Chapter Text
Family dinner. For fuck’s sake. It wasn’t that Five hated it exactly, but it was just... awkward. Forced, perhaps a better word for it. These kinds of gatherings weren’t what he was used to, especially not after decades of living like a soldier, a weapon, with no time for anything resembling 'family'. The rain outside started as a light drizzle, but now it was coming down harder, drumming against the windows in steady sheets. Inside, Claire sat quietly at the kitchen table, fiddling with her napkin, clearly bored out of her mind while Klaus buzzed around, obsessively wiping down surfaces with disinfectant wipes he’d pulled from God knows where.
Luther, bless him, was still outside under a comically small umbrella with Diego, both of them hovering over the barbecue as if their sheer will could keep it going in this downpour. Luther kept insisting, in that too-loud voice of his, ‘It’s just a little rain!’ like anyone cared about his optimism. Diego looked like he wanted to strangle him, probably because they were both getting soaked, their shoes sinking into the muddy ground. They were arguing over something, probably the right way to cook the steaks, but from inside, it just looked like two oversized children bickering over a toy.
Five leaned against the window, watching it all unfold. Klaus, despite his usual flair for drama, was pacing around the kitchen, muttering under his breath about airborne diseases and hand sanitisers. Sobriety had made him twitchy, nervous about everything that could kill him, which meant he was more of a hypochondriac now than ever. But it was... different seeing him like this. Sober, yes, but also anxious in a way that made Five almost miss the old, carefree Klaus who’d drink anything in sight and laugh at death like it was a joke only he understood.
Allison had dropped off Claire and Klaus earlier, claiming she had 'important plans'. No one questioned it, but they all knew why she avoided them these days. The silence spoke louder than anything she could have said. Claire sat at the table now, her attention fixed on her phone, scrolling mindlessly. Grace, perched on the edge of her seat beside her, peeked over Claire’s shoulder, her curiosity almost too much to bear as she tried to catch a glimpse of whatever her older cousin was doing.
Claire seemed completely absorbed in her screen, as if it could distract her from the fact that her mum wasn’t there, from the fact that she was stuck with this group of weirdos trying to pretend they were a family. Five watched her for a moment, feeling the smallest twinge of sympathy, but if Claire was fazed by any of it, she didn’t show it. Maybe she was already used to the dysfunction by now, or maybe she just knew better than to expect anything else.
Still, the scene was ridiculous. Diego and Luther outside, acting like some makeshift barbecue heroes, while inside, Klaus was wiping down countertops like they were about to host a health inspection. He could feel his usual cynicism rising, but there was also something else creeping in. Was this what family was supposed to be? Not the perfect dinners you see in films, but this — a dysfunctional group of people muddling through because, somehow, it was better than nothing?
He shook his head, biting back a laugh as Diego threw his hands up, clearly done with Luther’s relentless positivity. From the corner of his eye, he saw Claire stealing glances at them, probably wondering what sort of madhouse she’d been brought into. Klaus, meanwhile, was now reorganising the spice rack. Maybe this was their version of normal. Maybe it was enough. Hell, maybe it was even... kind of nice.
“Klaus, I swear, if you move that paprika one more time…” Lila huffed, trying to stir the pot on the stove while shooting him a sharp look.
The kitchen was a whirlwind of activity, spices scattered across the countertop, pots bubbling gently, and the scent of something savory filling the air. Klaus stood in front of the spice rack, completely absorbed in rearranging every single jar, humming to himself like he was on some divine mission.
“I’m just saying,” Klaus replied, not even glancing her way, “the thyme really should be next to the oregano. It’s a symmetry thing. You wouldn’t understand.”
Lila slammed the ladle down on the counter, the sound echoing in the cozy space. “I need to cook, Klaus, not feng shui the bloody spice rack.”
Five took a sip of his coffee, the warmth spreading through him as he watched the chaos unfold. Lila had been darting around the kitchen all morning, juggling too many tasks at once. Her movements were quick and efficient, but there was a sharpness to them, an edge that betrayed her growing frustration. Every clatter of a spoon or snap of a cupboard door hinted at her annoyance, and Five didn’t miss the way her shoulders tensed each time someone got in her way.
He leaned back against the counter, considering whether to step in. Watching Lila’s grip tighten around the ladle, her knuckles whitening as her jaw clenched, he figured it was time to intervene before she lost it entirely.
“She’s right, Klaus. Maybe let the person actually making the food decide where the paprika goes.” He finally looked up, a hint of amusement in his eyes.
Klaus dramatically sighed, glancing over his shoulder with a mischievous smile. “Oh, look at this— little number Five coming to your rescue.”
Five shot him a flat look, but there was a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’m just siding with the one not wasting time. That, and I don’t particularly care how the paprika’s organised.
"Well, aren’t you two just the coziest little couple?” Klaus said and let out a low whistle.
Lila rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the slight smile that crept onto her face. She glanced at Five, and for a heartbeat, their eyes locked, a shared understanding passing between them in the warmth of the kitchen. It was a fleeting moment, but it was enough for Klaus to notice. Not that he said anything about it, no, he knew better.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lila finally muttered, turning back to her pot, but the tension in the air shifted. Five felt a flutter of something familiar, a warmth that he came to associate with Lilas presence.
“Unless you want to get into a serious debate over cumin, I’d suggest you stop messing with the spices.” Five said setting down his cup, unfazed by Klaus’s antics.
“Heaven forbid! The cumin’s sacred, dear brother. I wouldn’t dream of it.” Klaus gave a mock gasp, feigning horror while a grin danced on his lips as he left the kitchen to go find Claire again.
As Lila stirred the pot, she glanced at Five again, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards in a small smile. In that moment, the kitchen felt like a haven—a chaotic but comforting sanctuary where they could momentarily escape the world outside. It was nice, and it didn’t take long before they fell into an unspoken rhythm, as they often did when left alone. Five eventually took over stirring the pot, and Lila moved to stand beside him.
Five’s whole body tensed when Lila leaned her head against his arm in that casually irritating way only she could pull off. He tried, really tried, to relax—to keep her from noticing how much her touch affected him. She didn’t say anything, just stayed there, and Five adjusted his posture, standing a little straighter. Taller. Like he didn’t care. Like he wasn’t losing his mind.
He stole a glance at her. Her eyes were closed, dark circles visible beneath them, messy strands of dark hair falling across her face. She was absolutely stunning in a way that felt unfair, like no one else in the world could possibly look like her. Her lips were chapped, and for just a moment, he thought about running his fingers along them, just to feel her under his touch. The thought made his cheeks burn, a deep flush spreading as he tightened his grip on the spoon.
“You know, I could fall asleep like this. Standing,” Lila joked, her eyes still closed as she leaned a little heavier against him.
“The kids that bad, huh?”
“You should’ve seen them last night,” she replied with a groan. “Refused to go to sleep. Just screaming and screaming. And when one stopped, the other started. It was endless.”
Five didn’t respond, focusing instead on the slow, rhythmic stirring of the pot. Lila stayed pressed against him, her head resting on his arm. Her breathing was soft and steady, and he could feel her warmth through the fabric of his shirt. The kitchen felt impossibly small, every sound amplified—the bubbling pot, the creak of the floorboards, the faint hum of the fridge. Five kept his eyes on the simmering liquid, trying to ignore the weight of her against him, the faint scent of her shampoo hung in the air, rich and inviting, like vanilla steeped in caramel, with a trace of spiced sandalwood, the way her arm brushed his every time she shifted. He tried his best to ignore it all.
His hand paused mid-stir as he glanced at her. She was still resting against him, her expression peaceful but worn, like someone who had been fighting a battle no one else could see. Five’s jaw tightened. He didn’t want to care, didn’t want to let himself notice the small details—the curve of her lashes, the faint freckles on her nose—but they imprinted themselves in his mind anyway, as if they’d always been there, waiting for him to see them.
“God, don’t ever have kids,” Lila muttered, her voice a mix of exhaustion and humor as she pulled back slightly from him.
Five gave a short laugh, surprised by the shift in her tone. “I never planned on it.”
“What do you want then?” Lila tilted her head, her gaze shifting to him as she asked, her tone less playful now, more curious. “And don’t say retirement.”
Five’s hand froze mid-stir. Her question lingered in the air, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. The truth was, he hadn’t thought about it in a long time—he just kept going, letting life happen as it would. But Lila’s question pulled him up short, forcing him to face something he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He didn’t say anything, just kept stirring, his thoughts stuck somewhere between the past and the silence of the kitchen.
“What do you want?” he asked back, his voice quiet, almost challenging.
Lila’s face softened, and she gave a small, almost defeated shrug. “I don’t know.”
Five glanced at her, seeing the weariness in her eyes. He didn’t know how to respond. He wasn’t someone who liked to talk about wants. He wasn’t sure he was allowed to want anything at all.
“You ever think about, like, having someone in your life?” she asked, trying to keep it light, like it didn’t matter. Like it wasn’t a big deal.
Five’s hand paused mid-stir. The question hung in the air between them, and he didn’t know what to make of it. He hadn’t thought about that kind of thing in a while. In fact, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever thought about it at all.
“Not really,” he muttered, keeping his eyes on the pot like it held all the answers. “Never been the type.”
Five noticed her gaze drop to the floor, her lips pressed together like she was trying to figure something out. He could feel the shift in the air, the tension hanging between them. Her reaction wasn’t exactly what he’d expected—she didn’t push, but she didn’t pull away either. It wasn’t a rejection, but it didn’t feel like an acceptance either. He wondered if she was reading too much into his words, or maybe, he thought, she wasn’t sure what she was hoping to hear. He couldn’t quite place why it felt so heavy. He wasn’t sure what kind of answer he was supposed to give, or if she even knew what she wanted from him.
“Yeah, well… guess I wouldn’t want to share you with anyone, anyway,” she said, her voice almost teasing, but with something softer underneath. Something like she was trying to hide the question she really wanted to ask.
Later the table was finally set, though it was a bit of a squeeze. The mismatched chairs, too big for the small dining room, were pushed together awkwardly, and everyone had to shift slightly to make room. The table, already crowded with plates, cups, and cutlery, felt even smaller with everyone crammed in. The faint smell of rain still clung to the air, despite being indoors, the soft tap of it against the windows adding to the cozy chaos of the room. Luther and Diego were deep in conversation, or rather, in a low-key argument. Luther and Diego had done their best with the BBQ outside, but the hotdogs were a little too burnt, the skin crisped to a near-crunch, and the steak? Well, it was more cooked than anyone had hoped, overdone and tough, but it was still somewhat eatable.
“I'm just saying, the grill was fine. You were the one who kept flipping the damn steak every two minutes,” Luther said, his voice rising slightly as he stabbed at his steak with his fork.
“You’re the one who couldn’t get the temperature right, Luther. I told you to let it cook longer, but noooo, you’re too impatient,” Diego shot back, leaning forward in his chair, a hint of annoyance in his tone.
“Impatient? I was trying to make sure we didn’t end up with charcoal, but you wouldn’t listen,” Luther replied, narrowing his eyes.
“Maybe if you actually let it rest on the grill for a few more seconds, it wouldn’t be so dry!” Diego fired back, his hand gesturing in the air like he was giving a speech.
Luther and Diego were locked in their usual playful battle of pride and stubbornness, their voices rising just a little too loud, as if they were trying to outdo each other. Their bickering filled the room, but it wasn’t heated—it was just the sound of familiar tension, the kind that comes with too many years spent together. The back-and-forth was a constant, a dance of egos, each of them too proud to admit defeat.
Across the table, Five and Lila shared a glance, and in that brief moment, a smile tugged at Lila’s lips. She rolled her eyes at the bickering brothers, and Five couldn’t help but smile back. Her smile was infectious, and Five felt a warmth spread through him, soft and unexpected. He couldn’t remember the last time he'd let himself feel like this, not even with all the chaos around him. But with Lila, it was different.
Diego, however, was too caught up in his pride to notice the shared moment between Five and Lila at first. But then, as the two exchanged their subtle smile, he caught it. His gaze flicked over to Five, the faintest narrowing of his eyes as he registered the exchange. The smile on Five’s face, the way Lila had looked at him—it was enough to spark something in Diego, though he’d never admit it out loud. His jaw tightened. Without a word, he slammed his fork down onto his plate with more force than necessary, the clatter of metal against ceramic cutting through the air like a sharp reminder. The movement was almost violent. His expression was unreadable at first, but the sour twist of his mouth told Five everything he needed to know. Diego hadn’t missed a thing. And for whatever reason, it bothered him.
“Five. Why don’t you take some of the steak?” Diego asked, his voice a bit too loud as he nudged the plate towards his brother.
“I’m good, thanks,” Five replied, eyeing the steak warily.
“Why? The steak not good enough for you?”
Five glanced at the meat—somehow both burnt and undercooked at the same time. It didn’t look appealing, not in the least. He shrugged and loaded his plate with more of Lila’s sides.
“I’ve got enough already.”
“Come on, take some steak,” Diego insisted, pushing the plate closer, as if that would somehow change Five’s mind.
“Diego, let it go,” Lila said, rolling her eyes, her voice sharp as she carefully scraped the burnt edges off the steak she’d been trying to prepare for Grace. Her eyes flicked briefly to Five before returning to the steak, clearly aware of his disinterest in the charred disaster.
“Why? Protein’s good for you, man,” Diego said, completely unaware of the rising tension.
“Diego, I’m not hungry,” Five responded flatly, still focused on piling more of Lila’s food onto his plate.
“Hey, maybe give him a break, man. He’s already got a full plate,” Luther said, shooting Diego a look, half-heartedly trying to defuse the situation.
Diego waved a hand dismissively, not catching the irritation in the room. “It’s supposed to be a BBQ, Lila. What did you expect? You can’t throw a BBQ and not have some meat on the table.”
Lila’s eyes narrowed, her grip tightening on the knife as she sliced the remaining steak. “I didn’t think it’d be a BBQ where half the food was burnt and the other half still raw,” she said, her voice sharp. “But sure, what do I know?”
Diego, still not catching the vibe, kept going. “It’s not that bad. I mean, the steak’s—well, steak.”
“You think this was supposed to be about steak?” Lila asked as she glanced at the kitchen, then back at Diego, her tone laced with sarcasm.
“Oh, this is getting good,” Klaus, who’d been watching the back-and-forth with a grin, finally chimed in with a dramatic sigh, looking between them. “You two should do this family dinner thing more often.”
Lila, biting her lip to keep from snapping, leaned forward. “Yeah, I was in the kitchen for most of the evening, doing everything else, Diego. But sure, let’s just focus on the steaks. After all, that’s what’s really important, right?”
“I mean, it’s a BBQ, Lila. The meat’s supposed to be the star of the show. You did the sides, sure, but... they’re just sides.” Diego paused, his expression confused for a moment before he shrugged it off.
“Yeah, well, I’ll let you guys enjoy your meat,” Lila said, her tone sharp as she shoved her plate aside and stood up abruptly. She didn’t wait for a response, already pushing past the others, muttering under her breath, “I’m just gonna—grab something…”
Diego, completely oblivious to the tension, simply shrugged and went back to shoveling food into his mouth, unfazed. But Five, watching Lila’s retreating figure, felt something stir inside him. The brief flicker of frustration in her eyes, the way she’d practically stormed out, left him with an uneasy feeling he couldn’t shake. Without really thinking about it, he stood up, his chair scraping the floor loudly, drawing the attention of Klaus and Luther for a split second.
“Where you going, Five?” Luther asked, brow furrowing as he looked up at him, still holding his plate.
Five didn’t answer, already moving past the table. He was halfway to the door before his mind could catch up with his actions. Klaus, watching him with an almost amused glint in his eyes, smirked slightly. He knew—well, Klaus always knew—but kept it to himself, letting the moment play out in silence.
“Did I ever tell you guys about the time I waxed my ass with chocolate pudding?” Klaus proclaimed, his voice cutting through the room with theatrical enthusiasm. Five caught the start of the table's collective groaning as he crossed the doorframe, following Lila’s exit.
It wasn’t a big house, Diego and Lila’s place. Just a small little house. But it was cozy, lived-in. The floors were littered with toys, and the walls were adorned with pictures of the happy couple and their kids. It had that warmth, that feeling of being a family home. And as Five carefully stepped around the mess on the floor, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.
His own apartment was cleaner—much cleaner. Almost pristine, in fact. He took pride in it, loved how tidy and organised it was. But as he looked around the cluttered living room, with Legos scattered everywhere and kids' drawings on the fridge, he realised his apartment wasn’t a home. It was just a place. Somewhere to eat, to sleep, a place to keep the few things he owned. But it didn’t have the warmth of this house, the sense of life that Diego and Lila’s place had. He’d never had a home like this, not with pictures of happy faces hanging on the walls, not with the mess that came with love and family.
Lila had locked herself in the bathroom, and despite knowing he probably should give her space, Five couldn’t help but knock. He needed to know she was okay, needed to make sure she wasn’t upset or… something.
“For fuck’s sake... I’m pissing!” Lila shouted from inside, the annoyance clear in her voice.
“Sorry!” Five quickly called back, his face flushing with awkwardness. “It’s just... me.”
There was a brief silence on the other side of the door. Five stood there, feeling awkward and out of place, the silence stretching longer than it should have. But Lila didn’t say anything. Instead, there was the unmistakable click of the bathroom door unlocking.. and for better or worse, Five stepped forward. He wasn’t sure why, but he followed her in.
The door creaked open just enough for her to slip past him, her eyes avoiding his as she hurriedly closed it behind her. Five, now standing awkwardly in the small bathroom, didn’t quite know what to say or do. It was a tight space, with barely enough room for both of them, but they were there now, forced into proximity by a combination of his concern and the strange tension between them. Lila was washing her hands, her movements quick, trying not to make eye contact. Five stayed by the door, unsure of his next move. The air felt heavy, thick with things unsaid, and as he watched her, he realised he was already too far in to turn back.
"Are you alright?" Five asked, his voice quieter now, though it carried a weight that suggested the question meant more than it seemed. He wasn’t entirely sure why he had followed her in the first place—curiosity? A nagging instinct? Perhaps a faint, unspoken sense of concern he didn’t want to acknowledge.
Lila shot him a sharp glance over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing slightly. The briefest flicker of irritation crossed her face, but she let it pass, exhaling deeply as her shoulders eased just enough to betray her momentary tension. Without answering, she turned and grabbed a towel from the counter, her movements brisk but not quite hurried.
"I'm fine," she said eventually, the words clipped and a touch too quick. She avoided looking at him as she dabbed at her hands, the towel twisting between her fingers. "Just needed a minute.”
“Diego is an idiot,” Five said, his hands tucked neatly behind his back, but his eyes stayed fixed on her.
Lila froze for a second before a laugh burst out of her, sharp and genuine. Five’s mouth twitched into a small, reluctant smile, and soon he was laughing too. They stood there, laughter fading, and the air grew heavy with something unspoken. The silence wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable either. It was charged, like a spark that hadn’t yet found its fuel. He didn’t step back, and neither did she. It wasn’t clear who had leaned in first, but now they were standing just a little too close. Close enough that he could see the faint scar near her eyebrow, and she could feel the sharpness of his gaze tracking her expression.
“You following me to the toilet now, little man? Bit pervy, don’t you think?” Lila said arching a brow, a smirk tugging at her lips.
Five rolled his eyes but didn’t step away. Lila’s grin widened, her teasing nature clearly ready to pounce again, to find another barb that might provoke him just enough to make him roll his eyes again or mutter something biting under his breath. That was their rhythm—sharp words, quick quips, and a dance they pretended wasn’t a dance at all. But this time, the grin faltered, just slightly. Her gaze softened, losing its sharp edges as something unspoken flickered there. A beat passed, then another. The charged air between them hummed, louder and louder in his mind, as though daring either of them to say something or do something. But neither moved. The tension sat heavy between them, undeniable yet still ignored, like a storm rumbling on the horizon but refusing to break.
Five didn’t know why, exactly, he had followed her. Or why he always seemed to find himself orbiting her like this, drawn to her in ways he didn’t understand and couldn’t explain. He didn’t think about things like that—about being drawn to people, about caring for people. And yet, here he was. He cared for her. God, did he care for her. In a way that made no sense to anyone, least of all himself. She was messy and reckless and far too much most of the time. And still, there was something about her that made him want to stand too close, made him want to follow her out of crowded rooms and ask questions he didn’t really want the answers to. She cared for him, too. She had to. She wouldn’t look at him like that otherwise—like she saw something in him no one else bothered to see. Like she understood his sharp edges, the ones he used to keep everyone else at arm’s length. She saw them and didn’t flinch.
“Diego really is an idiot,” Five said, his voice quieter now, the words slipping out as if they weren’t meant to. He couldn’t help but think it again as his gaze dropped to her lips. Soft, faintly smirking, and entirely too distracting.
He hadn’t meant to think about them—not again, not now. But it was like the thought was lodged in his brain, returning in moments like this, unbidden and unwelcome. It had started in the kitchen, a fleeting, traitorous desire to touch them. Just for a moment. He hadn’t even realised it was there until it had hit him like a sharp pang in his chest. And now, here it was again. Five swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as though that would somehow will the thought away. His hands stayed at his sides, clenched just enough to stop himself from doing something stupid. He glanced back up, meeting her eyes again, and felt the pull between them like gravity, impossible to fight.
Lila raised an eyebrow, the smirk creeping back onto her lips like she could read his mind.
“You’ve been staring” she said, her voice light but edged with something softer, something quieter.
Five blinked, breaking the moment. “I’m not staring,” he said flatly, though the words came out weaker than he intended. He shifted his weight slightly, trying to regain even a fraction of his usual composure.
“Right,” Lila said, drawing the word out as her smirk widened again, though her gaze still held that same softness and for a second, it felt like she might close the gap between them. Like she might say something or do something that would shatter whatever fragile balance they had between them. Five braced himself, unsure whether he wanted her to or not.
But then, the door creaked open behind them, and they both turned sharply as Allison stepped in.
“Allison?” Five and Lila said in near unison, their voices overlapping with surprise.
“I—uh—just came by to drop something off for Claire,” Allison said, holding up a small bag, looking almost embarrassed. “She needed... some supplies.” She offered a tight smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Tampons. She was freaking out, and I was the closest one to bring them.”
Lila blinked, clearly thrown off by the sudden appearance. “I’ve got tampons,” she said flatly, glancing at Five before looking back at Allison. “Claire didn’t need you to come all the way here for that.”
“Yeah, well, she asked me, and I just happened to be in the area, so...” Allison’s cheeks flushed slightly, but her voice trailed off, clearly trying to make the excuse sound less suspicious.
Five raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Allison shrugged nonchalantly, but there was a tightness to it, as though she wasn’t quite sure why she was there either. “I’m not staying. Just dropping this off, then I’m heading out. You know how it is.”
The awkwardness hung in the air, thickening the space between them. Lila crossed her arms with a forced casualness, her gaze flicking to the floor. She wasn’t buying it, and neither was Five.
Five cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Well, uh... that’s... thoughtful of you.”
Allison glanced between them, taking in the strange, charged atmosphere with a knowing look. “Didn’t mean to interrupt whatever... this is,” she said, her voice laced with an eyebrow raise that made it clear she was aware something was off.
Lila muttered something about needing a drink, her voice a little too sharp as she pushed past Allison, making a quick exit into the hallway. Allison’s eyes followed her, then shifted back to Five, her expression softening into something closer to amused curiosity.
“Am I interrupting something?” Allison asked, her tone laced with a hint of suspicion.
“No,” Five said quickly, though his voice was just a bit too sharp to be convincing.
“…Right.” Allison raised an eyebrow, dragging out the word. She gave him a knowing look, clearly unconvinced. “Well, stay out of trouble, Five.”
The rest of the dinner went on rather uneventfully. Allison didn’t stay long, claiming she had just dropped off some things for Claire and didn’t want to stay and interrupt the dinner. Despite the polite smiles and well-wishes, it was clear she wasn’t planning to stick around. The food was eaten, the plates cleared, and the conversation shifted as the evening stretched on. Five and Klaus got into one of their usual arguments over something completely trivial. Klaus had made some comment about Five being too serious, and Five—always the one to rise to the bait—had instantly started defending his "stern" approach to life. Claire rolled her eyes as the two of them bickered, and Grace, who was perched on Diego’s lap, seemed more interested in drawing doodles on the back of a napkin than the heated exchange.
Later, in the kitchen, Luther had reluctantly taken over doing the dishes under the watchful eye of Klaus and Grace. Klaus made little effort to actually help, instead opting to supervise in his typical fashion, occasionally making snarky remarks about Luther’s "inefficient" dishwashing technique. Grace, however, had grown bored of the back-and-forth, and, unable to resist, climbed up onto a chair beside Luther to "help," her small hands splashing water everywhere. Luther, clearly annoyed, muttered something under his breath about never being able to just get through a simple chore without it feeling like a monkey in a circus.
Upstairs, Lila was busy getting the twins ready for bed. She moved efficiently, but her usual warmth seemed a little absent, her focus completely on the task at hand. She wasn’t exactly in a bad mood, but there was something about the quiet of the evening that felt different, a subtle shift in the atmosphere. She shushed the twins gently as they protested, trying to make the most of the routine, but there was something almost distracted in the way she did it.
Meanwhile, Diego, had found a more unorthodox way to entertain Claire. He had a knife in hand, carefully showing her how to hold it. Claire had watched him, wide-eyed, as he explained the grip, how to make sure her fingers were just right, the right amount of pressure. She was still hesitant, but Diego’s presence was enough to make her trust him, even with something as sharp as a knife.
“First thing you gotta know is how to hold it right,” Diego said, demonstrating by curling his fingers around the hilt of the knife, his thumb resting lightly along the blade. “If you can’t do that, you’re not even gonna get close to your target.”
Claire nodded earnestly, mimicking his grip as best as she could, her smaller hands awkwardly clutching the knife, not quite sure what to do with it. Diego smirked, watching her closely. “It’s all about the feel of it. You gotta trust your instincts. Don’t worry about the throw right now. Just focus on how you hold it.”
Claire adjusted her grip, trying to match Diego’s casual confidence. She wasn’t exactly sure how she’d feel throwing a knife—her aim wasn’t exactly stellar, but for now, she was content just holding it right, like Diego said.
"When it gets warmer outside," Diego continued, his tone softening as he looked at Claire with a genuine smile, "you come over, and I’ll teach you everything I know. The throw, how to read your target, how to hit it every time. But this," he waved a hand at her still-awkward grip, "this is where it starts.”
“You’re gonna teach me how to throw knives?” Claire’s eyes lit up and her voice was full of excitement, the idea of learning something new and dangerous thrilling her.
Diego chuckled, ruffling her hair lightly. “I’ll teach you more than that. But first, let’s get the grip down. Once that’s right, we’ll worry about everything else.”
Five sat quietly on the couch, his eyes flicking between Claire, Diego, and the knife. He wasn't against the idea of Claire learning self-defense—he knew better than anyone how important it was to be able to protect yourself. But as he watched Diego with her, there was something about the way Diego was teaching that made him pause. There was no exaggerated bravado or cocky showmanship—just a calm, steady confidence that came from real experience.
Five couldn’t help but feel a twinge of something he didn’t expect—jealousy. He’d always seen Diego as impulsive and reckless, but watching him with Claire, Five realized just how good a father Diego was. Every word, every gesture was steady and measured, and it made Five feel a quiet longing he hadn’t anticipated. Diego made fatherhood look natural, something Five had never imagined for himself. It wasn’t bitterness, just a sense of loss—realizing he could never be that kind of person, not the way Diego was.
“Always with the knives,” Lila said, sitting down next to Five on the couch.
Lila and Five had been texting late into the night before. Lila had been stressed about the family dinner—worried if the food would be enough, if she’d have time to get everything ready. Five had spent the night trying to calm her down, offering reassurances that no matter what happened, he’d be right there by her side. He even promised her that if it came down to it, he’d wrestle Luther down so he didn’t eat everything before anyone else had a chance. As the night wore on and morning came, their messages slowed, but he couldn’t stop holding onto the phone. He wasn’t ready to let go, even when sleep started to tug at him. When he finally drifted off, his hand was still wrapped around the phone, a small tether to her, even in his sleep.
Diego glanced over at Lila, flashing her a charming smile. “I remember you liking the knives,” he teased. Lila rolled her eyes in response, but Diego leaned in closer, lowering his voice so Claire wouldn’t hear. “I remember you liking them... and the leather. Quite a lot, in fact.”
Five was no Diego, and he knew that for a fact. Diego had this presence, this natural confidence that made him seem... well, capable of anything. Five? He was still trapped in the body of a teenager, his appearance always betraying him. He looked younger, smaller—physically a reminder of a time he couldn’t fully leave behind, no matter how much older he felt on the inside. Mentally, he was decades ahead of his age. He had lived more lives than most people could even fathom. But none of that changed the fact that he still looked like an adolescent, something that had started to gnaw at him.
He couldn’t help but wonder if Lila noticed. If it bothered her. Did she care that he was still so... young? Did she see him as a kid, or was it just something she accepted? Was she embarrassed by it, even a little? The thought lingered in the back of his mind, unspoken but persistent. Five had always assumed his age and appearance weren’t a big deal, but with Lila—always so self-assured, so effortless in everything she did—he wasn’t so sure anymore. He could never be like Diego.
“People change,” she muttered, her voice low, almost like she was speaking to herself as she leaned back on the couch, her knees brushing against Five’s. There was a trace of something in her tone—something Five couldn’t quite place, but it lingered in the air like an unspoken thought. She wasn’t looking at him directly, her gaze focused somewhere else, as if lost in her own thoughts.
Five’s chest tightened, unsure of how to respond. He didn’t want to push, so he stayed silent, the slight contact between his and Lila’s knees making him keenly aware of how much he wanted things to stay like this. But he knew better—nothing ever stayed still with Lila. Meanwhile, Diego hummed as he continued his lesson with Claire, oblivious to the quiet tension between Five and Lila, lost in his own world. It was easier that way—easier not to acknowledge what wasn’t being said.
Later, Klaus and Claire were picked up by Allison, their laughter lingering as they headed out the door. Luther and Diego disappeared into the garage to tinker with something on the van, the clink of tools and muffled voices drifting in the background. Grace, exhausted from the day, was curled up on the couch in the living room, her small frame barely noticeable under the blanket as she slept soundly.
Five and Lila had drifted into the kitchen, the last bottle of wine now sitting between them on the counter—half-empty, almost forgotten in the quiet. They hadn’t planned to be here, not really—it just happened, like everything else between them. Lila poured them each another glass, the delicate sound of glass meeting bottle marking a shift in the stillness. No rush to talk, no need for forced conversation—just the quiet pulse of the evening winding down, the soft light from the lamp flickering shadows over their faces, drawing them deeper into the moment. It was one of those rare silences that held weight, but not the kind that suffocated—it was comfortable, the kind of quiet that only comes from being with someone who understands you without the need for words. They simply existed together, two people who didn’t have to fill the space with anything more than the occasional glance or the subtle rhythm of passing the wine back and forth. Time seemed to stretch, slipping by unnoticed, each moment speaking louder than any words could.
“Diego was good with Claire today,” Five said, his voice calm as he leaned back in his chair. “You could tell he really cared—teaching her how to fight, taking his time. It wasn’t just about the moves; he wanted her to feel strong.”
Lila tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. “He’s always been like that when it comes to family,” she said. “It’s like… the one thing he doesn’t screw up.”
Five raised an eyebrow, his expression sceptical. “You mean except for all the times he screws it up?”
She snorted softly, swirling the wine in her glass. “Fair point. But he does try, doesn’t he? With Claire, the twins, Grace…” Her voice trailed off for a moment before she shrugged. “He cares more than anyone gives him credit for.”
Five glanced at her, catching the shift in her tone. “And you?” he asked, his words careful, deliberate. “Do you give him credit?”
Lila exhaled sharply, setting her glass down on the counter. “We fight like cats and dogs, Five. Always have, always will. He’s a bloody idiot half the time.” She paused, her gaze dropping to the counter, fingers idly tracing the edge of her glass. “But yeah. He’s a good dad. Better than anyone thought he’d be.”
Five nodded slowly, letting her words hang in the air for a moment. “It’s not just about being a dad, though, is it?” he said, his tone softer now. “He’s good at being… family. Even when he’s a pain in the ass.”
Lila chuckled quietly, shaking her head. “Don’t let him hear you say that. His ego’s big enough already.”
They lapsed into silence, the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable but carried an undercurrent of something unsaid.
“You should stay the night,” Lila said suddenly, breaking the quiet.
Five blinked, taken off guard. “What?”
“You should stay,” she repeated, her voice quieter this time, more intent. “It’s late, and you’ve been drinking. You could crash on the couch.”
He frowned slightly, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine. It’s not that far.”
“Don’t be stupid, Five.” Her voice was low, almost teasing, but there was a sharpness beneath it that made him pause. She reached out, her hand brushing his arm, her nails lightly catching on his sleeve. “Stay the night.”
Her other hand drifted to the top button of her shirt, toying with it absently as if she didn’t even notice what she was doing. But the motion wasn’t lost on him. His gaze darted down for a fraction of a second, catching the faint shift of the fabric as her fingers teased the button loose.His chest tightened, his focus snapping back to her face, but the damage was already done. Lila leaned back against the counter, her fingers still playing with the button, the fabric of her shirt parting just enough to reveal a sliver of her collarbone. Her hand on his arm lingered for a beat longer before slipping away, but the ghost of her touch seemed to stay, settling in his mind like a weight he couldn’t shake.
Her eyes caught his, dark and steady, holding him there. It wasn’t the usual banter-filled glance they shared—this was slower, heavier, like she was deliberately letting the moment stretch between them. Her lips curved faintly, not quite a smirk but something close, as if she was daring him to react, to look again. His gaze flicked down despite himself, catching the faint gleam of skin at her throat before he forced himself to look away. His jaw clenched, but it didn’t matter. She saw it. She always saw more than he wanted her to.
“What?” Lila asked, her hand drifted from her shirt, brushing her collarbone lightly before falling back to her side, leaving the button undone.
He swallowed hard, his mind racing for something to say, but there was nothing. Her hand had left his sleeve, but he still felt it. He still felt everything—the weight of her gaze, the heat of the silence between them, the unspoken tension that hung in the air like a challenge.Her head tilted slightly, her hair brushing her shoulder as she leaned a little closer, her expression unreadable.
“Cat got your tongue?” she asked softly, her tone carrying that familiar edge of sarcasm. But her eyes, still locked on his, said something else entirely.
He considered pushing back, throwing out a quip to lighten the moment, but the words wouldn’t come. The air between them crackled with something he couldn’t name, something that made his pulse quicken and his resolve falter. The silence stretched on, thick and loaded, as her gaze held his. She didn’t move closer, didn’t push—but her presence alone was enough to pull him in, enough to make the walls around him feel like they were closing in.
We’re all foolish creatures, Five knew that. Simple, small-minded humans, acting without thought, driven by nothing but our most primal instincts and desires. Desires that rarely made sense. He’d spent most of his life fighting against them—suppressing, controlling, never letting himself feel, never letting himself want. He’d always believed he was above it, beyond the messy chaos of human nature. But he wasn’t. He was just as foolish, just as human, as the rest of them. And in this moment, he was painfully aware of it. No amount of resolve could stop the pull, no logic could override the sharp edge of want that consumed him.
“I… have to leave early tomorrow morning,” he said finally, his voice steady but tight, betraying the battle raging inside him. He forced himself to meet her gaze, locking eyes with her even as his pulse quickened.
A wicked smile crept onto her lips, slow and deliberate, and the heat in her expression sent a shiver through him. She didn’t say a word, didn’t need to—the look in her eyes said everything. And Five, for all his discipline, for all his careful self-control, felt his defences crumble just a little more.
Both he and Luther ended up staying the night, though the sleeping arrangements were anything but equal. Luther was given a room upstairs, settling into Grace’s bed while she curled up between Diego and Lila in their own. Five, on the other hand, was assigned the couch. Lila had insisted on setting it up herself, tossing a blanket over the cushions and fluffing a pillow with a bit more force than necessary. She didn’t say much as she worked, her movements quick and deliberate, but the slight smirk on her face suggested she wasn’t exactly unhappy about his less-than-glamorous accommodations.
“There,” she said, standing back to admire her work, hands on her hips. “Not exactly Hotel Oblivion standard, but it’ll do.”
Five just nodded, his eyes lingering on her a moment longer than necessary before he glanced away. He wasn’t sure why he stayed—he could’ve left, could’ve insisted he didn’t need the couch or the blanket. But something kept him there, rooted to the spot as Lila lingered, her presence filling the room in a way that made it feel both smaller and impossibly vast at the same time.
Later, just as Five was about to fall asleep he heard the soft creak of the stairs, careful and deliberate, like someone was trying not to wake anyone. But he didn’t need to open his eyes—he knew exactly who it was. He’d long since memorised the way she moved.
“Go to sleep, Lila,” he muttered from the sofa, voice thick with exhaustion, barely lifting his head.
Her quiet chuckle reached him as she slipped under the blanket, squeezing herself into the narrow space. The sofa was hardly big enough for one person, let alone the two of them. Without saying a word, they shifted into an oddly familiar routine, lying head to foot. Her feet ended up near his face, and his, near hers.
It wasn’t comfortable—his leg awkwardly shoved against the armrest and her socks almost brushing his cheek—but somehow, it worked. There was a strange sense of normalcy in it, the absurdity of their positions grounding them. They lay like that, backs pressed against the sofa, feet poking where they shouldn’t be, both too stubborn to move but quietly glad for the closeness. In the silence, it was enough.
“Diego snores.” Lila complained.
“And, how is that my problem exactly?”
Domestic life wasn’t something he had ever envisioned for himself. No, nor was this—this constant need for physical contact that Lila had started with him. She always found a way to breach his personal bubble: a brush of her shoulder here, a fleeting touch there.
Now they lay in silence, her warmth seeping into the space beside him. He knew he shouldn’t feel this way. He knew it was stupid, reckless even. He didn’t even know why. But as they lay there, their breathing slowly falling into rhythm, their fingers barely brushing, he wanted more.
There was a heaviness in his chest, like a pressure building from within. He wanted more, though he couldn’t say what “more” was. Couldn’t explain what it meant. This need inside him was disgusting, clawing at him in a way he didn’t understand. All he knew, as he lay next to her, was that he wanted it. Whatever this was. Wanted it more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life.
It was a craving—a gnawing ache for something he’d never had, for something he couldn’t even name. His legs felt unsteady, restless. Wanted to kick, to tear off of his own skin, to scream until his throat burned raw. Anything to release this feeling, this unbearable pushing inside him.
And then he opened his eyes. God, he wished he hadn’t. Her deep brown eyes were locked onto his, unwavering, unrelenting. It was like she could see straight through him, down to the parts he didn’t understand himself. His breath hitched, the air suddenly too thick, too heavy. In that moment, with her gaze pinning him in place, he realised exactly what he wanted—what he’d been too afraid to admit even to himself.
"I love him." Lilas voice was so quiet that for a moment, he wasn’t even sure he’d heard her. The words seemed to hang in the air between them, fragile and uncertain. But then, as if realising the weight of what she’d said, she repeated it—louder this time, firmer.
"I love my husband.”
The rain outside had stopped, leaving the air thick with that damp, lingering stillness that follows a storm. The wind, which had been howling moments before, had stilled to a whisper. The world felt muted, as if everything beyond the walls of the room had fallen asleep, leaving only the two of them in the quiet.
Five didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He didn’t even breathe, afraid that doing so would shatter whatever fragile balance was holding this moment together. Her words were still echoing in his head, sharper than any knife. He stared at her, his mind caught between a thousand thoughts and none at all.
She looked at him with an expression he couldn’t quite place—regret, defiance, guilt, maybe all of it at once. He didn’t know if it was her words, the silence, or the storm finally breaking that made his chest feel so heavy. All he knew was that something inside him cracked, just a little, at the sound of her voice.
"I know." His voice was quieter than he’d ever heard it, so soft that even he didn’t recognise it as his own. The words slipped out before he could stop them, hanging in the air like they didn’t belong to him.
His gaze drifted upwards to the ceiling, where a crack snaked its way through the plaster, haphazardly covered with a thick layer of white paint. It was a bad job, sloppy and uneven. Must have been Diego, Five thought as he studied it. Diego would paint the ceiling—not because he cared, or even because he noticed the crack—but because Diego loved Lila. And Lila would notice it.
Five knew that.
The paint was already starting to chip at the edges, flaking away to reveal the damage beneath. He didn’t dare look at her, not directly. But he felt her. Her shaky breathing, unsteady and uneven, like she was trying to hold herself together. And he felt her tears—silent but persistent, slipping down her cheeks as she tried and failed to stifle them.
Still, he kept his eyes on the ceiling. He couldn’t stop the thought that crept in, unbidden and unrelenting: he would have gotten the right paint. He would have fixed it properly. Made it seamless.
"I… Five… I…" Lila’s voice broke, the words tangling together as she struggled to say them. Now, there was no mistaking the sound of her sobs, low and fractured. Yet Five didn’t move. He didn’t dare. If he did—if he so much as reached for her—he was afraid he’d break apart, too. "I love him.”
The words came out shaky, barely above a whisper, but they hit like a he been hit with lightning. Five’s fingers twitched at his sides, and his chest tightened as if all the air in the room had been stolen. But he didn’t look at her. He just kept stared at the ceiling.
"I know.”
Her breath hitched, and for a moment, the silence between them felt like it could break them both. But then she spoke, her voice trembling as she tried again.
"No, you don’t… I love—”
"I KNOW!" His voice cracked, louder than he intended. The sharpness of it startled them both, and the words seemed to echo in the stillness that followed. He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms, trying to stop the trembling in his hands.
Her lips parted, and her shoulders stiffened like she was bracing for impact. But she didn’t stop. "We are married, Five. We have kids. A house. This is my life.”
"I know." His voice was slightly softer this time, but no less pained. His eyes dropped to the floor, then back to her face, though he didn’t truly meet her gaze.
She shook her head sharply, tears slipping down her cheeks despite her best efforts to keep them at bay. Her words came out louder now, a harsh sound in the quiet room.
"NO, YOU DON’T!”
He flinched but didn’t look away this time. Instead, his jaw tightened, and when he spoke, his words were low and deliberate, cutting through the tension like a blade.
"Are you happy?” Five finally asked.
Lila froze, the question hanging heavy between them. For a moment, her lips moved, as if she wanted to answer, but no words came. Instead, she stared at him, wide-eyed and trembling, the weight of his question pressing down on her like the air had been sucked out of the room.
"Five…" Her voice was barely audible, a whisper of his name.
"No." He shook his head, the smallest movement, his gaze locked on hers again. "Answer the question.”
Her silence was deafening. She looked away, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as she searched for the words she couldn’t find. But the answer was already there, unspoken and undeniable, in the way her hands fidgeted and her lip trembled.
The space between them felt both infinite and impossibly close. Their fingers barely touched, the faintest brush of skin on skin. For a moment, he hesitated, his heart pounding like it might shatter his ribcage. And then, slowly, his pinkie curled around hers. It wasn’t much, just the smallest of touches. Her pinkie tightened against his, trembling as it interlocked with his. And in that quiet, fragile gesture, he had her answer… and that was all he ever wanted.
Happiness was a paradox, Five thought. The more he searched for it, the more it seemed to elude him. He could feel it, experience it, even have it for a fleeting moment, but how could he ever be sure that it was real? How could he know that what he was feeling was actually happiness, and not just some temporary distraction, some brief illusion that masked everything else? Was happiness something he could have, or was it always just beyond his reach?
Five stared at the ceiling, his gaze fixed on the crack that had been there for longer than he cared to remember. But now, his mind was elsewhere. What if happiness, like everything else in life, was just an idea—an unreachable goal, always moving just ahead of him, no matter how fast he ran toward it? How could he even know he was happy?
He thought about it, the way his life had spiralled into something that felt... good, at times. But was it real? Was he truly happy? Or was he just pretending, convincing himself that this fleeting comfort, this soft warmth in his chest, was enough to make him believe in it? Happiness was supposed to be simple, right? He knew rationally speaking that he were supposed to know when he were happy. But Five didn’t.
He thought of Lila again—her quiet presence beside him, the way she made him feel like he could breathe a little easier. And yet, even in her warmth, there was a gnawing uncertainty.
The way her fingers still curled around his, soft and warm—was that happiness? Or was it just a momentary connection, a fleeting comfort that would disappear the moment he allowed himself to really believe in it? Happiness should have been easy, but it felt like a trick, like something that would always slip away just when he thought he had it. Maybe happiness wasn’t real. Maybe it was like chasing a shadow—something that looked real but always turned out to be just out of reach.
”Go to sleep, Five.” Lila muttered in her sleep.
If this was happiness, he wasn’t sure. It was something… and he craved that something. He craved it bad.
When Five woke up the next morning, Lila was gone. The couch was cold and empty, his fingers brushing against nothing but the blanket she’d left behind. She must have slipped out early—he hadn’t even noticed. He told himself it didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. But as the sound of kids laughing drifted down from upstairs, blending with the everyday noise of family life, a heavy sickness settled in his stomach.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his breath uneven as he fought it down. Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.The phrase crept into his mind, though he couldn’t remember where he’d read it. The pit in his stomach deepened, filled with the shame of wanting—of letting himself believe, for one fragile moment, that he could hold on to something. His hand flexed at the faint memory of holding hers, the ghost of it still clinging to him.
When Lila went to say good morning to Five, holding two mugs—one black for him, one overly sugary for her—she stopped when she saw the empty couch. He was gone. No goodbye, not to her, not to Diego. Just… gone. She stood there for a moment, the warmth of the mugs burning her hands, before rushing to the sink. Without a word, she poured both coffees down the drain. Diego’s voice droned on in the background, but she didn’t hear him. Blinking away stubborn tears, she clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms.
Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.