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Killer ran his hand over the metal fence as they walked, feeling the steady bum bum bum as his fingers skipped from bar to bar. Everyone who'd said he was "easily bored" and "a pain to teach" was so wrong— he was just easily distracted, was all.
Okay, he was bored. Horror was navigating for the both of them, meaning they were too focused to be paying attention to Killer. He was forced just tag along, with nothing to do but kick pebbles out of his path and watch trash float along on the breeze. He couldn't fathom how the tourism industry in this city was still limping along— it was boring as hell to look at.
Horror's brother was coming over. At least, he was coming to their general vicinity, and they'd meet him there. Hence all the walking.
He didn't often visit; as much as he'd like to pretend he didn't care, Dust reacted pretty badly to his existence. He'd startle whenever Horror mentioned him, avoid Horror's room whenever they were on the phone, and the childhood stories that often helped distract Killer were kept well out of his earshot. They didn't pry— Horror out of respect for his privacy, Killer under strict orders from Nightmare. He could tell when a rule was genuinely not one to be pushed.
Personally, he was well past giving a shit about family. Horror had asked, once, and he'd said the same thing he always did: They can go to hell, for all I care. No, the endless gushing over this apparent angel of a kid didn't bother him.
But it bothered Dust. So, usually, Horror would visit him instead. It was only a couple hours by train, nothing crazy, and the pair supplemented it with a lot of calling. They both had a lot to do, though; his brother recently enrolled in a computer science course at a very decent university, and Horror had Killer.
He'd hate that joke, he thought. Wonder if I can work it into a conversation.
Today was special, though. Somehow, Dusty had picked up a friend—stole the guy from Horror, apparently—who was brave enough to treat him to a nice time. He'd shown up at their doorstep, handed Dust a blue carnation and Killer a mysterious cheesecloth bag, flirted shamelessly with Horror and a little more tactfully with Dust, then the pair had departed.
Inside the bag had been about eight or so kiwis, the exact type that Killer was so partial to. And a cat sticker, in a wax paper sleeve.
If the date didn't go well, he was taking this guy for himself.
Anyways, the topic at hand. Brothers. Or brother singular, in this case, except technically Horror was a brother too—
Killer didn't want to admit the reason his train of thought wouldn't stay on track. He wasn't nervous, of course not, but… listen. He was great with little kids; he always acted like he was breaking the rules just for them, which he often was (much to Nightmare's chagrin), and they'd light up like a sparkler and hang on his every word. He didn't like them all that much, but he dealt with them fairly frequently.
Teenagers were a fucking pain. Interacting with fans was easy, sure, but random-ass teenagers off the street tended to regard him as a freak at best and a poor actor at worst. It was like they could smell fear.
Not fear. He wasn't afraid. They were all just a bunch of little shitstains that wouldn't know talent if they catcalled it in the street, and fine maybe he got a little nervous when he walked past a group of them. Old instincts die hard.
As they pulled up in front of a large, limestone building, banners fluttering in the breeze, they spotted each other almost instantly. Horror didn't exactly cut an inconspicuous figure, and apparently neither did his brother. He waved excitedly from a distance, putting a phone away and powerwalking towards them.
Horror handed Killer his cane, and he didn't have long to wonder why before they picked their brother up wholesale and spun him around, ignoring his protests. After putting him down, he ruffled his hair affectionately, leaving it even messier than it already was. He batted them away, laughing.
Oh, this kid's gonna love me no matter what I do, Killer realised.
Horror caught his breath on the wall, grinning, and his brother told him off for what looked like the thousandth time. Where Horror was large, their brother was just tall, making him look rather lanky in comparison. He was a little shorter, but only barely. They had the same curly black hair, but his short cut paled in comparison to Horror's curtains of hair. Less frizzy, too, and he still wore braces. Other than that, though, Killer could spend all day pointing out the similarities. Same crinkles when they smiled, same dark skin, same eyes, and they slipped into the same accent as they bickered playfully.
When he was done warning Horror sternly about the dangers of overexertion (and Horror was done pretending he definitely wouldn't do it again), he turned to Killer.
"Hey," Killer said.
"HI!" he exclaimed, before catching himself and adjusting his volume. "Nice to meet you, although we have said 'hello' on the phone a couple times that hardly counts." He extended a hand, and Killer shook it automatically. "I'm Paprika, Horror's younger brother, which you no doubt already know, but still. Introductions are important!"
Killer tended to talk a lot, but even he couldn't compete with this. "Killer," he introduced himself, "Horror's b—"
Horror elbowed him in the stomach, hard. "—bandmate!" he yelped. "That's what I was gonna say!" They eyed him distrustfully.
Unphased, Paprika ploughed right on through. "It is nice to make your acquaintance, although I believe I've already said that. Can I ask if this is a shared interest sort of event, or just social?"
"Eh, social, I'm not really one for computers."
The special occasion that had brought Horror's brother all the way out here, apart from Dust's wild adventure in Normal Dating, was a temporary exhibit in the largest museum in the city. The banners overhead advertised an exclusive collection of retro consoles, ancient hardware, and apparently a very rare arcade cabinet. He didn't see the appeal, personally, but it was right up Paprika's alley. As Killer'd been told in excruciating detail, he didn't know exactly what he was planning to do with his degree, but it was probably something in game development. He'd taken a shine (Horror had said, holding Killer in his arms after he'd broken down sobbing in the bathroom one night) to puzzle games, building intricate levels that you could unravel piece by piece. Horror was so proud.
"Then I'll try and keep my explanations as understandable as I can," he beamed, "and feel free to space out at any time— I know my brother certainly does!"
"Paps, I'm tryin' my best," he complained, but there was no hurt in it.
"Of course you are, brother! Still, I'm not sure you heard a WORD of what I said about ludonarrative dissonance—"
Horror pretended to let their head droop, cartoonishly imitating snoring.
"HORROR!!" Paprika gasped, in mock outrage.
After the siblings were done bickering, Horror's cane was returned to him and the trio made their way inside the building. They bought tickets at the counter, Horror attempting to pay for his brother's despite the generous student discount already applied. Eventually, they settled on paying for it a nebulous "next time," which Killer suspected had been said last time as well. Paprika picked up one of those audio guide devices from the desk, along with the accompanying set of wired black headphones. Finally, like a true tourist, he took them to the lockers where he deposited his backpack.
Not wanting to just follow them in silence the whole time, Killer struck up a conversation.
"So're ya just in town for the exhibition, or…?" he asked.
"Both the exhibition and visiting my brother, of course! Someone has to make sure he's not overworking himself, after all."
Killer's first thought was, Do they? It didn't sound much like Horror. Sure, he wasn't exactly lazy, but he wasn't constantly working either. Maybe his standards were skewed by spending so much time around Nightmare, but they had always seemed to be able to take a break.
Horror must've been thinking the same thing. "C'mon, Paps, I've been… doin' good, nowadays."
"Of course you have, and I'm very proud," he beamed. "But someone has to remind you, just so you don't forget!"
That phrasing was eerily familiar. Maybe not in those exact words, and certainly not at that volume, but Horror had said something just like it before. A few times, in fact. With a slight twinge of bitterness, he wondered how much of Horror's kindness was hand-me-down.
He pushed the thought away— he'd known shit people with great families, too. Inshallah, Killer was fuck all like his own. He wasn't enough of an asshole to claim Horror was only a good person because he'd gotten lucky.
They walked and talked for a bit, conversation mostly driven by Paprika's endless wellspring of interest in anything with silicon in it. Eventually, he became absorbed by the audio guide, rushing ahead while the other two fell behind.
Killer could be politely incurious for only so long. "So, overworkin' yourself, huh?"
"Ehhh… y'know." He waved a hand vaguely.
He didn't know. They were pretty much opposites when it came to personal details: Killer would share broad strokes, the movements and changes that defined his life, and clam up about anything specific. On the other hand, Horror shared little pieces of his life freely, even moments that clearly hurt him to think about, but the overall picture was a mess to Killer. He knew about the time Paprika fell off a low wall and busted his chin open, but he didn't know why Horror got that hollow look in his eyes whenever Killer skipped a meal. He'd never asked though, at least not until now.
Their voice was quiet and measured. "Back when our mum was too sick t'work… 'n Paps was too young, I… was pretty busy, I guess. Wasn't so bad 'til I got this," he gestured towards the scar that split his hairline, "'N then…" He trailed off, tugging at a loose strand of hair. "I tell 'im he ain't got anythin' t'make up t'me, but he still worries."
"Runs in the family," Killer teased.
Horror snorted, a little bit of the tension clearing from their face. "Yeah. It does."
Well, curiosity killed the cat. "How'd it happen?" he asked.
"Worked in a warehouse for a little while. Was workin' two jobs, too, so I… wasn't exactly gettin' much sleep." Horror shrugged, but his posture was tense. "Wasn' payin' attention, I guess. Talked to Night 'bout it later, he said it wasn't legal for 'em t'sack me, but… we didn't know that then, so…"
No wonder he worries, H. Stars' sakes, I'm worried now, he thought. Wait, shit, I'm just staring at him—
"Guess I really was the best thing that ever happened to ya, huh?" he joked, completely inappropriately. That was terrible, so much for sympathy. Holy shit, Killer.
Horror smiled like they'd read something funny between the lines. "Hey, don't… make me rank ya," he chastised.
Killer rolled his eyes dramatically. "Fiine. One of the best things."
"Yeah, one of 'em for sure," Horror said, and he got the strange feeling that they weren't talking about the job at all.
The rest of the trip was fairly normal, with no more depressing revelations about Horror's young adulthood. Killer didn't really know much about video games, but he had to admit the museum curators were good at their job. Paprika was having the time of his life, of course, but even Killer caught himself watching the interactive exhibits and skimming placards. Once they reached the end, he half wanted to go see one of the permanent exhibits, but Horror and their brother had already been. He wondered idly if it was the sort of thing Nightmare was interested in.
If Killer invited his boss out to a museum, he would think he'd been replaced by an imposter. Or was deathly ill.
Nearing the exit, Paprika stopped in his tracks. "OH! Horror! I think that you should go pick up my backpack from the lockers, and leave us two here in the hallway. Alone. And don't rush!"
"Alright, bro. Whatever you say." He started to walk, agonizingly slowly, in the direction of the lockers.
"Not that slow!!"
Horror chuckled, but sped up. Once he was just out of earshot, Paprika turned back and clapped his hands together.
"SO. Ahem," (he actually said "ahem" instead of clearing his throat) "As brother to the greatest sibling in the whole world, I am supposed to warn you—"
Killer raised a hand. "Wait, wait, hold on," he interrupted. "Are you actually doing a shovel talk?"
Paprika looked a little conflicted. "WELL! I don't REALLY believe you would do anything to hurt my bro, but—"
That was even weirder. "What? Why not?"
"I have heard the way he talks about you, rather a lot of it in fact since we call at least once a week, if not twice. I do not think you are going to, as this helpful website suggested I say, break his heart." His expression turned a little… wistful? "In fact, I believe you have been doing completely the opposite, so far. BUT!" Reinvigorated, he clapped his hands together again, this time with more force. "Our mum always taught us to get everything in writing to avoid liability, and while I am not literally going to ask you to write anything down, I thought I should at least clearly ask. That way, if I eventually have to hunt you down, it will be fully justified. So!" He looked at Killer expectantly.
"I'm…" he started, then stopped. What, not going to hurt him? It's me. Of course I am, eventually. I don't know how to do anything else.
It was 2AM on a Friday, the fluorescent lights of the bathroom buzzing overhead. Horror was sitting on the floor against the wall, Killer leaning on his chest. He'd fucked everything up, like always. I can't do this anymore, he'd sobbed, not knowing what he meant. 'M so tired. Horror had stayed with him until he'd stopped crying, patient as ever.
Then he'd told him about his brother and puzzle games, researching summer courses on a busted old laptop full of viruses. He hadn't known what half the words meant, and the light of the screen worsened his headaches if he looked at it for too long, but he'd read every review he could get his hands on. Nearly enrolled 'im in a course f'r jigsaw puzzles, he'd said, and Killer had giggled tearily into his tshirt. But it had worked out, in the story— they always seemed to.
It'll work out f'r us too, he'd promised, we just gotta get there.
"…I'll try my best," he said, eventually.
"Do you promise?" Paprika asked, deathly serious.
Do I— "Sure, I promise."
"Excellent! Then I wish you all the best and also want to inform you that I have a friend in my class whose cousin is a wedding planner, and I could definitely get you a discount."
Killer choked, which quickly turned into a hacking cough. "I think— it might be a bit early for that," he wheezed.
"I am only joking! Well, it is true, but it was also a joke. Our mum would like my brother to get married by the end of the week, though— since I have no plans in that department, she is twice as invested in Horror, but she will not mind waiting I'm sure."
He was briefly worried if she was okay with him being a guy, before remembering countless early mornings watching Horror do his T shot. And seeing Paprika in his childhood photos. And also seeing their mother in those childhood photos. He had a slight hunch she might be.
"Good to hear, I guess?" Killer said, helplessly.
Horror returned shortly, backpack in tow. He handed it over, but Killer pulled him back behind Paprika once they started walking.
"What have you been telling people about me?" he hissed.
Flustered, Horror avoided his eyes. "Nothin' private."
"I know that, but your brother seems to think I'm some kinda angel sent down from heaven."
They tugged at their collar, nervously. "Dunno."
Killer squinted at him, but his face didn't provide any new info. "Be like that, then."
They stopped by the gift shop on the way out. Paprika found a book he'd heard good things about from one of his professors, and Killer certainly wasn't going to buy something from a— oh, hey, look, one of those little electronic creatures in a plastic egg-thingy. Tama-whatever.
On the museum's front steps, he hatched… something, little more than a pixelated circle with eyes. It prompted him for a name; a few ideas ran through his head before he settled on one. He typed it in and hit enter.
Then he realised something.
Ah, shit, I should've named it Horror. That would've been way cuter.
The small digital critter, now named "penits," beeped in his hand.