Sano Dyrovaske [fin]

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Name: Anni
Age: Sixteen
Roleplaying Experience: Five, give or take a couple of months
How you found the site: Can’t remember.. Third character

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Name: Sano Kemosiri Dyrovaske
Gender: Male
Age: 30
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Yellow
Skin Tone: Tanned
Height: 5’8’’
Weight: 183 lbs
Wealth: Extremely rich
Sexual Orientation: Bisexual, leans towards men for attachments.
Why they are in La Campana: His brother kept on nagging him about earning his money instead of just using his inheritance. After years of boredom, he graduated college with a major in Art and double-minor in Education and History. He took the position of Art teacher at La Campana months after.[/size]

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Likes:

Dislikes:

Turn Ons:

Turn Offs:

Nervous Habits:

Fears:

Goals/Aspirations:

Appearance: Sano is not particularly feminine, nor masculine. He has a sharp face, a pointed chin and long nose. His lips are thin and always smooth, generally curved into a feral smirk, barring sharp and even teeth, gently stained with alcohol and coffee. His skin is tanned, lesser so as the years have gone by, the bright Egyptian sun no longer as ruthless and condemning. His ears are rounded, not particularly large, not small. Four piercings line the edge of his right, one at the top, two at the middle, then one at the lobe. On his left, two piercings, both on the middle, loops around the edge, silver in color. He has a piercing on his tongue, a simple silver ball that he enjoys fiddling with whilst bored or nervous. Of course, it also attracts the strangest of bed-warmers, some he positively regrets bedding, but that aside, he rather likes it. He has one more piercing (at least on his face), just on his lower lip—something else he enjoys playing with, as much as others do, if not a little more. He had wished to get another piercing on his face, but Yavin had forbade him, telling quite clearly that he looked unprofessional enough and he shouldn’t push it.

His neck is thin, but sharp, more like a gaunt teenager’s rather than a woman’s. His collarbones are sharp and protrude from his chest. His shoulders are thin, but strong, and constantly strained with tenseness. He is in constant need of a serious massage. His shoulder-blades are sharp and nearly always show, if only slightly. His spine is sharp and curved. He hunches over by habit, his shoulders always with a little rise, hands in pockets. His arms are strong and toned, though not at all bulky with muscle. His wrists are sharp, his hands long and strong, thin fingers. He is a lithe man, his stomach hard from fights, his ribs showing from a habitual skipping of meals, particularly breakfast. His hips are sharp, bony, slightly wider than his stomach, curves to them at his sides. His navel is pierced, an Egyptian-type dangle from the hole most often, or a simple stud if changed. His legs are thin, strong, his knees smooth. His ankles are just as sharp as his wrists, his feet moderately small.

His hair is curled, kept moderately long, though not as long as he used to keep it. Often times, it is the main reason he could be mistake for a woman. The texture is very soft by nature, curls easy to wind around your finger and tug. It is often unruly, mused in a complete disaster with a sense of poise to it. He prefers it wild, however, and does very little to situate it. It isn’t too dark in coloring—much like a faded black, when it is dry, though it turns very dark, and rather shiny of course, whilst wet, or even damp. His eyes are a bright yellow in color and they show as much emotion as he wishes them to. They are an androgynous sort, neither feminine nor masculine, though they always tend to droop in slight weariness, soft bags under. His lashes are thick, but not long—dark in color. His eyebrows are thin, manicured almost, the same color as his hair.

His sense of style may be a bit strange for the era he lives in. Victorian, one might describe. He has an affinity for cuff-links, tailed coats, top hats, and canes. He always has a white shirt, and dark everything else. It is not uncommon for him to carry around a black leather bag with him with art supplies, a book or two, and his gun. Yes, a gun. He carries it around with him constantly, though not always in open view. Well, seldom in open view. In his coat pockets, his trouser pockets, or in a clip around his waist, it doesn’t much matter where, as long as has it. He might be a bit flashy, but he doesn’t really care. It fits his social class, which he is rather proud of, really, so he sees no issue with showing off. He is constantly clean, but he isn’t afraid of getting his clothes dirty if he has to fight anyone. Generally, however, he takes off his jacket and top hat, as those tend to be harder to find.

Personality: Sano enjoys being as confusing as he possibly can be, which is something his students should extremely fear. He’ll go on rants or lectures about absolutely nothing then have a quiz to see if they were paying attention. He enjoys being paid attention to as much as he enjoys standing in the background. Good attention—sex, kisses, amusing conversations—he enjoys those, but the annoyance he finds in children, he prefers to ignore, pretend he doesn’t hear the callous questions, the annoying sense of innocence they have, though he does enjoy taking it away. He doesn’t think himself a pedophile. Of course not. He waits until children are of age before attempting anything with them, though it may or may not be exactly consensual and alcohol may or may be used on more than a few occasions. Sure, he enjoys the fight, the chase they earn, but at times, he simply wishes to enjoy the bliss of sex without the struggle, without the use of words and touches to get his prey to settle down and calm. Still, the less they remember, the better, and he isn’t opposed to using blackmail to ensure that they keep their mouths shut.

He was never a sweet boy. He was the bright boy, the polite one, but never the sweet one. He is blunt with people, but often dishonest, if only to be cruel to them. He enjoys watching others’ reactions, particularly to insults or bad news. It interests him in a possibly sadistic way, though he doesn’t much care. He prefers to keep an apathetic disposition—not because he’s scared of letting others in. He can do that fairly easily if someone catches his attention that much, but rather because he enjoys the effects of apathy on others. If he feels the need, or if he simply wishes to, he’ll show emotion. He’ll crack a grin and laugh, though sometimes not at the best moments, to others. He has a tendency to find things amusing that others may not—pain, heartfelt situations, anger. Oh, he enjoys those, though they bring more pain than people think. He refuses to let others see him in a depressed mood. He tends to lose control, which is something he despises more than most things, what he fears more than most. When in these moods, he tends to be more prone to hurting at someone’s insults than before. He becomes tired, irritable, and self-loathing, if not loathing in general. It isn’t uncommon for him to drink away his problems, as he has a personal affinity for alcohol, or just to get high, using mild drugs.

He puts off a very egotistical air, though generally merely about things he knows he can back up. He isn’t about to boast about being good at break dancing, because he knows he simply can’t do it—classical, yes. His adoptive mother had made absolute sure of that, and he isn't half bad at belly-dancing, which he blames on listening to too much Turkish music and the ability to shake his hips like a stripper. However, he can boast over cooking, over sketching and painting, over piano and harp. He can boast over things he knows he’s good at, and that comforts him. He lies constantly, yes, of course, and he will still be a little prideful over abilities he has not or those that are a bit shabby, but he will not bring them up directly, nor will he be loud with his words. Still, he is never particularly loud. No, Sano prefers whispers to yells, and he will often drop his tone whilst angry rather than explode and scream. He has a habit of simply staring rather than speaking, willing someone to understand what he wants with his eyes and body-language rather than his speech. He despises loud noises, those in crowds or clubs and such, however, when faced with a scream of pleasure, he can’t help but shiver in delight. Situational, perhaps, but he claims he really can’t help it. Really. Honest to God.

He lies a lot, and sometimes over the most pointless of things. If one asks if he has siblings, he will most likely answer ‘no’. If asked his favorite color, he’ll most likely answer ‘red’ instead of ‘blue’. He doesn’t have an issue with lying, he simply enjoys it. He enjoys being difficult, lying even when he knows the other knows the truth. However, in the situation of his brother, he is most likely lying to protect him, saying he doesn’t have a brother in the first place so that no one will find that the boy is one if his deepest weaknesses. Anything Yavin wants, he’ll get him. He’ll argue with him, insult him, bring up painful memories and harsh truths—he won’t speak to him for months, but he will always protect him, always adore him, and always take care of him. Caring? Maybe. He doesn’t like to think so. He’s possessive, extremely so, and Yavin is his brother—his to protect, his to care for, his to love, in every way possible, even the most forbidden.

If he wants something, Sano will get it. Ambitious, yes, but one might not see this as such. He is ruthless, he is cruel, and emotional attachments are merely slight roadblocks. He hates being distracted from his goal, even if said goal seems simple. One may find him lazy, easily pleased or that his goals remain low, which is often true. He never aims for much, unless his brother asks him for it, in which he would do anything to accomplish it. He’s a hard-worker by nature, but he generally only works hard if he has a goal. Otherwise, he can be quite the lazy little bastard, making others do his work if he wishes, or simply putting it off to a different time. He never was one for social ladders and is quite content at the bottom of the food chain, as long as people don’t actually believe he’s incapable. He’s quite capable. Just… lazy, see. He’s intelligent, he’s ambitious, but he seldom cares to show it off, unless he’s making a point, or unless it has to do with his brother in some way or another.

Sano is very polite. If he is cruel, he is cruel with class, and he is not one to lose his temper and snap curses. He prefers to insult someone with poise fact than snapped lies. In his opinion, insults are meant to hurt, not to be laughed at. He can be the perfect gentleman whilst making you cry, and he enjoys such a thing. He learned manners very quickly and he uses them well. Some may call him a bit prissy or feminine, but really, he simply does not enjoy wiping his mouth off with his sleeve nor belching at the table(or anywhere else for that matter). He can charm his way into getting something, though he mostly only uses the talent for bosses and those he wishes to lay down with, in the most non-innocent way possible, you realize. He can compliment others, and he does so, merely not often. Not because he thinks they’re in any way unworthy—simply because he’s either lazy or doesn’t give a damn enough to bother.

He can be a very violent person. Yavin blames their father, though, of course, Sano believes he doesn’t have an issue with it. If in the mood, he has no problem torturing someone to get something—information, etc. He isn’t afraid to murder for protection, or beat someone to a bloody pulp. Of course, these moods seldom occur unless triggered, mostly by some problem with his brother. After all, the boy hadn’t been the most popular thing in school, especially since after the party incident, he stopped caring about fitting in. Sano would often find himself physically defending him, and verbally just the same. The easiest way to get him riled up is to insult the boy. The easiest way to get yourself placed in the hospital is to strike him, even if it was unintentional, and especially if it was forceful. He would not, however, outright kill someone unless Yavin directly asked for him to, which, since the boy is a bit of a pacifist, would never happen. He prefers to shoot someone in the thigh than in the head, after all, then call 911. After all, Yavin would never forgive him if he killed someone, or at least let them die, in his name.

To people he trusts, people he knows, Sano can be rather playful, as long as it’s behind closed doors. He isn’t against acting like a complete child, playing games of Hide and Seek or the like. He can wrestle and giggle like a frigging girl. However, he takes his playfulness very seriously, very secretively, as he doubts anyone would take him seriously if they knew half of the things he said and did whilst in those moods, behind those doors. Seldom would he even consider showing the side to public eyes. Whilst affection, humor, and really anything else, he doesn’t really care whether he shows or not, playfulness he attributes to children, which he does not like. He likes even less to be associated with them, and, thus, playfulness is a hidden subject. Love is a strange topic to him. He loves his brother, his loved Yakira, and though he would like to think that he was not easily infatuated, if one catches his attention, he can’t really help his heart on his sleeve. At times, he puts too much faith into those few that catch his attention, and not enough in those that earn it later. He doesn’t tend to have as much faith in either, however, anymore: not after his parents, not after his aunt, and certainly not after Yakira.[/font]

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Father: Mosegi Khai - Deceased
Mother: Irisi Khai - unknown
Sibling/s: (half) Yavin Dyrovaske - 27
Other important relatives:

Pets:

History: Sano was born to a middle-class family in the city of Damietta, Egypt. His father was a businessman, native to Egypt, and he had always taken his job very seriously. He would leave for weeks for business trips in China, America, and Switzerland, mostly, which, though it brought more than enough food to the table, caused unrest with both mother and child. Irisi was constantly worrying over him, which often caused her temper to be short with Sano. Often, she would prefer leaving him in his bed whilst sitting, waiting at the window, no matter how loud he wailed. He became a child more keen to reading books in the household library than associating with much of anyone. Yavin was born a few weeks before Sano’s third birthday. He looked different than Sano—the same dark hair and light eyes, but his skin was far paler, his face rounder. Irisi and Mosegi both had very sharp features, and very tanned skin. Mosegi had missed the birth, away on a business trip as always. He had chosen the name via letter, and Irisi had honored his wish, but when he returned to examine the boy, he couldn’t have been more furious.

Mosegi had always had a temper. He and his wife would ‘discuss’ for hours, but never had he struck her. This was different. He lost control. Things were thrown, blood was lost, and rants about loyalty flared and snarled. Irisi snapped at Sano to take his brother from the room, and so he did, though he remained with his ear pressed against the door, simply listening until it died off and faded. Whimpers and sobs, but no more words, no more breaking glass. No one called the police. The incident went unnoticed, uncared for, but Sano never looked at his father in the same light, nor his mother. He kept to himself or his brother. The discussion never came whether to give Yavin to an orphanage. The adults were far too concerned about their images to hint, God forbid, that Irisi had had an affair. No, they kept Yavin, claiming his appearance was from Irisi’s mother’s side of the family, that it had simply jumped a couple of generations… The story was flimsy, yes, but it worked. The beatings continued for years, but were limited to Irisi. Sano kept Yavin out of it for the most part, offering to help him with coloring or play with him, turn the music loud so that he couldn’t hear. Yavin never saw his father in such rages. When Yavin was in first grade, Sano in fourth, the boys came home to find an empty home. Rather, Irisi was missing. Her things were moved, but the home was unaltered in every other way. Mosegi began drinking. Irisi had left him, gone off to escape with her lover to America, soon to send divorce papers by mail.

Weeks passed, the papers went unsigned, and Mosegi slipped further and further into his own alcohol-induced depression. His spits of anger, however, had gone rather solemn, pausing momentarily. Yavin and Sano were walking on egg-shells around him, but the moment Yavin slipped and broke a piece of Irisi’s china, all hell broke loose. Mosegi lost any control he had. He backhanded the boy against the wall, knocking him out momentarily. He advanced to further the damage before Sano slammed a plate against his head. It didn’t break, merely cracked, and Mosegi now had his attention on him. The game was cat and mouse, bloody and breaking, and they hadn’t moved far from Yavin. The boy woke in time to witness Sano drawing the gun from the bookshelf and shooting Mosegi in the forehead, twice for good measure. Yavin didn’t understand the situation, but he understood enough to know that his father was dead, and Sano was the cause of it. He understood enough to hold a grudge. The police came within moments, called for the screaming, the gunshots. From there, the boys were sent to live with their aunt in Oregon. The woman was very religious, but nice—a former nun, until she fell in love with an American and followed him here. The relationship hadn’t worked—he was Agnostic—but she remained from the nunnery and in the States.

Years passed without much worry or hardship, before the incident. Sano was thirteen, Yavin ten, and the elder had been invited to a party with the cooler group in school. Normally, he wouldn’t have cared, but Yavin, ever the one trying to fit in, was more than excited, and so Sano took him along. Bilhah comforted in the fact that they had told her adults were present, so she hadn’t thought about it. Yavin took a fancy to the punch present, something Sano hadn’t worried over before the boy started acting a little strangely. He was dancing—he never danced. Sano simply continued to watch him until the night waned and Yavin was far passed tipsy. The two started into far more than they should. When Bilhah arrived to pick them up, she stepped in to find Sano straddling him, lips caught and tongues tangled, sweat on his brow and his shirt on the floor. If the other children hadn’t left with the woman’s arrival, they surely bolted when she started screaming about incest and homosexuals and disgust and family and… well, anything that came to mind, anyway. In Sano’s fair opinion, even at the time of it all, the woman should have seen it coming. The boy had been far too protective over his brother to be normal. Any crush he mentioned made his temper flair and they would fight until the crush passed. Within a week, the boys were packed and sent off to an orphanage. They remained at the house for a year until they were adopted by a much, much older couple, millionaires without the ability to have their own children. They wished for someone to pass everything to after they died, so babies were not their forte.

Sano graduated a pretentious boarding school with honors. He continued to live at home, working with Aliah at his company, or helping Yavin out with what he needed, if the boy allowed him and sometimes even if he didn’t. Sano had the knack of pushing himself into his brother’s life for the simple fact that Yavin would not allow him to if he simply asked. Yavin had always been one to hold a grudge—over the death of his father, the incident at the party, even for, apparently, turning into a homosexual. Sano had already been aware that he himself was bi-sexual, but the Dyrovaske couple was nothing if not accepting of anything and anyone, though this brought little comfort to Yavin. The boy remained in the closet, especially at school, and fought with his brother as if he were the devil himself. Sano protected him regardless, though indirectly as possible as to not anger him. Yavin went straight to college after he graduated, majoring in Astronomy, his sights always toward the skies, a minor in Philosophy. He was a part-time writer, whilst working as a bookkeeper and substitute teacher.

Yavin finally came out of the closet a few months before his nineteenth birthday. Not only that, but he had a boyfriend. A familiar flare of jealousy came to Sano as he met that man. Ruquezaokuu Cucurinus Pictor. Foreign, obviously, and he had a habit of going without a shirt. The man was attractive, of course, but he was also Yavin’s. Not the woman in the coffee shop’s, not the man in the bookstore’s. He was his brother’s, and he was far too promiscuous for Sano’s liking. Yavin was happy, though. Very happy. Daniah was ecstatic; Aliah was… content. He shared Sano’s wariness of the boy. The relationship lasted a few solid months. Yavin lost his virginity—Pictor spouted off claims of love, and all the while, Sano was shifted to second best in his brother’s scheme. And he hated it.. Then it happened. The fight. It seemed, from what Sano could gather from Ru’s broken sobs, that either he found Pictor with another (finally), or the man was in love with someone else. It didn’t matter either way to Sano—he grabbed a gun and he was off. Two shots—one hit the man’s thigh, the other missed his target entirely(the man’s crotch), but he didn’t give a damn. He wanted Pictor in pain. Yavin stopped everything, of course. He always did. Every foul teenager that he’d attacked for insulting the boy, the ones in the hospital—the only reason they weren’t fucking dead was because of Yavin. Their mouths were glued shut; incidents were forgotten but remembered. Fell down the stairs, batting accident, ran into a car—reasons were spouted, believed, written. Pictor got away—Sano didn’t care. He was consoled in weak arms, in his brother’s bed. He was told of stars and moons, and he was comforted, then, by Yavin, and not the other way around.

September after Sano’s twenty-fourth birthday, Daniah died from a ten-year-long battle with cancer. January, Aliah passed on with her. Not of cancer, simply from old age, the doctor’s said. Once more, Sano and Yavin were left alone, consoled by each other, in arms, in heat—each night. Each day held arguments, but there was always the comfort, always the assurance that the one at fault would always find his way into the other’s bed, sometimes to sleep, sometimes to talk, sometimes to commit a path less accepted, known by none but the ones who had died. Two months passed before Yavin began to nag at him to get a job. Sano had quit his own, from Aliah’s company, after the deaths, and had not had the heart nor the reason to find another. All Spring, all Summer, Yavin pressured him, and so Sano made a deal: he would get a job, only after he had gone to college. A simple deal—Yavin didn’t care, after all, if he went to college for the job or not, he just wanted him to “earn his damn keep and stop moping.” The month before he left was filled with passion, last testaments until he was gone for months, until Christmas. Yavin had a new boyfriend, sure, but the heat the brothers shared was a sacred touch—it could not be replaced nor forgotten, hated nor loved. It was not something a boyfriend could produce, no matter how much the boy claimed to love the man. Sano would always be first.

He went to college, seeking what seemed, to him, to be the easiest subject—Art. He focused, particularly, on the history of it all, but he had a certain talent for sketching and painting, which he used to his advantage. He had always been talented in art, all during high school, but he had felt no need to make it into some sort of career until now. His teacher was native to Cairo—his hair was stark white and eyes a poised blue. He was pale, obviously adopted into his Egyptian family and not born of Middle Eastern parents. Yakira Anum, that was his name, and he ensnared Sano’s attention immediately. There was no doubt that Sano worked hard, and he earned his grades, but as soon as the relationship sparked against the desks, late one Autumn evening, everything was secondary. He lost focus and his grades suffered, if only a little. Eventually, though, Yakira’s interest dwindled, and Sano soon found more violence than emotion. He comforted in his studies—Yavin hadn’t an ear to spare him. Yakira disappeared in the beginning of the second semester, replaced with an old woman with a Catholic crucifix around her neck and a stern jaw. Sano’s grades shot up, of course, but he started his own personal search for the man throughout his first three years of school before he finally gave in. He started again in his own promiscuous habits, nevermind Yavin’s possibly jealous rants about responsibility, nor the occasional moments together, ensnared in heat and bliss. Sano took his first job months after graduation at La Campana, whether to get away from Yavin or make him happy was up to be decided. Whatever contempt Yavin may have held, he hid it well behind his books and philosophies, his stars and moons, his final kiss at the gate, and his screaming, one-sided argument at the estate.
Roleplaying Sample:
“I can’t believe you’re leaving me…”

“You were the one who told me to get a job, akhoya.”

“I know, but I didn’t mean so far away. Spain, Sano! Spain!”

“I’ll send word, Yavin.”

“I don’t want you to send word; I want you to stay here!”

His cup slammed against the dining table; Sano’s eyes closed. He didn’t want Yavin to be upset. Of course he didn’t, but it was his job, and Yavin had never specified that he had wanted to be close to him. Perhaps it had been an unwise move on Sano’s part, but he had needed a job, and that was the first thing he had found. And they had hired him! He hadn’t expected Yavin to be happy, but perhaps, at least, content with it. Lest, not angry. The dining hall was large and round, mirrors and pictures on the left wall, windows on the right, a fireplace in the far right of the room, beside the kitchen. The table was long with an oak furnish, multiple chairs lining each side. Beautiful white china was settled on the far right of the room, two chairs at the sides occupied. Bowls of tomato soup, a childish pleasure on both ends of the brothers, were empty, the spoons beside, water glasses sweating and filled, ice slowly melting in the heat of the chandeliers. Yavin’s head was down, waving hair tied at the base of neck with a Victorian ribbon, satin. His shoulders were trembling in rage, his knees were parted, his hands clenching the seat of his chair, shoulders hunched.

Sano wasn’t sure what to say to him to make it any better. He knew the boy would not appreciate a physical touch, nor an offer of presents. He was not a child anymore, he realized that. He was his brother, his part-time lover, and his enemy. They were constantly fighting, even physically—always hurtfully. Yavin could hurt Sano more than the other way around. Sano didn’t like to hurt him, and so he tried to refrain, but at times, fights got out of hand, and he lashed out. He would have the boy sobbing at his feet, and he would comfort him, even if Yavin would push him away and run, go outside for a jog, go to the local bar or his work, just to get away. When the moon crept above the tree lines, when the dinner plates were washed and stacked into keeping, however, he always found his way back to him. There were never apologies. The bitter realization every night was that Yavin still very much blamed him for many things. But in the night, grudges were forgotten to feel a sense of security, to feel a passion, to feel each other. Sex was an angry vendetta at times, often replacing gentleness with pain, egotistical stokes for biting insults to rile, to excite.

His gloved hands were clasped, his elbows settled on the table. His chin leaned on the joined fingers, dipping under the weight, head tilted to the side just a little bit. Yavin still trembled. He was snapping at him, but the words fell on deaf ears. Often, when the boy went into rants, Sano found it easier to ignore him than to feel the pain on the honesty. That damn honesty. It only hurt from him—he was the only one who knew. He knew of the shootings, he knew of the violence, he knew of the drinking, the drugs, he even knew of Yakira, though the subject was a touchy one. Sano still loved him very much, even if he knew the man did not return the sentiment. It was different, see, from Yavin and Ethan. Yakira, Sano—they were not dreamers with their sighs on the stars. A seldom shooting star did not keep a hungry sky, and clouds soon covered the light until, finally, there was nothing left, and one had no choice but to go and search another sky for the spark of a shower. The Virgo could not keep the Aries, the Scorpio could not stand the Leo. Showers fade into falls, craters into ripples, and eventually the sky calms once more. A flash of light, a hungry moon, and the gasp of breath against the cloud—the ecstasy of stars and moons dwindles to a clear plate, stars or no. Yakira hadn’t any stars—Sano had a moon, and such space could not combine into one any longer. Yavin’s sky always matched his lover’s, and stars would expand to galaxies, until the moon was unneeded, and the light of day won over the bliss of night, of turning sheets and tree-line promises.

“If you get lonely, Yavin,” he spoke softly, most likely interrupting, but he wasn’t sure. As he had said, he had learned to ignore people very well, particularly his brother. After all, that was what normal brothers did, was it not? Perhaps. He was never one for being normal, anyway. Neither Dyrovaske brother was. “You can invite Ethan to stay with you.” What a defeated tone! No, Sano was still very jealous of the man, but his brother was not a child anymore, and he doubted that he would be so ignorant as to make the same mistakes with this lover as he had done with Pictor. Sano trusted Yavin more than that, he had too much faith in him, maybe, but faith nonetheless. Yavin knew how much it hurt, as did Sano, but the man would not be there to protect him if Ethan twisted, to comfort him if Ethan left. Yavin would be, practically, on his own, for the first time ever. Even when he had gone to college, he hadn’t gone to a dorm, optioning instead to stay at home and take the long bike-ride back and forth. Yavin had never been completely alone, and as much as Sano feared for him, he knew that it was better if he did. The boy needed to grow up some more, and having a lack of his older brother protecting him would, hopefully, gain that, even if Sano knew that it would bring with it much bitterness. There would be far more arguments than what had occurred in the last few days, ever since Sano had told him. He had not ‘let it slip’, no, he had outright told him. After all, he couldn’t have very well just packed up and left him in the night, could he? Of course not! It would have ended up far worse than it was now, and he had told Yavin as such. Of course, in the boy’s very loud opinion, Sano could have just picked a job closer to home—at least close enough so that he could visit on weekends.

“I’m not going to get lonely!”

Ah, denial. Yavin was superb at such a thing. Both of the men knew that this was a lie, the slight flush on the younger’s cheeks told as much, the way he scowled, his hands clenched painfully against the wood of his chair. Oh, he was so obvious it could hurt, and Sano spared him a small smile. “Not lonely, then.” He offered gently, voice a gentle, deep as it always was, but mocking, light air creating claws against a board for the poor younger brother in front of him. Yavin scowled, snarled, and in a moment, he had pushed from his chair, slammed his right hand against the table (creating quite the ruckus with the china, mind) while his left snatched Sano’s collar and yanked forward. Closer the man came, halfway to him, and a smile graced thin lips. Yavin positively hissed. “Do not ever mock me. I will not be lonely without you, Sano, nor am I unable to take care of myself—“

“—I never said—“

“—You implied!”

Well, yes, that was probably true. Sano pursed his lips a little, forcing his smile away. He shouldn’t be amused. Yavin was stronger than he used to be, of course. He could punch like a bitch, but the fact remained that, if he wished, Sano could turn the tables easily—a flick of the boys wrist, a snatch of his shirt, a crash of china. He could, but he didn’t. He let the boy win this. Yavin needed this, and so he let him have the victory, however small it was. “I apologize.” Obviously, it wasn’t what the boy wanted to hear, really, but it did the job. He let go, and plopped back into his chair with a heavy sigh. “I still don’t understand why you chose to teach, Sano; you hate children.” Ah, good point. Sano hummed softly, straightening his shirt out, brushing off the invisible dirt. Why, yes, he did enjoy being clean, thank you. He wasn’t afraid of the dirt, he simply did not prefer it. “I do, but… call it a sadistic goal, making their lives hell.” He smiled at his brother, feral as the boy’s face fell to confusion. “My professor always did say I had a mind like a college-teacher. Those poor kids won’t know what hit them… books, homework, portfolios—oh, Yavin, it will be wonderful to hear their groans!”

A pause.

“Sick bastard.”

A smile.

“Maybe.”

A kiss.