Malik rubbed the sleep from his eyes slowly, leaning against the opposite arm of the couch and propping his feet up in Altaïr's lap. "How long have I been asleep for?" he asked through a yawn, looking out to see the sky dark and cold.


Altaïr flicked his wrist to check his watch, pushing his glasses down to bring it to his face with a squint. "Five hours. My ass is numb," he reported, shutting the book he had apparently been reading the entire time and standing with a stretch. "And you drooled on my crotch. I really hope that isn't foreshadowing for tonight."

Kadar's noise was nothing short of a wounded animal being kicked, recoiling and standing with an almost dry heave. "Stop! Ew," he said, his hand going to his tie to loosen it with irritated jerks of his hand. "Seriously. Get a room or something!"

"How about you get your own apartment?" Altaïr called out, smirking as Kadar slammed his door shut in response.

Malik's temples were throbbing again, painfully so, glaring heavily at Altaïr with displeasure written all over his face. It took a few moments of glaring for Altaïr to stop looking so damn smug.

"What?" Altaïr asked, frowning.

"Stop teasing him," Malik snapped out.

The phone ringing interrupted whatever Altaïr had been poised to say, instead reaching over to scoop it off the arm of the couch and answering with a sharp, "Hello?"

When the voice answered, Altaïr's face softened in a way that told Malik it was Desmond on the other line. Altaïr, for all his stubbornness and shortcomings, loved his brother. His entire family, actually. There was little he wouldn't do for them, little they wouldn't do for him. It smoothed away a bit of Malik's anger. It had been that love and softness that had first convinced Malik that maybe there was something there, between himself and Altaïr. That maybe it was worth it. It had reminded him so much of his love for his own little shit of a brother.

Malik smiled fondly at Kadar when he left his room in a towel. Kadar just stared back strangely before disappearing into the bathroom.

The conversation was brief, with Altaïr holding that fond smile the entire time. Malik watched as he hung up, looking down into his lap for a long moment before turning to him.

"He's going to come over and bring some food. I guess Shaun is sick so Claudia just keeps making them stuff," Altaïr reported, resting his arm along the back of the couch. "Now where were we?"

The anger came back, quick and fresh, like they hadn't been interrupted. "Leave my brother alone," Malik hissed out, dangerous and low.

Altaïr's scoff was infuriating. "Malik, he's twenty eight--"

"He's twenty-two, Altaïr."

"--Regardless. He's a grown man. He can take care of himself."

Malik's glare was a sharp one, dry and pointed. "And Desmond was the same age when you were making him call you and talk to you on his way back from work at three in the morning to make sure he didn't get attacked."

"That was different!" Altaïr defended, flaring up immediately. "He could have been in trouble! Kadar hadn't managed to open a tin can in years without getting cut!"

"Stop fighting about me!" Kadar yelled through the bathroom door.

"Shut up!" they both yelled back, prompting Malik to snap, "Don't tell him to shut up!"

Altaïr snarled quietly. "You just did, too!"

"He's my brother!" Malik yelled, standing up quickly. Too quickly. His head spun a little and he felt dizzy, but he held firm. It was more of a stalk than an actual walk to their bedroom door, pausing in the frame. "That's it. Sex is off tonight. You can suck your own dick!"

"Ew!" said the bathroom door.