for a while."

"And what, you're just going to let her drag you along?"

"She's not dragging me anywhere. I want to go."

Ludwig was stunned into silence.

Gilbert heaved a deep sigh. "I… wanted to tell you before we send out the announcements. We're having a going-away party on—"

"I quit my job for you."

Gilbert's eyes flashed in irritation. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Making a fresh start. We were supposed to do it together."

Gilbert let out an exasperated huff of air. "Ludwig—we aren't supposed to do anything together. Look, I'm happy for you that you quit a job you hate, but, I mean, what did you expect? That I'd just up and divorce my wife and run away with you to—Mexico or something?"

"I considered Mexico."

Gilbert stared. "You… are actually crazy."

Ludwig's hand tightened on his glass. "You don't understand. If you just—Gilbert, there is nothing holding us back from doing exactly what we want, except ourselves. Don't you see? Everything has been leading us to this. All we've had in our lives is dead ends and the same old habits, until now. This is our chance, to get free of that. We just have to be willing to take the plunge. Quitting my job was one of the last hurdles to clear. Now all that's left is for you to let go of this little world of your wife's where you clearly don't belong—"

"Hang on; you don't get to say where I belong or don't. What do you think, you fuck me a few times and suddenly you really know me, what's best for me? Better than anyone else, better than myself? After the decades we've barely spoken—is that how you think this works?"

They were beginning to get looks from the tables around them.

"I know unhappiness when I see it, Gilbert."

"And I suppose you have the solution?"

"Yes, I do, actually, and I'm trying to help you see that it's right in front of you, that this is how it's meant to be—"

"Meant to be—?"

Just then the black-clad waiter appeared at their table with their first course. Gilbert bit his tongue, trying not to show his annoyance. It took an excruciating twenty seconds of silence for the waiter to lay out the assortment of dishes: ceviche, polenta chips, some gelatinous yellow substance, accompanying green mystery blobs.

Ludwig eyed the large purple flower garnishing his bowl of raw mackerel. He had the unsettling feeling it was looking at him. He wondered if one was expected to eat it or not.

As soon as the waiter had gone, Gilbert leaned over the table without so much as a glance at his food.

"Would you cut it with the 'meant to be' destiny crap?" he hissed. "It was an affair, Ludwig, and now it's over. I have a wife and a life to get back to."

Ludwig kept staring at the flower. "You said you wouldn't toss me aside," he said very quietly, lips barely moving. "You said you wouldn't do that to me."

Gilbert sat back with a sigh. "Ludwig, I'm not tossing you aside. It's just—time for us to move on."

Finally Ludwig looked up at his brother, a strange expression in his eyes.

Gilbert leaned forward again. "Ludwig, I didn't lie to you. It's not like you're not gonna be part of my life. You're still my brother. It doesn't have to be the way it was before, when we barely spoke to each other; I'll call you, you can visit any time—we won't be strangers, alright? I still care about you."

"That's not enough."

"What?"

"Caring isn't enough."

Gilbert regarded him silently for a moment before shaking his head and turning his attention to his plate. "Let's eat," he said wearily.

Ludwig didn't eat though. He couldn't. His insides were writhing, his spine taught. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be real. He needed Gilbert to stop it, stop pretending. He couldn't be leaving, not really.

"You're not going to Munich."

Gilbert didn't look up from his polenta chips. "Ludwig, this isn't up for discussion. I am sorry it's such short notice; it was a surprise for us too."

Us. He means him and his wife. They're an 'us,' but we're not.

Gilbert gestured to Ludwig's plate. "Now come on, at least try to eat something. You were always more of a gourmet; you'd appreciate this ceviche."

It was the way he casually popped another chip in his mouth—as if there were nothing wrong, as if this were any other day, any other time they'd met for lunch as nothing but brothers who rarely spoke, as if Ludwig hadn't let go of everything that he'd built a life for himself out of all for Gilbert, as if his world wasn't crashing down around his ears—that was what made him break.

It was an impulse. A snap reaction to the punch he'd just received to his gut. His arm shot out across the table, sending the yellow jelly flying and the wine glasses crashing to the floor. He snatched his brother's wrist up in his fist so he couldn't take another bite.

Audible gasps came from all sides as faces turned towards the sudden smash of glass and ceramic shattering. Gilbert's mouth fell open, too startled at first to even react to Ludwig's grip on his arm.

"What gives you the right? What gives you the right to treat me like that?" Ludwig didn't bother to keep his voice down any more. Murmurs rippled through the tables around them.

"Ludwig," Gilbert gritted through clenched teeth. "Let go of me and stop making a scene."

Something flared in Ludwig's chest. Before he knew it he was on his feet. "You don't want a scene? Is that what you're afraid of? Is that what this is all about? Respectability? Reputation? Afraid your little brother's going to tell the world that you've been f—"

Gilbert didn't let him finish. In a flash, he lunged over the table and straight into his brother. The remainder of their lunch was dragged to the floor with the tablecloth as they went down in a tangle of limbs to the screams of several restaurant patrons.

The outraged voice of the maître d' boomed over the din.

"That's enough! Stop it this instant! How dare you start a brawl in my dining room? This is a civilized establishment! Break it up before I call the police!"

Gilbert shoved his brother away and got to his feet. "You're insane," he spat, straightening himself out before hurrying to the door.

Ludwig made to follow but the maître d' held him back, looking at Ludwig as if he were a particularly mangy rat he'd found in his prized kitchen. "Ah-ah, you're not leaving without paying that bill."

Ludwig swore under his breath.

"Be glad I'm not making you pay for the dishes as well," the man added with a threateningly raised eyebrow.

Ludwig practically shoved his bankcard at him and waited, fuming, while the transaction was completed, ignoring the scandalized looks of every diner in the restaurant.

If nothing else, he would make Gilbert pay him back for lunch.

…

The days passed in a blur.

Ludwig drank. He was in the habit of keeping his fridge stocked with beers so he could crack one open after work, but now he went through a normal week's supply in a day. It had been a long time since he last drank to get drunk.

At first he stayed home, lying in bed and getting up only to take a piss, grab another beer, or get some form of sustenance from the pantry.

After having repeated that cycle several times—he couldn't be sure how many days exactly—he had grown tired of staring at his ceiling; and besides that, nothing remained in his kitchen apart from spices and herbs and a single stick of butter. He dragged himself outside.

He wandered. First towards Kreuzberg; he sat for hours in a park where used condoms and needles had been tossed behind bushes, and wasn't nearly as disturbed as he should have been by the fact he could easily be mistaken for one of the junkies lounging on the grass nearby. He hadn't showered or shaved for a while, nor had he taken much care in dressing himself.

Another day he rode the Ringbahn from afternoon until it stopped at midnight, and he gazed out the window the entire time at the city speeding by him, taking no notice of the occasional dubious glance thrown his way by a fellow passenger.

Yet another evening—he couldn't be sure which, one day bleeding into the next—he went to Warschauer Straße and watched the streams of people coming out of the O2 World after a sporting event, chanting and cheering. As the night wore on he watched the ever-thickening crowds turn to young party-goers flocking to the bars and clubs of Friedrichshain. He watched the trains come and go beneath the bridge, and contemplated for a long while the possibility of jumping onto the tracks below.

It would be a quick way to go, probably, but he supposed it would also be very messy. He wondered whose job it would be to clean it up. It was mostly out of consideration for that anonymous person that he didn't jump in the end, and made his way back home instead.

When he finally bothered to check his mailbox, he found a neatly addressed envelope waiting for him inside.

It was an invitation to a farewell party.

…

There were even more flowers than usual. Tables and tents strewn with garlands of them had been set up on the lawn, stretching down all the way to the willows along the inlet. To Ludwig it more closely resembled an extravagant wedding reception than a farewell party, and it smelled strongly of a florist's shop.

He had showered, and shaved, and ironed his best suit. None of it helped ease the feeling that he stuck out like a sore thumb among Elizaveta's moneyed milieu. He doubted any of these people were Gilbert's friends.

Gilbert himself was nowhere to be seen.

After making several circuits around the yard, speaking to no one, deliberately skirting around Roderich whom he spotted chatting down by the marina, and taking liberal advantage of the free champagne, it occurred to Ludwig that perhaps his brother hadn't even invited him at all. Maybe it had been Elsi who sent the invitation, wrongly assuming Gilbert would want him to be there. Maybe Gilbert was avoiding him. Or maybe he didn't even know he was there.

There was one way to find out. He headed towards a crowd of people gathered under one particular tent, where they were waiting their turn to give their well-wishes to the hostess.

After several minutes of listening to unimaginative variations on the theme of "you'll be sorely missed; it just won't be the same without you; do enjoy Munich, such a lovely city", Ludwig managed to jostle his way to the front of the group and catch Elizaveta's attention.

"Oh Ludwig! You've come after all—I'm so pleased."

"You weren't expecting me?"

"Well Gilbert said he didn't think you'd be able to make it, because of something about your work schedule?"

"Ah, that, right. No, everything worked out, fortunately."

"Well, good," Elsi said with a smile. "I'm sure Gilbert will be glad to see you."

"Yes… Actually, I wanted to ask if you know where he is?"

"Oh, is he still hiding in there?" She looked towards the house with a tsk. "He doesn't like these big crowds. I can let him know you're here, though."

"Ah no—no, that's not necessary, thank you; I'm sure he'll come out when he's ready."

Elizaveta sighed. "I suppose. I ought to tell him he's being rude to our guests, though." Her brow furrowed and she bit her lip in indecision. "Actually, though, I wanted to talk to you, if it's alright. About Gilbert."

Ludwig's heart beat in his throat. "Oh?"

Elsi glanced around. "Will you join me over here?" She beckoned him towards an unoccupied table slightly removed from the rest. They sat down next to each other.

Ludwig waited in apprehension as Elsi stared down at her lap, fidgeting with the fabric of her dress.

"Gilbert says—" she began, then reconsidered. She cleared her throat. "You remember a few weeks ago, when he visited you after his trip to Kiel?"

Ludwig tried to keep his face neutral as he nodded.

Elizaveta paused again, choosing her words carefully. Finally she settled on, "How long was he actually with you?"

Ludwig's heart was beating so hard he was afraid Elizaveta would hear it. I'm the last one she'd suspect, he reminded himself.

"Just the one day. He went back to his friend's for a bit after he dropped in for lunch, but he came back to my place later."

"And he spent the night with you?" Elsi's eyes were narrowed as if she were doing arithmetic in her head.

Ludwig tried to guess what she meant by "with you."

"Yes, he spent the night at my apartment."

"Hmm." Elsi frowned, gazing into the distance over Ludwig's shoulder.

She was suspicious, but not of him. Ludwig relaxed just a fraction.

She cleared her throat again, ran nervous fingers through her hair. "And, you haven't noticed… anything…" She let her hands fall back to her lap with a sigh. "Oh, I should just be straightforward with you." She braced herself and looked directly into Ludwig's face. "Is Gilbert having an affair?"

Ludwig's collar felt much too tight. It was awfully stiff. Damn formal wear.

He tried to look surprised. "Not to my knowledge. You—you think he is?"

Elizaveta raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Oh Ludwig, you're not a very good liar, you know that?" She heaved another sigh and set her chin unhappily on her hand.

Ludwig was paralyzed. What was he supposed to do when she called his bluff?

He cleared his throat. "I… don't know what you're talking—"

"Don't bother," she said dully. "It's alright though. I can't really expect you to tattle on your own brother. I understand, if you want to keep his secret."

Ludwig closed his mouth, unsure what to do with himself.

He was honestly curious, though, and despite himself he ventured to ask, "What makes you think Gilbert is having an affair?"

Elizaveta's shoulders hunched inwards. "A wife can tell, that's all."

She looked unhappy. Ludwig knew, on some level, he was responsible for that, but he didn't feel responsible. He couldn't feel her pain. She seemed so removed from him, her and her sadness and sophisticated taste sealed off in a glass case: for display only.

He'd thought she would be angry. Why wasn't she angry? And why did he almost feel disappointed at that?

"But… if you're going to Munich… what does it matter if he was having an affair in Berlin? It'll have to stop now, in any case." He struggled to keep a note of bitterness out of his voice.

Elizaveta shifted, a suddenly sheepish look on her face. "Oh, that…" Her hand went to rub her neck as she glanced around. "Can I tell you something?"

Ludwig was intrigued by the abrupt change in manner. "Of course."

She bit her lip, picking distractedly at her nails. "We're not going."

Ludwig blinked. "Not going?"

"We're not moving to Munich." She grimaced.

Confusion mixed with the ball of anxious excitement growing in the pit of Ludwig's stomach. "But, the party—"

"I know, I know. It all changed at a meeting yesterday," she grumbled exasperatedly. "Things came up last minute—short story is, it would be best if I stay in Berlin after all. But it's not like I could just cancel the party! Everything was already set up, the catering arranged and paid for—I even bought this dress for the event. I just figured it would be best to go through with it, and then in a few days we'll send out the announcement—'we're staying, surprise! Thanks for dropping by anyway!'"

Ludwig barely heard what she was saying. His brain had caught on the words "stay in Berlin" and couldn't get past them. His stomach was filled with the flutterings of many deranged butterflies.

"You're staying in Berlin," he said slowly, more to himself than to Elsi.

"Yup."

The butterflies didn't relent, and now his head felt light and floaty.

"Would you excuse me? I think I'd like to go speak with my brother," he murmured, rising quickly from his seat.

"Oh—of course. Just tell him to come out and be social!" Elsi called to his already retreating back.

Ludwig searched every room on the ground floor of the villa—twice, because it was so sprawling he could have easily passed Gilbert by accident—before determining that his brother must be upstairs. A gut feeling made him turn towards the guestrooms rather than the master suite; he knew which door to try.

Sure enough, in the bedroom with the white linens he found Gilbert, standing at the window. He hadn't heard the door open, so Ludwig stood a moment, just to take in the sight.

The summer evening's honey rays diffused around his outline, making him seem so insubstantial Ludwig was almost afraid he would disappear before his eyes, nothing but a desert mirage. Against the empty, still bright sky outside he looked like a vision of the last man left on earth.

"It's kind of cheating, isn't it?" Ludwig spoke, his voice even.

Gilbert spun around, and the illusion was broken. His alarmed expression quickly morphed into one of mistrust.

"Having a going-away party when you're not even going away," clarified Ludwig.

Gilbert's lips twitched.

"Sort of like—getting to attend your own funeral," Ludwig continued. "Hearing all the bullshit people make up to say about you, how great you were, even if they didn't give two fucks while you were alive."

"What are you doing here?" was Gilbert's flat reply.

"I got an invitation in the mail. Looked expensive—heavy paper, embossed letters and all. Was it?"

"I wouldn't know. Elsi did the invitations."

"Of course she did. So I take it you didn't know one was sent to me."

"I knew. Didn't think you'd have the guts to accept it, though."

"Hm. Just when you think you know a person."

Neither of them had moved from their positions at opposite sides of the room. Ludwig lounged by the door, Gilbert stood tense by the window.

"You know it doesn't change anything," he said quietly.

"Doesn't it?"

"No. It doesn't." There was steel in Gilbert's voice.

A sharp sting of annoyance pulsed through Ludwig's temples. "You're honestly trying to tell me you're ready to give this up? Just throw it away? What we had—what we have; you don't find passion like that more than once in a lifetime, Gilbert. Hell, most people don't even find it once—"

"Yes, Ludwig, I fucking loved it, alright? Is that what you want to hear? It was exciting. The sex was fantastic. But it's not gonna solve our problems, like you seem to think. What you're suggesting? It's crazy. I mean, bigger issues of completely uprooting our lives aside: can you even imagine us living together, honestly? We'd drive each other insane; probably kill each other within a week."

"What about that day here by the lake? Things didn't get too murderous then. In fact I'd say it was pretty ideal. Don't try to deny it, Gilbert; I know you felt it too." He stepped forward. "How right it was—"

"I have a feeling more days would end up like that one at Wannsee," muttered Gilbert. "With me holding you under the water for being such a brat—"

"We found something together, Gilbert—you're just not willing to admit it!" Ludwig advanced on his brother. "You're so scared of change you don't even want to consider it, because deep down you know it would be for the better! The chance to be with the person you were made to be with—"

"I wasn't made for you!" objected Gilbert, drawing away. "You're so—God, this is just like you. You know what you are? You're obsessive. You have an obsessive personality. It's like a compulsion for you—you need something to obsess over, to control. For a while it was work, it was professional perfection. And now it's me. That's it, that's all it is; you've just shifted the focus. I'm just the current object of your obsession."

Ludwig's chest and gut flared red-hot.

"Oh, so I'm the one to blame, am I? Me and my supposedly dysfunctional personality? I don't think so, Gilbert. Remind me, which one of us was it that actually started this whole thing? It was you—you and your slavish need for attention. You want someone to obsess over you. But your wife doesn't exactly fulfill that need, does she? In fact, she eclipses you in every way. She gets all the attention, and you're left on the sidelines. Dispensable, even to her. And when you realized that, you had to find someone else to make you feel special again. Didn't matter who. I just happened to be the nearest warm body, and that was good enough for you!"

"You wish! You wish I needed your attention!" Gilbert was in his face now.

"Oh, you don't? Then why did you do it, Gilbert?" shouted Ludwig. "What made you think it would be a good idea to start fucking your brother?"

Gilbert turned back to the window, gripping the sill. "You really don't know how to just drop it, do you," he growled.

Ludwig grabbed his shoulder and turned him back around.

"I'm not dropping it until I get a satisfactory answer. It's the least I deserve, and you know it. Tell me: why?"

Gilbert glared, then rolled his eyes. "Well, somebody had to get the stick out of your ass—"

Ludwig shoved him against the wall, his lips swiftly following to crush against Gilbert's.

It was rough and raw. Gilbert opened his mouth, but didn't kiss back.

Ludwig pulled away only a hair's breadth to murmur against his brother's lips. "No, you did it because you needed it, still need it, just as much as I do." He pressed their mouths together again.

There was a moment of frantic liquid heat and teeth—and then the resounding smack of a hand colliding with the side of Ludwig's face.

Ludwig staggered to the side, holding his smarting cheek and staring at his brother in shock.

Gilbert wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes furious slits. "I didn't say you could do that."

Ludwig let out a huff of laughter in disbelief. "Am I supposed to believe you don't want me to?"

Gilbert set his mouth resolutely.

Ludwig laughed again, still holding his cheek. "You're not serious," he murmured to himself. Then louder, his voice hoarse: "No, I don't believe you. You're lying, you're lying to yourself—I know you need it. I've felt it, every time we've been together—"

"Oh, for God's sake! I am not listening to this anymore." Gilbert brushed past, but Ludwig seized his arm in desperation.

"Gilbert—think about this for a moment. Think about what you're doing!"

Gilbert tore away from Ludwig's grasp. "I have thought, Ludwig!" He stormed out of the room.

"How can you say that?" Ludwig cried after him. "How could you possibly—"

The door slammed shut in his face. Ludwig ripped it open and rushed into the hallway, trailing his brother to the stairs and stumbling down them two at a time.

"You can't just walk away from this! From me! This is the most exciting thing you've ever done in your entire pathetic life—why would you want to go back? Admit it, I'm the best thing that ever happened to you!"

Gilbert turned at the bottom of the steps. "Oh, and I'm the attention-craver here?" he spat. "Which one of us needs his ego stroked more d'you think, huh?"

Ludwig took the last few steps in one leap, but his brother was already off down the hall towards the back of the house.

"At least tell me why!" he yelled, disregarding the alarmed caterers at the end of the hall. "Why are you trading me in for mediocrity?"

They came out into the sitting room with the billowing white curtains on the French doors. The caterers scurried outside or back to the kitchen with their trays, eyes averted.

Gilbert halted. Ludwig stopped short behind him, chest heaving. A sea of voices washed over them, wafted in on the breeze from the patio and lawn. Just on the other side of the curtains. An entire world away.

Gilbert turned to him with hard eyes.

"Has it never occurred to you that I like my life? Well enough to try to make it work, at least. Which is more than you can say. God, you're so fucked up you can't tell up from down anymore. But I didn't do that to you. It's not my fault you latched on to me because you don't have anyone else—and now I finally get why that is. So don't try to pin your problems on me, Ludwig."

Gilbert turned on his heel and marched outside.

Ludwig felt hollow. Like a tree stuck by lightening, its insides all burned up. Nothing left but a smoking, charred hull.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there. Eventually his feet moved, carried him out onto the patio without him commanding them to do so.

He scanned the crowd of faces, a blur of bright lipstick, white grinning teeth and gleaming designer-framed glasses. He pushed through them—barely noticing the dirty looks he got for bumping more than a few shoulders—until he commanded a view of the lawn.

Waves upon waves of fresh pressed suits, the lightweight kind made for summer weather. Brimmed hats and matching dresses. Difficult to tell one from the next. Ludwig vaguely wondered how Elizaveta knew so many people.

Elizaveta. Where was she?

Ludwig's eyes wandered, searching for the largest cluster of guests.

…There. By the rose garden. Still surrounded by a swarm of well-wishers.

Gilbert was making his way towards her.

Ludwig watched them from a distance. Still empty, still a blackened tree trunk.

Gilbert paused slightly behind his wife, hands in his pockets. She was speaking animatedly with a couple of guests. Ignoring him, as usual. He looked uncomfortable.

Finally he stepped forward to insert himself into the conversation. Feigning casualness.

Elsi turned to her husband in surprise and seemed to excuse herself from the others. She pulled Gilbert aside, apparently to admonish him.

A pang of vindictive righteousness went through Ludwig's gut.

Just a moment later, though, it went sour; Elizaveta's hand was on Gilbert's cheek. Ludwig couldn't make out her features, but he imagined she was concerned. Maybe sad. She suspected her husband of unfaithfulness. Yet she wasn't angry. Gilbert touched her waist lightly, leaned into her hand.

The embers of charred wood flared in Ludwig's hollow belly.

Before he knew it he was down on the lawn, making a beeline for his brother.

He could see Gilbert's eyes in his mind, clouding with ecstasy as they gazed into his own. He could hear him gasping his name. He could feel the heat of his body engulfing him, flames licking at his insides, spreading from his stomach to the tip of every extremity.

Gilbert saw him coming. Saw the intent in his face. He went rigid, pulled abruptly away from his wife. He darted into the crowd, away from Ludwig.

Surprised exclamations went up and champagne sloshed onto shirts as the host of the party pushed people aside in his hurry. Ludwig hurried, too, but the long, elaborately lain tables and stubborn knots of clueless guests tripped him up.

Gilbert was heading down the lawn towards the willows. Their flowers had mostly fallen by now, and lay like so much white detritus along the muddy banks of the inlet. A few people glanced around curiously as Gilbert rushed past them, but they mostly returned to their drinks and chatter after only a moment.

A number of guests had gathered on the footbridge to enjoy the view of the lake. Gilbert saw them blocking his way across and turned aside, heading along the bank instead.

Ludwig wondered where his brother thought he was going. He had him cornered now, he was sure. They would have this confrontation, wherever Gilbert happened to stop, audience or no.

His question was answered when Gilbert reached the marina on the inlet. He sprang into the small boat, released it from its moorings, and pushed off with all his might.

Ludwig raced down to the dock, but the boat was already on the other side of a tall clump of reeds. Gilbert was heading out onto the lake.

Ludwig swore loudly. It drew the attention of those near him who weren't already watching in confusion and interest.

He tore back up the bank to the bridge and shoved his way across, ignoring the angry comments of the onlookers.

Gilbert was rounding the point, after which was wide-open water. Ludwig sprinted as fast as his legs would carry him: away from the path that circled the lake, through the trees and down to the pebbled shore.

Gilbert looked up just in time to see his brother charging into the water up to his thighs.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

Ludwig didn't heed him. He lunged for the side of the boat and grasped it with one hand.

"Get off!" Gilbert struck out at him with the oar, but Ludwig caught it with his other hand and tugged, sending Gilbert to his hands and knees in the bottom of the boat.

He cast the oar aside in the water and pulled himself aboard, the boat rocking wildly and threatening to tip.

"What the hell Ludwig?" yelled Gilbert again, as his brother dragged his feet inside and settled on a bench. "And that's the only oar! Fuck!"

"Well I guess you're stuck with me then, aren't you?"

They were drifting swiftly out onto the lake, while the oar bumped up against the shore in the gently lapping shallows.

Gilbert looked for a moment like he might jump in after it, but then glanced down at the murky water and thought better of it. He sat back on the bench opposite Ludwig, head in his hands.

"Jesus…" he groaned.

"Didn't think that one through, did you? What did you think, you could just row-row your boat gently across the lake and never have to see me again? It's not exactly the largest body of water, Gilbert."

"Yeah, well, it seemed like a better option than you screaming at me in front of my wife!"

The word wife sent an unpleasant shock through Ludwig's system. Hands on cheek and waist; gentle, soft.

"You owe me an apology," he hissed through his teeth.

"I owe you an apology?" Gilbert raised his voice. "I'm not the one that's blown things completely out of proportion every. Fucking. Time!"

"What the hell was this to you?" Now Ludwig was yelling again too. "What am I to you even?"

"You're my brother!"

"Well you seemed pretty content to treat me like something else just when it pleased you! You fucking selfish bastard!"

"I'm not the one being selfish here, Ludwig! I thought we had an understanding—I never asked you to give up your whole life just to live out some sex-crazed fantasy!"

"An understanding? There was never an understanding! You only saw what you wanted to see, so you wouldn't have to deal with the consequences of what you started! You're a fucking liar and a coward!"

"Oh, well as long as we're flinging names around! You're a self-righteous, entitled little brat! You act like you fucking own me, but you don't even know the first thing about me, Ludwig!"

"I know that you're a needy, pathetic, manipulative man. You used me! I'm entitled? Well what gives you the right to use me like your fucking plaything?! You don't own me either!"

"Jesus Christ, Ludwig, not every sexual relationship has to end up in a life-long commitment! It felt good, it was fun, until you ruined it!"

"Fun?! Is that all I am to you? Fun? You're my brother and you fucking used me for fun?!"

"Maybe I did! Maybe I did use you! Maybe I did just want some fun; I don't deserve to have my life ruined because of it!"

"And do I deserve it then?! Do I deserve to have my life ruined by a brother who—after years of near-silence—just shows up and starts acting like he actually loves me?!"

"I—didn't—ruin—your life!" Gilbert emphasized each word, his shredded vocal cords nearly cracking. "You did that to yourself! With your—sick fixation! I'm just one guy, Ludwig. Move on!"

The words slashed like a whip into Ludwig's skin. He flung himself at his brother, his hands flying instinctively to Gilbert's neck.

"Don't tell me to move on! Don't you dare tell me that!"

Gilbert scratched viciously at the backs of Ludwig's hands, bucking to throw him off.

Ludwig kept a hold even as the boat pitched back and forth. The vitriol ripped from his throat without stop.

"You're not going to get away with this! You used me! You fucking bastard, how could you?! Apolog—"

He never got to finish. The boat lurched; he was top-heavy, off balance. For a split second he was suspended; nothing beneath his feet or hands. And then there was a great whoosh and the sting of smacking into cold water.

He was enveloped by it, all the air punched out of his lungs. Iciness. Eerie stillness.

In reality it was only moments before he was able to orient himself and come up for air, but they lasted an eon. There was no up or down, no gravity, no air above or sunlight. Just an endless gray-green void that muffled every sense.

And then he broke the surface. He gasped. Suddenly everything was too immediate, too real. The brightness of the sky, the myriad sounds floating over the water, the chill of a light breeze on his wet skin.

He looked to his right and saw the boat capsized a few meters away. He tried to swim to it, but his shoes were weighing him down. He kicked them off and let them sink.

"Gilbert?" he spluttered as he reached the boat. He glanced around: nothing but the shimmering, ever-shifting mirror of the lake surface.

Ludwig pulled himself around to the other side of the boat.

"Gilbert!"

Still nothing.

He looked down, back into the unplumbable depths. With a great gulp of air, he plunged.

Unearthly, fluctuating patterns of sunlight filtered through algae and other particles, illuminating nothing but varying shades of green in every direction. Not even a fish.

He went deeper. His eyes strained through the darkening waters. It was colder, too. He didn't think he could go much further.

And then he saw it. A pale hand stretched out in the green black depths.

Ludwig's lungs were beginning to burn, but there was no time to go back up for air. He forced himself towards the hand.

Now he could see the arm attached to it, the indistinct shadow of a man's form. He strained on, bubbles escaping his lips.

Finally, his fingers grasped the white wrist. Limp. Gilbert's eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open, as if asleep.

Ludwig tugged with all his might. He wrapped one arm around his brother and pushed upwards. His heart was hammering in his chest, pounding in his ears; legs and lungs screaming for air.

It was a long way up, and Gilbert was a heavy burden. He could see sunlight, brilliant white if he looked up directly into it. The surface seemed as distant and unreachable as the source of the light itself.

His entire body was on fire, writhing, clawing towards air. His arm was like an iron band around Gilbert's chest, clenching in desperation. He was on the brink of collapse, implosion.

At the moment he thought he really would give in, at the moment his lungs could tolerate no more, he felt the water part over the crown of his head, and with a roar in his ears he could suddenly feel the air again.

Never had it felt so good to breathe. In the instant the air rushed back into his lungs, he was sure he would never take it for granted again. The one thing that was always available in abundance: suddenly, he couldn't get enough.

But the blissful relief passed quickly, his insides twisting with an entirely different anxiety.

"Gilbert," he coughed, shaking his brother.

Gilbert's head lolled on Ludwig's shoulder.

He dragged him to the boat and leaned him against the side as best he could.

"Gilbert, talk to me," he muttered, feeling for a pulse.

There was one. But it was much too slow.

No sign of breathing.

Bracing himself against the boat, Ludwig pinched his brother's nose and held his chin. The position was awkward while treading water. He covered Gilbert's mouth with his own and breathed.

One, two.

No reaction.

He tried again. One, two.

Nothing.

What he needed was to lay Gilbert down somewhere, do this properly—but the boat was too large for him to right it on his own, and swimming back to shore would take much too long with his brother in tow.

Again. One, two. It had to work, it had to. There was nothing else he could do.

Gilbert didn't respond.

"Gilbert!" Ludwig's hands clutched at his brother's soaked garments. He sobbed. "Wake up, Gilbert. Don't do this, don't do this…"

He gave him two more breaths.

Still nothing.

"C'mon, Gilbert, no, no no no…"

Again, two breaths.

Gilbert's features stayed locked in their slumber-like calm.

"No!" screamed Ludwig, frustration and fear bursting from his chest in one cry.

He brought a fist down on Gilbert's sternum as something shattered within him.

And then Gilbert convulsed.

Ludwig's heart stopped.

With a choking gurgle, water came streaming from Gilbert's mouth. He spasmed again and his arms flailed, grasping for solid support as he coughed and gasped for air.

"Gilbert! Gilbert, I got you, I got you," Ludwig soothed, pulling his brother into his arms.

Gilbert clutched at him as he drew in rattling, watery breaths.

Ludwig was too numb for relief. The tension of moments before hadn't yet left his muscles, and the realization that he had pulled Gilbert back from death's door hadn't quite sunk in. He simply held his quivering form tight, reveling in the aliveness of the body in his arms, but almost afraid to trust that he really had his brother back.

"I've got you. I have you," he repeated like an incantation, keeping them both afloat.

He knew they had to get out of the water, though. Gilbert was shivering. The boat was no longer an option; they would have to swim.

Ludwig started towards the shore, pulling his brother along. Each of them kept an arm around the other.

They hadn't gone very far when Ludwig noticed.

There were people, lining the shore of the point. He couldn't yet see their faces, but he was sure they were all looking on with rapt attention.

He swam directly towards them. There was nowhere else to go.

Nearly half the party must have been gathered there, by Ludwig's estimate. Considering the way sound carried over water, he assumed they had heard everything. Or at least enough.

He and Gilbert swam for what felt like an age, slowed by the extra weight of all those gazes. As they neared the shore they could hear murmurs rippling through the crowd.

Finally they struggled upright in the shallows and stumbled onto dry land. A hush fell around them.

No one spoke a word. No one moved to help. Pair after pair of eyes simply stared. Ludwig had the impression of being an actor on a movie screen, observed in silence by the anonymous masses.

He stepped forward, Gilbert's arm still slung over his shoulders. The crowd parted as the Red Sea before them.

They made their way, slowly and deliberately, past face after stunned face, back to the path, back to the footbridge, under the willows. Silence spread before them as they walked, like a wave pushing inexorably outward to drown the remaining blithe and frivolous voices drifting on the fragrant air.

Heads turned as they trudged up the long stretch of lawn to the patio steps.

There at the top waited Elizaveta.

The brothers climbed up, their feet never faltering, until they stood dripping before her.

She appeared calm; but from the expression in her eyes they knew that she knew.

She surveyed them quietly for a moment.

"I'll go get some towels," was all she said, before disappearing into the house.

A little ways away Roderich Edelstein was staring with a dumbly open mouth. As soon as one of the brothers spotted him his mouth snapped shut and he quickly pretended to be engrossed in drinking his champagne.

Gilbert and Ludwig sat in two wicker chairs to await Elsi's return, too exhausted to speak or move. Their eyes met for a moment, neither ashamed nor accusing, neither expectant nor apprehensive. No outside observer could glean from their faces the nature of the understanding they had reached, if indeed there was an understanding at all. They simply looked at each other, then out beyond the sea of watchful people to the lake.

The sun was just beginning to set, its belly scraping the tops of the trees on the far shore. Its orange glow set the lake on fire. It purified as it burned.

The heady perfume of the afternoon air dissolved, replaced by fresh, earthy green. The brothers breathed freely. Around them the evening was still, but they could feel a long and potent hypnosis lifting, as if the world were rising from a waking dream and seeing for the first time with clear eyes.

...

Translation/notes:

"Just a biased Dortmund fan": Gilbert is referring to the football (soccer) club Borussia Dortmund, which has a famous rivalry with FC Bayern, the Munich-based team.

The Ringbahn is an S-Bahn line that runs-you guessed it, in a big ring around the central districts of Berlin. In the rare times when there is no construction happening on any part of the line, one could, theoretically, ride the Bahn around and around until it stops (on weeknights in Berlin regular public transportation runs until midnight; on Friday and Saturday night it's extended all night).

Warschauer Straße is a street and S/U-Bahn stop in the neighborhood of Friedrichshain. It is a well known nightlife destination and always crowded on a weekend night.