Tristan stared at the ceiling. Although Jake had told him to sleep, he couldn't get any rest, too many thoughts swirling in his head. His dreams hadn't been plagued by nightmares lately, but they were still filled with an uncanny strangeness he couldn't quite describe. They felt as real as ever, but they depicted events that'd never happened in the past two timelines. Instead, it seemed to be a peak at a potential future, although Tristan wasn't so sure about that. It could also be his willful thinking playing tricks on him.
"I wonder if any of these dreams held any truth whatsoever," Tristan mumbled to himself. He'd tried to get a reaction from Gabriel by bringing up the dream with the babies, but his brother barely reacted, staying stoic. His poker face was difficult to break. A sigh, and he added in a grunt, "I'm not sure if I want any of these dreams to become real, though."
"You're scum." A voice gnawed at his mind, and Tristan pursed his lips. He couldn't deny it. So many of these dreams were filled with warmth and happiness, yet he couldn't help the ugliness in his heart. The jealousy sprouted. It was hard to watch as everyone's attention diverted to the newborns and how he was slowly forgotten. But it shouldn't bother him. It was normal for parents to pour their affection toward their kids, and children required a lot of attention while tiring their parents to no end.
Ultimately, Tristan was just a little brother, or the little brother of the boyfriend, or the uncle.
He had no place left in that household.
"I thought these feelings would go away with the tumor," Tristan winced as he pulled the blanket over his shoulders, burying his face in the pillow. In the dreams, Misha, Gabriel, Masha, and Yuki lived together in a duplex house, raising three raucous sons. Whenever he visited, the house was filled with life, and surprisingly, Misha did a good job as a parental figure. The children were always hugging him or holding onto his thighs for their dear lives. Vanessa and Dereck spent much of their time teasing him about it.
On the other hand, there were also dreams about Jake and Stephan.
The wedding ceremony was hard to forget. Jake's smile was too gentle, and Stephan's eyes were too tender. It was a sight that had been burned into Tristan's brain, even though it came from a dream. Jake never smiled that way to him, and he never would.
"Then, what about my future…?"
Tristan had seen nothing. It felt like he'd become a bystander in those dreams, someone who watched from far afar and wasn't present in his loved ones' lives. He was like a ghost.
"I don't want to be a ghost," Tristan winced through gritted teeth. But it wasn't like he had any rights to ask for anything. His other selves had destroyed everyone's lives too much in their past lives. It was already a miracle that Jake accepted him. Whatever his brother said, even if he hadn't been the one to commit these atrocities, Jake lived with the memories of these.
It's not fair. But life had never been fair. As long as the past existed, he'd have to make amends and ask for nothing. He couldn't succumb to the feeling of jealousy. His brothers didn't belong to him. They never did and never would.
A stinging pain shot through his palms up to his elbows. Tristan was clenching his fists with a bit too much strength. The nails, even though short, had dug into the skin.
Exhaling, Tristan loosened his grip and eyed the night desk.
The moonlight shone on his phone, dancing on the black screen.
He pinched his lips.
Seconds passed before he stretched a hand and snatched the phone on his desk. He turned it on and opened his contact list, his thumb hovering over a name he didn't even want to read. But if there was one person who'd know what was going on, it was him.
Tristan typed his message slowly, one letter at a time. He blankly stared at the string of sentences once he was done, still unsure whether contacting the man was a foolish idea. Most likely, it is. They hadn't spoken since Angela's and Matthew's deaths. Perhaps it'd be better not to renew contact. Perhaps it'd be better to pretend he didn't exist. Only, Tristan couldn't live with himself, not with the festering feelings rotting away at his heart. He didn't want to become a monster. He didn't want to become like him. He wanted to remain a good brother.
In the future his dreams depicted, there wasn't only happiness.
But also tragedies.
"Pierrot, we need to talk."
Now, whether the man would answer or not, Tristan had no idea.
***
Misha sat in front of his father in the living room, his throat clenched. His mother was out shopping, so it was the perfect time to have a discussion. He glanced at Gabriel sitting by his side; his partner averted his eyes and sipped on his coffee, behaving as if this didn't concern him in the slightest. If his hips didn't hurt so much, enough to make him believe they were on a mission to end him, Misha would've gripped his partner's collar right here and there and knocked some senses into him. The guy tried to hide, again, something far too important. At the thought, the anger welled up in his chest, and his breathing hitched.
In the end, pain or not, Misha mouthed: "You're dead meat tonight."
Gabriel's shoulders flinched ever-so-slightly.
So, he was paying attention to him.
"Is something the matter, Misha?" His father called, snapping him back to the present. Misha opened his mouth, but no word came out. He didn't know what to say. His father knew. He was hiding it well, behaving the same way as he'd always have in this life. However, now that Misha scrutinized his father, he could tell something was off. Some signs couldn't lie. He could hear the softness in his father's voice and see a hint of sorrow lurking in the depths of his usually icy eyes. "Are you alright?"
No, I'm not. Misha wanted to hurl at the Heavens. His father finding out about the previous timelines was the last thing he'd wished for. His father was a good man in this life. He shouldn't be burdened by a past he hadn't committed.
"What about you?" Misha forced through pinched lips. "Are you alright?"
His father frowned, then eyed Gabriel.
"Well, your son has developed a sixth sense and can somehow sniff out whenever I try to hide things nowadays." Gabriel smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry. He figured it out. I don't know everything about the conversation you had with my brothers, but Jake told me you're aware of what matters."
"I think I'm gonna strangle Jake, too." Misha clicked his tongue, crunched up his nose. "I swear, you guys are teaching bad things to Tristan. What if the kid starts to hide things, too, huh? He already has the tendency to try and do everything on his own!" Misha pinched the bridge of his nose, a proverbial headache pulsing at his temples. "For the love of God, don't enable him! You're the goddamn big brothers, so act as such!"
Gabriel raised a hand in defeat and didn't refute.
That guy… Misha had to take a deep breath. He didn't want to lose it, not when his mother could return home at any given time. He didn't have much time to talk in private with his father. He could always scold his partner senseless tonight—after giving Jake and Stephan a call, of course. Neither would be spared from his wrath.
But for now, Misha had other matters to handle.
He had to face his father, something he'd never done.
In the first timeline, it was Gabriel who took care of Alexis, throwing him out of the window after learning what had happened behind his back. Misha could still clearly remember his fury and the guilt that'd marred his face. After that, he'd crossed paths with his father only once, and that'd been at his sister's funeral. Misha hadn't even so much as glanced at the man.
In this third timeline, things were different. So why do I need to confront my father about things that he hasn't done? Misha's chest clenched, and he lowered his eyes to the cup of coffee in his hand. His father had poured it for him earlier.
"Well," Alexis started, his voice barely audible. "If you'd rather I pretend not to know, I can do that, too. I'll behave the way that makes you the most comfortable, so don't worry too much, and just tell me what you'd like me to do."
His heart skipped a heartbeat, and Misha slowly shook his head. It wasn't something that they could put under the rug and pretend it had never happened, not when his father now knew why he'd been avoiding him like the plague as a child, or why, even to this day, Misha could barely tolerate a hug from him. The father he knew wasn't the cool-blooded monster he'd thought him to be in his first life. Knowing him, the cruel reality of an unknown past was bound to hurt him, even if he pretended to be fine. His father also wasn't dumb. He had most likely already done one plus one.
Misha still feared his father's touch. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, the pain had been seared into his mind, and he could never completely forget it.
The scars would always remain.