(no subject)

[number_five]

Hargreeves House has accumulated more books than its small library can hold. It's mostly Five's fault, but each of them has added books here and there, even Ben and Allison when they were in Darrow. But he shelves are full, and recently, Five has had to start stacking them in the corners.

In the apocalypse, libraries were his sanctuaries. He'd made a home in the ruins of one when the Handler recruited him for the Commission even. So maybe he's a bit apprehensive about downszing the library.

The truth is, there's space. But that would mean taking over one of the empty rooms on another floor. Rooms that he'd always hoped their siblings would be back to occupy. But it's been years now. The more time that goes by, the less likely it seems that Diego is going to come knocking at the door.

So Five is sorting through the bookshelves, trying to figure out which books to relocate.

And trying not to think about how many trips it's going to take without using his powers.

Comments

[fifthbeatle]

New Year, a new chapter. The last one, closed reluctantly, feels like it happened somewhere else, to someone else.

Viktor is spending less time at Hargreeves House, afraid of what might happen if he lets his guard down too far. Though he sleeps there every night, he stays out late, visits his friends, works diligently as a professor, a tutor, a musician.

In a gorgeous twist of fate, his violin is what keeps him sane. He's discovered the things he can do can be beautiful and harmless. A gust of wind to make leaves dance to the tune of a rolling concerto. Pushing clouds aside to reveal sunlight that shines down into the windows of his bedroom, pillars of warmth on a cold afternoon.

The last of the notes in his newest symphony ring out. He lets the violin down from his chin and looks out at the front yard from his bedroom window. The trees are bare. The room is cold, but Viktor found himself some warmth. Enough, at least, to sustain him through what's next.

The university is having a book drive, a perfect time to go through their excess of books. Five seemed reluctant to sort through, but Viktor didn't argue. It seems Five came to agree to donate on his own, no further discussion. Typical.

At least they have something to do together, other than miss each other and occupy their gazes elsewhere.

"Hey," Viktor says, appearing in the doorway. He pushes his sleeves up to get to work. "Which one is the giveaway pile?"

[number_five]

It's a strange situation the two of them find themselves in. Together, but apart. Sometimes it feels like there's a chasm between them, and Five hasn't figured out how to traverse it yet. Sometimes, he wonders if it's possible at all.

Still, there's no reason to be unpleasant. Awkwardness of recent times aside, Viktor is still Viktor. And Five still cares for him a great deal.

Five looks up at the other man, only after he's spoken, admittedly a little surprised by his presence there.

"None of them are," Five says, "I figure, we're got all these rooms, so why downsize if we don't have to?"

[fifthbeatle]

There's a special brand of annoyance and fondness reserved only for Five. It feels more complicated, now, but tragically welcome. Everything has changed, yet nothing has.

They can do this. They can go back to being... whatever the f they were before this. All is not lost.

"For the book drive, Five," Viktor reminds him, lips curved in a familiar smile despite himself. Part of loving Five is managing him, helping him navigate unfamiliar interpersonal waters. Strange as it is, Viktor likes it. That wasn't the part that he couldn't handle.

[number_five]

"I'm not sure I agreed to any book drive," Five replies, though Viktor will know from the expression on his face that he's not serious. A familiar smile returned with a familiar look.

Maybe going back to the way things were won't be so difficult after all. Or maybe Five's being naïve.

"I think I can probably part with some of the fiction," he eventually says, "Prolific though she is, I don't think I mesh well with Agatha Christie."

[fifthbeatle]

"Jealous of Poirot's moustache?"

Viktor aims his smile at the ground, tinted with sadness. Wit, wisdom and weathering storms was what weaved them together. It's hard to be in the same room as him without a heavy longing he wants so badly to shed. It should be easier, he thinks. He spent half his life feeling something like this.

A lot of what Viktor will be purging is fiction, too. He never had much of a stomach for it. Except Phantom of the Opera, of which he has more than one copy. Maybe it's time to part with the extras, to move on.

He shoulders himself off of the wall and crosses to his music books on the other side of the room from where Christie's anthologies sit.

[number_five]

"I'm pretty sure I could finally grow one again," Five says, and truthfully, he's missed it a fair bit. But his siblings comments during the one occasion he found himself back at his correct age put him off facial hair for now.

It's a moment of levity among a bit of awkwardness, at least.

"Not like Poirot; I have my limits."

[fifthbeatle]

Viktor chuckles, charmed by the bravado. "I'll race you." He's pretty sure they could both try for a year and neither of them would get enough hair on their face to combine into even one moustache between them. Of all of the possible hands testosterone can deal, facial hair -- apparently -- isn't in the cards for him. Not right now.

With deliberation, Viktor packs up an entire row of fiction, carrying them gently from the stacks above to the boxes below.

"See who can get the most peach fuzz by Christmas."