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akillysheel · 2 years

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❝ It was work. ❞ ( 5/75 )

Summary: Kip has never kept a secret from her brother before. Characters: Kip, Basil, Jagger (mentioned). Prompt: ❝ It was work. ❞ Warnings: Brief references to drugs, brief mentions of violence.

“Kip, I’ve told you a billion times! Stop leaving your boots in front of the door!”

“Sorryyy…”

The clock reads six thirty-two as Basil puts down his keys and shuffles into their tiny kitchen space. Kip is cooking… if one can call putting ramen on the hob cooking. It bubbles and spits as if it’s a meal worth its salt though, giving her all the trouble that actual food would if she could afford to buy it. The full culinary experience - just without the end result.

“How was work?” she asks sheepishly, already knowing what he’s going to say.

“It was… work.”

Yep.

“You’ve really gotta quit that place, Bas. It’s sapping you dry.”

He arches his eyebrows slightly, and she knows what he wants to say but won’t. Someone has to pay the bills, Kip. He’s said it once before, and it escalated into a fight that could’ve been avoided had she just allowed herself to admit that he was right. She doesn’t have much pride to begin with, but what little bravado she has seeps right into her dream. Chasing music may not have brought much success to them yet, but she can feel in her soul that it will one day.

Still, it doesn’t make them any less poor in the present.

“One day,” he says with a feeble smile, and that marks the end of that. “What’s cooking?”

Kip bites back the urge to reply that it’s the same thing as usual, instead settling on a sunny: “I’ve seasoned it with vegetables this time! Why don’t you go sit down?”

Everything’s as it usually is, and yet she feels burdened in a way she hasn’t before. As she plates up their noodles, her mind drifts to the mess she’s found herself in. She’s never kept a secret from Basil before; she’s told him about everything, even embarrassing things like crushes and dreams. This feels like a completely different beast, though. Is there a good way to break the news that she’s serving a criminal? And not just any criminal– a kingpin, a leader of Leylan’s drug cartel, a dangerous man that had no qualms about threatening her in a dirty back alley in broad daylight. Just thinking about the way her arm had bent has a cold spike of fear lodging itself neatly between the discs in her spine. It stays there, borderline loyal, as she carries their bowls into the living room.

I have to tell him. It’s killing me to keep something from him.

Basil is more laying than he is sitting, aching feet propped atop a ratty old pillow that they’ve had for the better half of forty years, but it doesn’t stop him from accepting the offered bowl. He dips his fork in, swirling it rhythmically in counts of four, before spooning what he’s collected into his mouth. Like most things he does, there’s a distinct sense of order to it. It contrasts wholly to his sister, who shovels whatever she can get on those weathered prongs into her impatient little mouth.

But today she’s not shovelling.

She’s swirling.

Nudging.

Basil frowns, circles halting. “Hey. What’s up?”

This is her window. This is the part where she drops all pretences and confesses to her brother that she’s found herself in deep shit. He’ll be disappointed for sure. He’ll berate her for her kleptomania. He might even abandon what’s left of his meal in favour of sulking in his room. But at least he’ll know the truth.

“Well, I…”

… but she knows Basil. She knows how protective he is of her; how much pressure he puts on himself to look after her; how hard he strives to be the ‘big brother’ (even though he's only older than her by four lousy minutes). Knowing this will only make him unravel. It’ll kick his anxiety into overdrive. It might even make him pick fights he can’t win. Images of him bent and broken flash in her mind like memories, each more contorted and messy than the last. It chases what’s left of her appetite right out of the door, fingers trembling as she holds her fork tight.

“Um…”

He looks concerned now, sitting up properly and giving her that nervous look that she knows all too well– the one where he tries to look stern, but instead looks like a disgruntled deer in the headlights. It makes her heart clench whenever she sees it; she wishes he didn’t fret so much in general, but especially not about her. She wishes his medication was stronger.

Tell him.

Tell him now.

“... I didn’t get it.”

Basil blinks owlishly, his confusion palpable. “Uh…?”

“The gig I tried to secure last week,” she elaborates weakly, feeling both relieved and crushed all at once. It hurts like hell to lie to him, but she doesn’t want to expose him to someone like Jagger. It feels too dangerous. The less people she can pull into her unfortunate little side hustle, the better. “They turned me down.”

For a moment, the room is painfully quiet, and Kip feels as if her fork is about to snap. Then, Basil gives her a sympathetic smile that all but saws her in two.

“Idiot! Don’t worry me like that!” He blows out a breath as if it’s been burning his lungs, staggered and slow. “Well, there’ll be other gigs, right? I’m sorry it didn’t work out, but it’s only a matter of time before someone else takes you on.”

Feebly, Kip nods, staring into her soggy noodles with a grievous crease in her brow. “Y-Yeah, I guess.” She forces herself to smile, because she knows that if she doesn’t then Basil will grow suspicious. They know each other like the back of their hands. Though Kip has become a solid liar, Basil knows her quirks. Before he can regard her too closely, she directs the attention from the conversation and to his bowl. “Does it taste okay?”

Successfully distracted, Basil’s green gaze flits to his ramen, then back to his sister’s face, his smile tight, grim. “It’s… ramen,” he says through his teeth, and they both share a sad chuckle. If they don’t laugh about their empty pockets, they’ll surely cry instead. “Like, you tried, and I appreciate it, but…”

“Yeah yeah, I get it. I suck,” she retorts with a dramatised sigh, rising from her seat and heading to the kitchen. She feels bad for not even touching her meal, but she knows that if she forces herself to eat it it’ll be coming back up soon. Her stomach feels all sorts of topsy-turvy, palms clammy and shaky. “Y’know, I… I’ll eat later.”

“You didn’t even touch it,” Basil replies, staring at her from over the top of the couch with a furrowed brow.

“I know, I guess… I’m just really bummed about the gig.” Her mouth tastes like ash now, her lies sitting like stones on her tongue. After pouring her noodles back into the pan and closing the lid, Kip shuffles meekly out of the kitchen and towards her bedroom door. It’s at times like these where she resents the fact that their house is small and single-story; a set of stairs would make for an easy getaway right now. “I’m gonna sleep it off, okay? Don’t wait up for me.”

“Hey, Kip?”

She pauses at her door, looking at him over his shoulder. The apprehension on his face only twists the knife. “Yeah?”

“... you’re okay, right? You know you can talk to me about anything.” He’s seen his sister recover much faster from far worse. One year, she got a grand total of two gigs - and one of them was absolutely out of pity. She’s like an elastic band in that she always snaps back, even if she’s stretched thin. To see her so depressed about one refusal… it stirs doubt in him. Something’s not quite right.

“I know!” she assures him, waving her hands frantically. “Really, I’m fine…! I just– feel a little useless right now.”

He holds her gaze a moment longer before letting it drop. Even if there is something more at play here, she’s made it clear that she doesn’t want to talk about it yet– or that she can’t. Basil may be riddled with anxiety, but he knows enough about patience’s benefits to extend it to her. To try and force her to come clean about all she’s feeling now will only result in her pulling further away from him.

“... okay,” he says, giving her a half-smile. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Yeah. Goodnight, Bas,” she answers, before opening her door and walking into her room. Its soft click as it shuts again makes him feel more alone than it ought to. He slowly sinks back into his seat, his bowl now feeling frightfully lukewarm as he nudges what’s left of his meal around it half-heartedly.

The gears in his head are already turning. No matter how much he tries to slow them down, the worry seeps inside and stains his efforts grey. Poison. That’s what’s in me.

With a heavy sigh, Basil places his bowl down on the coffee table before laying face-first on the couch. At the very least, he should try to get some rest before his next shift tomorrow - not that he thinks he’ll be able to stop thinking about his sister and her bizarre behaviour for hours to come.

#writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #short story #drabble challenge #oc story #original cast #fandomless oc writing #drabble #drabble challenge ;#kip ;#basil ;#tomorrow ;

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